Giants and Powell

Tonight is a hard one. Every year for the Superbowl, I go to my dad’s to watch the game. Normally, it is a great experience, but there was a bit of shadow behind everything: Josh Powell blew himself and his boys up. I don’t know the Powell’s, but we’ve had a string of nuts like him here in Utah that kill their wives and hide the bodies.

So we were all settled in to watch the game and then a news bulletin strings across the bottom of the screen announcing the confirmation of Powell’s death. I had gone to church, picked up Rob and gone over to the house. I had my snack’s and drinks in front of me right next to my dad and my brother Nate. Andy and Crystal were there as well as other family members. Me and my sons love the Giants, but we also like the Patriots, so the game was going to go well no matter what.

Lake many American’s, we treat the Superbowl like a holiday: a great day to get together and watch more football.

Every quarter, more news would string across the screen.

None of us knew the Powells, but the tragedy is still awful. Like many Utahs, we sometimes fall for the delusion that Utah is not all that bad (even though it is just as bad as any other place). We knew most of the back story and mostly hoped justice would be served and the mystery solved.

Gas explosions are just a bit shocking. Learning he killed his two boys just added to the tragedy.

At the same time, the football game was great. Both teams were wonderful and obviously very good. Eli Manning is the man.

It is just that the imposition of near evil on daily delusions of peace bursts through the little bubble-gum bubble we have around us. Oh sure, it only takes a second to chew it back up and make a new bubble or simply getting new gum, but eventually one gets tired of chewing.


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