I found Championship Sunday in the NFL strangely
disappointing. Tom Brady’s achievement in reaching a 10th Super Bowl
is ridiculous, but it’s also monotonous to the point of being unimpressive. You
watch him – at the age of 43 – analysing the field like a computer and throwing
pin-point passes with the accuracy of a guided missile, and you just feel
nothing. You just take it for granted that he’s going to be perfect and he’s
going to win. Again. Genius is unappreciated sometimes because genius makes the
momentous look mundane.
I am not a fan of Winter, but I did enjoy seeing
some more snow, and I particularly loved the crisp, dry air of Sunday. I think
the temperature in our garden reached 1C for an hour, but for the rest of the
day it was sub-zero, sparkly and stunningly beautiful. Too cold for Mathew to
be out, so I took a solo walk down some nice local footpaths and enjoyed
crunching the icy puddles like a child. Simple pleasures, my friends, are the
ones that bring the most joy.
RC 26-1-20
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