LIFE IN THE COLE BIN

By Burton W. Cole

Ah, February, the month when a young man’s heart pumps a quickening pitter-patter pulse, he breaks out in sweats, and he wears his passion on his sleeve.

But there’s more to February than the finale of the football season.

There’s also that very lovely date that rolls around the calendar every year—Feb. 15. That’s the day when half-price sales begin on Valentine chocolates, and a young man can buy that special lady only slightly-wilted roses for less than what it cost him for that football jersey with his team’s logo on the sleeve.

There’s also that something about a weather-forecasting groundhog, but let us let sleeping rodents lie. I think the rodent lies a lot about whether there will be six more weeks of winter.

Besides, catchers and pitchers start reporting for spring training as early as this Sunday (Chicago Cubs; the Reds open spring training on Feb. 12, and my Cleveland Guardians report on Feb. 13), so technically, winter is over as soon as that little white ball starts thumping into padded brown gloves at 90 or 100 mph.

After a snowy, frigid couple of months, February offers hope. As the great philosopher Anonymous put it: “February: Our last chance to NOT play in the snow.”

Let us fervently hope it’s our last chance. Quite frankly, my snow-playing days ended about 55 years ago when I outgrew my sled. Everything since has been annoyances interrupted by a flurry of shoveling and bouts of spinning tires in a ditch while waiting for a tow.

Now I stay warm by staying indoors and burning my snow shovels in the fireplace.

So we look forward to this new month, the hope of spring, and the sizzle of chicken wings in buffalo sauce. As one great philosopher noted, February is the month when “wingman” takes on a whole different meaning.

Question: Is it bad form to dip our wings in buffalo sauce now that the Bills are eliminated from the Super Bowl?

Another point to ponder: If Punxsutawney Phil can predict the weather based on the presence of his shadow, can I predict the Super Bowl winner by which city has the better sauce for wings? On the one side, we have a creamy Philadelphia dip. At the other end of the table is Kansas City barbecue.

Personally, I’m thinking Memphis style barbecue sauce, so based on that, I’m forecasting a Super Bowl win for the Tennessee Titans.

I know nothing about the team from Tennessee. Mostly I have no clue how they win the Super Bowl without actually playing in the game. But it’s February, the weird month when we wake up a woodchuck, aka, a whistlepig, for the weather forecast, so I’m not ruling out remembering the Titans.

At the very least, I’ll enjoy the Memphis barbecue wings.

Thankfully, February doesn’t last as long as January, which drags on for about six years. It has been said that February is the shortest and sweetest month. Another great philosopher called it “the perfect combination of romance and football.”

So for love of the game or love of discount chocolates and roses (surely it can’t be for love of giant rodents that dig so many tunnels in your yard that the second floor of your house becomes the basement), we dip our wings and cheer for the return of the boys of summer.

And if ol’ Phil saw his shadow on Feb. 2, that means he correctly predicted that I’ve gone back to bed to hibernate for six more weeks of winter. Please send discounted chocolates to my burrow.

Send Valentines to Burt at news@falmouthoutlook.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook. Leave your groundhog at home.