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Ode to My Sister

When I was kid, my sister used to chase me around the house with a tablespoon of peanut butter.  I hated peanut butter…still do.  Upholding the most basic tenants of sibling persecution, she would exploit my weakness in the best way she knew how.  She probably has a similar story about me – of course, none come to mind.  Let’s just acknowledge that this is what siblings do…they like to torture each other.

Most of these memories are from my childhood.  We are all grown up now…and while we engage in the occasional gentle chiding, we have retired the common weaponry from the past.  We are grown-ups after all. 

This new level of maturity was apparent this weekend when the Saints played the Bears.  My sister, her husband, and their four boys are all GIANT Bears fans.  They have made the pilgrimage to Solider field, they named one of their dogs “Payton”, and the boys’ football play has been likened to “Sweetness” himself.  The NFC Championship game in 2006 saw some jabbing amongst us and maybe a prank here and there.   But that was five years ago…we are older, wiser, and classier now.  For this week’s game, the sentiment was conciliatory – “tough game”, “worthy opponent”, “wish you luck”.   We modeled the best fan behavior possible.

In the wake of yesterday’s game, I want to maintain that same level of class.  I won’t bring up the 2006 Championship game where Bears fans were spitting on Saints players wives at Soldier field.  I won’t write about Jay Cutler’s intimate familiarity with Superdome turf.  I won’t whisper a word of the Bears only athletic forte being Matt Forte.  Or the almighty Hester’s inability to muster anything significant.  I’m just not that kind of girl.

Instead, I simply say to my sister and her family, “Good game”.

...an' dat's dat!

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