Who fought the Bills from Buffalo that cold and snow-swept day in eighty what was it? Remember frigid air, icy fluff throwed by cruel spun winds, our skipants’ rustling slips. So sat we down on plastic pillows square atop aluminum bench. Far below some tiny figures bunch up, slide out, dare amazing feats unseen but, trusting, known. Thick-parka’d fans on every side, I hear– behind, one level up,–two beards agree that I, the little guy, too scarfed to cheer, am … Continue reading To GB’s Dad Sonnet