As the swallows return to Capistrano, the Eagles fly home to Lehigh. No matter which Harvard prof is miffed, which president is having problems with his health-care project or which wise Latina is about to make history, the only thing that really matters at this point in the dog days is that football is a month away.
Which is probably a good thing, since we need to get these guys busy. With too much time on their hands, they tend to run amok.
I'm not talking about our Birds, who're fairly boring in the bad-boy department. No illegal dog-fighting. No self-inflicted thigh wounds. No flashy girlfriends. (Hank Baskett has a flashy wife, but that doesn't count since she looks to be pretty domesticated these days with a bun in the oven.)
I'm talking about the other ones, the superstars from teams that specialize in obnoxious - albeit talented - players, many of whom seem to have a problem with their X chromosome, getting themselves into messes because of damsels in tight dresses.
Take Tony Romo. (Please!)
To read the rest of Christine Flowers' colum from today's Philadelphia Daily News click here.