It's amazing the things that run through your head when a big moment arrives.
Take winning a Super Bowl, for instance.
I'd be lying if I told you that the entire time I was watching the Eagles' thrilling win over the Patriots, I was thinking of my father.
But it was not until a couple of weeks later - on the 41st anniversary of his death - that it really hit me.
I could not believe four decades had past since that fateful day.
No one loved Philly sports more than my dad.
The only he loved more was the horses. Yes, my father was fond of the ponies. He is the reason I know how to read The Racing Form. And he is still the only man I know who took a week's vacation so he could work the parimutel window at Delaware Park.
But my father did not wear his fandom on his sleeve, like so many Philly fans.
He did so in his inimitable, reserved way.
After all, we did not call him The Quiet Man for nothing.
It's in my weekly print Letter From the Editor.
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