DON'T GET COMFORTABLE YET.

On Sunday, while watching the Super Bowl you consumed way too much beer, Doritos, pickled eggs, wings, Aunt Gert's chile and anything else that didn't move.

You didn't care which team won . The only "spread" mentioned was a reference by your wife to your ever expanding rearend. Your hearing impaired brother-in-law then asked you to pass it on to him, thinking the subject was the Jallopino dip he had previously used when icing the buttons on his flannel shirt.

It was a "great day". You were watching the most viewed Super Bowl of all time. Yeh, some of the commercials sucked this year. But, some were funny. Nobody in the room mentioned the highly hyped Tim Tebow and Mom commercial. It was all about football and "your" family.

To top it off, the next morning you're snowed in. Nobody can get up or down your street but the Seventh Day Adventists and your USA Today delivery person. You know it's gonna be another "great day".

Forget about the previous nights nasty Guacamole inspired dream where today all the TV channels (but Fox) are proclaiming that this is the day of that dreaded Armageddon and suggesting to one and all to pray to a higher authority. Fox was the one running a marathon political panel show in the dream telling you how the democrats were responsibile.

You also recall in the dream that it was about to get worse. Your state's lottery breaks into the day's bad news to announce the winning numbers. Guess what? You won. Tis a shame.

Even though it's only a dream, you resigned yourself long ago to accepting the truism "nothing can eliminate that lottery announcement - not wars breaking out - assassinations, nuttin."

Look it up. It's in the Bill Of Rights, somewhere, according to the ACLU, and if it goes to the Supreme Court they will surely ratify it in a 5-4 decision . Yep, it seems lottery announcements -just like corporate entities - are rational beings, also.

"Fuggedaboutit"! Today's a "great day" - no nightmares - no ACLU -just a well earned nagging hangover. You pour a big mug of coffee and take the paper out of the plastic wrap the delivery folks provided. You want to get to the Sports section but, what the hell, you've got all day.

You skim the front page before turning to page 1 of the Money section. You enjoy reading the "Cliffnotes" thing they do in the box to the left. Saves you from having to read a full column of bad news on a "great day" like this..

Unfortunately, it's there (not on the front page - nor the editorial page) you discover that the CIT group - in all their wisdom - has chosen John Thain as their chairman and CEO to take over immediately. They are trying to restructure after a brief stay in bankruptcy protection.

You scratch your head, saying to yourself, "That name is familiar".' You read further and discover that Thain was the former Merrill Lynch CEO and led Merrill Lynch until it's sale was completed to Bank Of America in January 2009 .

It's then you recall - and the item confirms - Thain resigned under pressure after reports he rushed billions in bonuses to Merrill employees, while the brokerage , under his leadership, was suffering huge losses and just before BOFA took ML over. Yep, that would be my pick.

Forget about thinking we'll never find out what happened to Jimmy Hoffa. Transparency has arrived. Forget about the argument that if you don't pay executives these huge bonuses - despite their humongous failures- they'll just go somewhere else. Appears it doesn't matter.

Looks like that "great day" is starting to unravel. Now placed on a legal sidestreet in your mind you remember your last trip to the local Walmart.

It seems that, in your compassion for others, you chose not to use a Hummer sized shopping cart when you were only intending to purchase a few items. Unfortunately, while shopping you saw more items that appealed to you. Some were bulky.

The shopping carts were clear at the other end of the store and the aisles were already blocked by several groups of people, renewing old friendships from towns whose names you can't pronounce and in a tongue with which you have limited familiarity.This is despite Walmarts efforts to educate you via their bilingual signs on which English may no longer get top billing.

You irrationally assume the aisle blocking shoppers are discussing the methods by which they arrived in this great country of yours. Intuitively, you know they won't be arrested.

Not to worry. You make an inspired decision to temporarily place your wife requested can of Contadina tomatoes ("in that tiny little can") into your exposed winter vest pocket and scoop up the bulky items as you head for the register.

They stop you at the door. You forgot to remove your Contadinas. Hearing is this Thursday.

Well, now that you remember the bogus charge, and the dream, you switch from coffee to beer. You decide to practice homeostasis and concentrate on the less inflamatory sports pages to lift your spirits on this weather driven "great day" off.

You happily devour the reviews of the game and it's players. The only thing left is a column described as a "commentary". You're surprised because most commentary is found on the editorial pages; particulary stuff of this ilk. The column is captioned: "SCAB FORGIVEN, BUT, NOT BY EVERYONE"" (hey, even editors get ticked when they lose money on a big game.)

The half page, two column article, is written solely to disparage Sean Payton, the Saint's winning coach. The writer has unsuccessfully attempted to find people - mostly players - to castigate this poor soul who in a youthful desire to appear on a NFL playing field in 1987, 23 years ago, decided to cross the picket line. He became the backup quarterback for the team from Chicago the fans laughingly referred to at the time as "the spare bears".

Now what Payton did , crossing the picket line, was duplicated by your friendly Fox analyst and Chevy spokesperson, Howie Long, among others. But you see the problem is that Howie isn't coaching the Saints - and he's way too big to disparage. Oh, did I mention the author also writes for "The Indianapolis Star"?

"That's it!", you shout. Your euphoria has disappeared. You no longer refer to it as a "great day". You immediately take two six packs out of the fridge and head through the front door.

Wearing nothing but slippers, pajamas and a ratty robe, you begin frantically shovelling snow in an effort to get to your car which you parked on top of the hill yesterday morning. Maybe they won't even charge you with a half day if you sneak into the locker room, put on your uniform, and show up at your work station.

Yep, that "great day" has "vamoosed." Hey, it's your own fault.

You just got too comfortable.