Night time, Super Bowl Sunday

I have never watched a football game, not live or on TV. It simply never interested me. It might have to do with having a bad leg from early childhood on and knowing before most boys that I would never play any version of the game. I could hit a tennis ball decently, and I used to watch tennis. 
(I do know how football is played and seen bits and pieces of games over the years on the news and things.)

As I write this, the 52nd Super Bowl is being played. There's a good chance that it's the last time I, with a recent probable terminal diagnosis, would be able to watch a football game. And there's this: One of the teams, the Eagles, is from my home town of Philadelphia and the mania when I was in the city earlier today was palpable. 
Am I tempted to tune in? No. I'm about to prepare a simple meal and maybe stream a show. Or catch up on the Sunday papers. I went into the city early and didn't read much of them.

Freak show

What do you think when you see pictures of yourself? I'm horrified by my own. The internal image of me I carry around conflicts sharply with photographs of myself.

Me holding a Corgi with cabins in the background.

The picture here was taken today (Sunday, January 21, 2018) by a friend in Valley Forge Park. I was walking a sister-in-law's dog (I picked her up just for the photograph). I look so misshapen, a word I seldom use because a) It's antiquated, and b) I'm not sure how to pronounce it, which I know doesn't matter when you're writing something but you should know how to pronounce the words you write.
Soon I'll have my right leg amputated and look even weirder than I do here. (See previous entries for background on this if you wish.) 
This evening, my city's football team, the Philadelphia Eagles, will compete against the Minnesota Vikings in a playoff contest. As with every football game ever played since 1958, I will not be watching.