The good, the bad, and the dead

On Sunday evening, already rich on the thought of collecting on a $2 bet with Oliver Ullman, who will someday push my scrawny remains into the crematorium at Helgeson Funeral Chapel in Roseau, my money vanished as Tom Brady, the greatest quarterback ever - sorry, Joe Montana and Terry Bradshaw - picked apart the Atlanta Falcons' defense like a pickpocket fleecing intoxicated tourists in New Orleans during the Mardi Gras.

Who cries over two bucks?

Me!

I'd rather have my wife divorce me than lose a bet.

Yes, I had the Falcons and Mr. Oliver Ullman, who possibly suffered from severe heartburn for...