So Punxustawney Phil, the “seer of seers, the prognosticator of prognosticators,” has informed the world that there will be an early spring.
Not early enough.
Here in Broncoland, the winter has been a cold one both metaphorically and literally. Nearly every square foot of open, non-paved ground has been covered in snow since the blizzard that paralyzed the region on Dec. 20 and kept many organizational personnel in a sleepover at team headquarters. On many side streets, the asphalt vanished, to be encased in layers of ice and packed-down snow that have yet to be cleared, turning a visit to a friend’s house into a Himalayan odyssey minus a helpful sherpa.
This morning, the thermometer plunged to an Antarctic nine degrees below zero at Centennial Airport, just a long Jay Cutler strike from Dove Valley.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t put much stock in the weather forecast of a quadriped who speaks in a concocted language of “groundhogese.” But given how snowfall projections from some so-called meteorological experts on television have been so inaccurate throughout the winter, I’d rather trust an enlarged squirrel.