I feel a little bad that, in the run up to the Super Bowl, there was nothing said in the sports world about Drew Brees and scarcely a word about Peyton Manning. All anyone could talk about was whether I’d be able to play Hedgehog on Super Sunday. After visiting Ridgefield so much over Christmas break, I must have moved the heavy telephoto lens around a bit too much as I tweaked my right shoulder.

It only hurts when I need to raise my arm to put on a jacket, or, yes, throw hedgehog. Hedgehog practices were closed to the media so all anyone had to go on were the injury reports which listed the shoulder as sore.

Would he play or wouldn’t he?

The gasps when I took the field were nothing compared to when I first rolled out and fired a bullet downfield catching Ellie in stride. Left-handed. You see, I am not only the world’s first and foremost hedgehogger, I’m also the world’s only ambidextrous hedgehogger.

That, my friends, is why I’ll be enshrined in the Hedgehog Hall of Fame on the first ballot.