I’m back in Ole Virginnie for one last week, trying to clean things up before D-day. We’ve been able to determine who’s going to lose their jobs over this mess. And they know it. It’s strange to realize that the result of what I am doing is going to get people fired.
The other PM and I each got a little thank-you package from the office manager down here – a new knapsack, two new shirts, and a coffee mug. Considering we weren’t expecting anything, this was a very nice surprise. It sure beats the piece of crap plastic plaque we all received for the latest contract we finished.
Right now, I’m a blithering mess. I just watched the segment on Monday Night Football about the kid with sickle cell anemia who got to coach the Eagles for a day, thanks to the Make a Wish Foundation. I was blubbering away, trying to watch through my tears as this little kid played pass with Donovan McNabb. For as much negative press as all the spoiled rotten punks get, stories like that one make professional sports enjoyable again.
Remember last fall when Charlie Weiss let a dying kid call the first play of the Notre Dame game? I cried during that segment too. I cried when the Yankees won the series in 1996. I jumped up and down and screamed when the Patriots won in 2001.
Now I live in Buffalo. Hmmmm. Nope. No tears yet. . .