The Super Bowl—wow! Now I lay me down to sleep, recalling Max McGee catching a pass from Bart Starr behind his back—and Desmond Howard flying through the opposition—both of them scoring!

Then, in a dream, there were three football players, a girl, a dour head coach and an NFL official on the field. One player was kneeling, holding a sign reading, “Stop racial profiling!” The rest were standing. The national anthem was playing.

One of the players was holding a football and letting the air out of it. The third player, standing next to his girlfriend, suddenly smacked her in the chops. She dropped like George Foreman in the eighth against Muhammad Ali.

The coach was ranting on a cell phone, “Are all the hidden mics in the visitors’ locker room working, you idiot?”

The NFL official, wearing a “Roger likes me” button, was holding up a sign reading, “So what if I’m blind, biased and stupid—read my button!”

Then a booming game show host voice hollered, “Mike, which one of these six is unemployed?” and then added, “You better get it right or we’ll pull your NFL fan card!”

Fearing retribution from Roger Goodell and “The Donald,” in a cold sweat, I wimped out and screamed, “It must be the girl, she’s out cold!”

Then, I woke up.

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