It seems that my fans are in awe of me.
Just the other day, someone told me that I was an institution. … Or was it that I belonged in one?
Another adoring minion said that I was a dynasty. Hmmm, maybe he said dinosaur.
That doesn’t matter. But the truth is prognosticating games is really a family business … a tradition that has been carried on for as long as there has been communication.
My family got in on the ground floor of it.
Of course, we had to adapt along the way to spread the word.
It all started back in the day when my great, great, great grandfather started to communicate his picks by beating war drums and using smoke signals.
So, we started with a bang and were en fuego right from the start.
Another relative came over with the pilgrims. He delivered his picks on the Mayflower. It wasn’t popular then, just like it wasn’t in Baltimore way back when.
My great, great grandfather was picking during the Revolutionary War. He’d stand in a tower and go One if by hand(off) and Two if by tee. (And, of course, it was Three if by field goal).
My great grandfather tried the Pony Express but was arrested for playing the horses.
My grandfather used Morse Code on the telegraph.
He’d sent out - .- -.- . / .----. ... -.- .. -. ... / .-- .. - .... / .--. --- .. -. - .-.-.-
Which meant, “Take ‘Skins with points.”
My dad was lazy. He just used billboards.
But I have a little pride. I took the family business into the 21st century.
I’ve conquered Twitter.
I don’t know what took me so long. All I had to do is master the use of #.
Of course, it’s all how you use it. And any one who knows me, I’m about as standard as spiked coaching sandals.