Giving Up This Boring Mid 60s Weather Watching For Lent

A friend of mine says he saw Jay Cutler out a bar recently and remarked that "he had no presence." These words gave me great pause and caused tremendous concern, because a piece of me believes he is correct in his observation of Mr. Cutler. Could it be? Does he have no soul? Worse, does he have no ego?

I don't want to let myself believe it. I refuse to let myself believe it. He as all the god damned presence he needs back there in that pocket before firing laser-guided, side-winding, rib-splitting, finger-breaking missiles into the clutches of our cocksure receivers. So what if he doesn't command the ass kissing of Denver's white collar crowd? I can think of much worse things.

What my friend meant (I think) is that you wouldn't have known Cutler was there even if you were standing next to him at the bar ordering double Jack Daniels(TM), neat. My friend also asked, "Do you think you would ever be in a bar with John Elway and not know it?" That really made me think. Probably not.

In his early years, as I recall, old Johnny Ballgame was moderately successful and I'm pretty sure he devoured every ounce of praise he got from all of Denver's residents - be they bartenders, barbers or sleek women. He grabbed this town by its short and curlies from the very start and didn't let go until he shaved them all off using only a straight razor and the reflection of two Vince Lombardi trophies. And I thank him for it each and every day.

Where was I? Oh yeah . . . the old comparison game between the new QB in town who has diabetes, Bama bangs and a rocket launcher for an arm with the old hero/statesman who also once had floppy hair, an affinity for hunting rabbits, and a rocket launcher for an arm. I can't do it anymore. Every quarterback that ever comes here is compared to Sir Elway and it's not fair. I won't be a part of it. Plus, I get the feeling that Jay's a delicate fellow and anything negative written here may push him right over the edge. I don't want to be responsible for that. A man self destructing by his own hand is one thing, but being pushed into despair by respected media such as FKS is quite another.

Jesus.

Happy Fat Tuesday by the way. It was a nice one. Sixty six degrees. It's been a mild winter . . . as was evidenced by the menacing brush fires today. Fucking La Niña. And yes, I'm aware it snowed freakishly Friday night but shit, it was the weekend. Old Flip needed some time and drink at the local pubs with the gentry and other damaged folk. Call it an All Star Break. But I'm not at all fooled by this heat . . . snowy times lay ahead. I know it. You know it. But does Kathy Sabine know it? Probably yes, but we shall see. I heard she was giving up models for lent.

Be Warm, Stay Cool and Never Sweat,
Flip T. Washington