Super Bowl, here we come!

We did it! Can I say “we” even though I live in Lon­don? My home­town foot­ball team, that’s Amer­i­can foot­ball, is head­ed to the Super Bowl! Go Colts! I think it was the kar­ma of my niece, lit­tle Jane, who spent the day in Colts paja­mas, that turned the cor­ner for the team. Of course, my sis­ter is a big, pow­er­ful exec­u­tive at the defin­i­tive sports chan­nel which until I get per­mis­sion from her must remain anony­mous, so she knows how to train a child to be a sports fan. Yippee! Appar­ent­ly part of the big buzz is that both teams, the Colts and the Bears, have black coach­es, and it is the first time a black coach has got to the Super Bowl. That sure seems a long time com­ing, and I can under­stand the Indi­anapo­lis coach when he says he hopes that stops being remark­able, fair­ly soon. Good, we need anoth­er sport­ing event to get excit­ed about. And at least I can sort of under­stand the rules, unlike crick­et.

I wish we could turn some of their good luck on poor Avery, who is home sick for almost the first time ever. Just mis­er­able, and quite bored as well. “If I have to look at anoth­er com­put­er screen, or tele­vi­sion screen, I will go crazy!” is the ver­dict. Plus, she claims not to be able to swal­low a pill, so there is no abat­ing of her symp­toms. This to her father is a seri­ous red flag. He has visions of her sud­den­ly, overnight, com­ing down with an ail­ment that if she can’t swal­low six pills on a Tues­day with a full moon, she’ll die. To John, say­ing she can’t do some­thing is just… an ill­ness in itself. So he’s huffy. “Dad­dy’s lost all sym­pa­thy,” Avery says. “But you’re still a nice mum­my.” The child knows that a house­hold with­out even one suck­er par­ent is a cold, cold house.

So how to enter­tain an at-home child? I’m afraid we’re look­ing at that par­ents’ worst night­mare: the boardgame. Mean­while, good on you, Colts!