I can't be bothered by another loss by the Sixers last night.
Nor the fact that they blew another 22-point third-quarter lead.
Nor the fact that they were forced to play again without big man Joel Embiid.
'The Process' is in the process of dealing with a serious case of the hiccups.
Here's my take on the Sixers: Until Joel Embiid proves he can stay healthy, and be a contributor every night, this team is going nowhere.
But I have another sports story on my mind this morning.
No, I'm not all that worried about the Eagles Christmas night matchup vs. the Raiders. They should win, clinching home-field throughout the playoffs. Then we can all exhale for two weeks awaiting that divisional matchup.
And I'm not yet counting the days until Spring Training. OK, I lied. I am. I always do. But first I have to survive the post-holiday winter morass.
So what's on my mind?
A voice.
A voice from our past, one so familiar to sports fans, and one that sets off all kinds of memories.
Dick Enberg died overnight. He was 82.
Enberg was the voice that brought us Super Bowls, Final Fours.
Of course, I had the same reaction as I imagine everyone else did this morning when I heard the news.
"Oh, my!"
Rest well, Dick.
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