Young girls sobbing, clawing out at a stray shirttail, an errant sleeve, or maybe a baggy pant leg. They shake with excitement and shout “I love you!” at the top of their lungs as the object of their affection passes by. They are eternally grateful for even the smallest sign of acknowledgement, clinging to a wink or nod as a shipwrecked sailor might to floating debris.
So, the Super Bowl is on Sunday. Do you know who’s playing? I do, but that’s only be…