I have been inundated recently with requests for my annual Super Bowl prediction.  Perhaps this is because I have picked the last ten Super Bowl results correctly (I’m only ten years old, so the record is even more impressive).  My formula is simple.  I use a proprietary blend of  key player horoscopes, type of deodorant used by each starting quarterback, the number and breed of dogs owned by each starting player, how many players’ names can be made into other words by switching letters around, and the number of fungal infections that have visited each team’s home locker room this season.  The key is how I apply that information.  Despite my flawless record of prognostications, I have never published my predictions.  I prefer to allow others to achieve the same sense of accomplishment as I by developing their own system.

I don’t do this for fame or fortune, although I have enjoyed both.  I do it for the intrinsic reward of witnessing the fruits of my creation.  My formula is foolproof and it is gratifying to know that accurately applying the formula to the 49ers and Ravens will, “ipso flapso”, give me the winner.  As usual, only my family and my bookie..uh..financial functionary know my prediction.  And that is how it will stay until the game is over.  Meanwhile, I’m working on a similar formula for baseball, basketball, hockey and team Scrabble competitions.

The down side of all this is that I have taken the fun and excitement out of the Super Bowl for me and my family.  Now that we know who will be victorious, all we need watch are the commercials and halftime show (of course, that is all some Super Bowl viewers ever watch).  The thrill is gone.  What price victory?


Love, Death and BEDs

There is a cute and comely little Aussie who lives down the block.  Her name is Canberra.  We met on Dognet (the audio channel all dogs use to communicate with others in the neighborhood).  I was immediately enchanted.  We began a relationship and became inseparable.  We communicated daily by howling and barking.  This is easier than cell phones..no weak signals, no dead batteries, no tickets for phone use while shedding…and we learned to howl on a secure frequency.  It was total bliss.  Some of my friends commented that it was more than a bit strange that the love of my life was a dog I had never actually seen in the flesh (OK, hair-covered flesh).  But they obviously didn’t understand that love need not follow a standard protocol.

Now I am devastated.  After not having heard from her in the last two weeks, I learned from local media (a busy-body, loquatious Schnauzer who lives across the street) that Canberra has been publicly saying that I had died and that I never existed.  She apparently didn’t explain how my death could have preceded my presence here on earth, but she was always endearingly confused.  I’ve been sending her messages, asking her if it wouldn’t have been easier to merely break off our relationship amicably and in a more conventional manner, but she is stonewalling me.  To make matters worse, today I learned that she is competing in a prestigious dog competition and hoping for best in show.  So, I’m left with one question:  Why?  Some will say she is mentally imbalanced.  Some will opine that she was motivated by her quest for a victory, hoping the judges would be moved by her paramour’s passing and subsequent non-existence.  I guess it doesn’t matter.  Besides, I’m still in love with her.  And I’m concerned for her welfare.

My concern is that her inevitable victory in the dog show will cause a media examination of her use of BEDs (beauty enhancing drugs).  Animal Planet will be all over it.  I know she has mixed BEDs in her kibble and spiked her water dish with them.  No Aussie could come by those looks naturally.  And of course, I will ultimately be called to testify as a witness to her doping.  Will I perjure myself to protect the object of my unrequited love, or will I adhere to my ethical principles, tell the truth, and cause her untold pain which may well lead to her own dogicide.  I obviously require counseling in every conceivable area.  So, it’s back to Dognet for help.  Full circle.