Thank, God, the millionaire players and billionaire owners struck a deal, and we will have an NFL season.
They finally figured out how to divide up the income from my $50 ticket without either side feeling too cheated.
I inserted the "millionaire" and "billionaire" in the above line not because I have a problem with someone making as much money as he possibly can; but because when you are raking in that sort of dough at the expense of the fans, should those fans have to stress over whether there will be a football season?
I'm a capitalist. If a guy who can't string five words together without two of them being, "you know," can make $5 million a year catching a football, more power to him, I say.
I suppose because they did come to an agreement in time to save the season, as a fan, I shouldn't complain. But it was a close call. Too close.
The contract is for 10 years. Lord willing, I'll be dead before the next contract talks. Then they will be arguing over how to divide up an $80 ticket.
Lost in all the brouhaha over the contract talks, Big Ben married Ashley Harlan in Pittsburgh on Saturday.
Our little boy is all growed up.