Sunday recess art walk

Wife was our gameday photographer, so I'd be remiss if I didn't share more of her art work (besides, she threatened to carve "Baby on Board" across my chest if I didn't promise to post more pictures from the game). So, by demand, here is Wife's art from Sunday.

"It's mine! All mine! Muwahahaha!"

The range of emotions play out as Marc cradles the ball like it's the last bottle of Captain Morgan on Earth while Brittany considers tying his shoelaces around his scrotum. Meanwhile, the giant behind me celebrates as if the Cleveland Browns just beat Denver in 1987 AFC Championship game. Wait, they didn't win?

"Do you think he want's us to scratch his belly?"
See the fellow prison work camper on his back? Yeah, that's a natural position for all of us when we're out on the field. Don't believe me? Check out the next shot...

See! We figure we're not playing if we don't land on our knees, elbows, shoulders, head or ass. You're a pansy if you stay upright in our book.

Have you seen those NFL lineman play with turf crammed between the bars of their face masks? They keep the grass clods there like it's a Medal of Honor. Well, the dry grass and dirt that clings to our T-Shirts is our badge of honor (or Purple Heart, however you want to look at it.)

Maybe Wife will let me write her Pulitzer Prize winning speech when the board looks at this shot. See, folks, we do have moments of athleticism. I also promised to not mention that a certain Arizona Cardinal fan dropped this sure touchdown. See, Marc, I kept my end of the bargain.

"Hmmm ... let's see how much give there is in Mikey's T-Shirt."

While I was either yanked from behind or jabbed in the throat by a finger nail sharper than Excalibur...

...Others got into a dry-hump menagie-a-trois.

And despite all the heavy breathing, everyone had a good time in the Arizona sun playing a game for a free during our spare time. And none of us can wait until the next one. What d'ya say folks? Give our wounds three weeks to heal? That sounds about right.