F$@*!!! S#$%>!! Could be heard throughout the house as visions of field goals and touchdowns danced through Chuck's head. Most Sundays my house is filled with the sound of sports. There's the given televised noise the game contains and then an added in-person special commentary track which can be heard throughout the entire apartment complex provided by Chuck. It's always so strange when football ends. Like a void or an unsettling strange stillness on Sundays. But then NASCAR starts a week later and football noises are replaced by loud engines and funny southern accents. It's pretty funny living with a sports fanatic. I absorb sports information along the way tid bits about certain players and how teams are doing. Of course, I'd never be so bold as to call myself a true fan -- mostly because the argument that would ensue over what makes a true fan could have the potentiality of requiring waaaaay more energy that I feel is warranted. So for now I'll continue my status as "occasional viewer of many pieces of many games with an acute knowledge of teams such as the San Diego Chargers and New Orleans Saints."
Depicted in the Christmas ball is a very tiny Chuck sitting on our couch watching his favorite sport. I like this picture because of the story it tells with the little bit you can see.
