First off, I would like to say that this will not be a misogynistic rant on how much I want to "do" Suzy Kolber, but more of an ode to the beautiful side of the barbaric sport of football.
She is the angel on the sidelines who gives us the scoop on injuries and dishes out her own brand of analysis, all the while thwarting advances from Broadway Joe and other drunken meat-heads that pack NFL stadiums.
She was tough and no-nonsense from an early age, being the only girl on her Upper Dublin High School football squad. Unlike Kathy Ireland in "Necessary Roughness," I'm sure Kolber got low on some tackling drills and got all Mike Singletary on some pubescent prima-donnas.
Suzy, you are the reason I even tune into games on Monday nights. You are the reason I sit through Tony Kornheiser's rants and bellows concerning his fantasy football team. Hillary Clinton probably puts up pictures of you around her vanity, so as to strive to look as drop dead gorgeous as you in a pant suit combo.
You are the fierce beauty of Athena, the warrior goddess, combined with the vision and in-depth commentary of John Clayton. You are the hot English Lit teacher that makes even the most apathetic student interested in the Shakespearean sonnet form.
Many experts on the laws of attraction will say that a man will use his mother as a template for potential mates. While this may be true to some extent, women that I meet must also be compared to you, Suzy.
True, I may have daydreams about kissing you at the 50-yard line of a wind-swept Soldier Field, your golden brown hair flitting about in the breeze, but you are so much more than that. You are a national treasure. You help grateful young men like me from languishing throughout the baseball offseason.
I just can't wait for our next date on some brisk night in November, when you fill me in on how the line backing corps on some team I could care less about is making strides to shut down the running game.