Boy, it was cold out there yesterday. It was the type of cold that drives some men to drink, others to divorce. I stayed sober and concentrated on the only relationship in my life I'll never leave -- the National Football League.
I love cold-weather football -- that is, if I'm sitting in warm weather watching it.

The Eagles, as demonstrated by the sleeveless Freddie Mitchell, proved to be well suited to the cold.
(John Bazemore -- AP)
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(Indeed, where I am -- in my living room -- it's always 72 degrees with the shades down. If I want a slight breeze, I use the microwave.)
Quite simply, if a trip to the Super Bowl is on the line, it should be decided on grass or a grass-like substance, with snow on the ground and cold breath coming out of every player's mouth.
However, in both Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, there was an underground heating system beneath the playing surface. Pfft. You think Thoreau brought an oscillating fan with him when he was pondering life at Walden Pond? Hey, folks, YOU PLAY UNDER THE GOD-GIVEN CONDITIONS YOU'RE DEALT.
(By the way, CBS's "The NFL Today" had an easier time adjusting to the elements than "Fox NFL Sunday," largely due to the fact that Greg Gumbel and Co. do their pregame show outdoors all season long. Terry, Howie and Jimmy are the Peyton Manning of studio analysts -- they talk a great game indoors, but stick 'em in the chill and they freeze up.)
At the NFC championship game, a half-frozen 10-year-old sang the national anthem before the Falcons-Eagles game. I hate to nitpick, but some adult was whispering the words into his ear! It felt like the presidential debates all over again.
At the AFC championship game, there were two striking climatic patterns clashing -- a Midwest front created a severe wind-chill effect while CBS's Shannon Sharpe and Boomer Esiason created a lot of hot air.
Boy, it was cold out there.
Heck, just looking at Armen Keteyian on the sideline, I flicked on my gas fireplace.
Terry Bradshaw -- in bean cap, gloves, bright scarf and overcoat -- looked like a cat burglar in search of a cathouse.
Michael Vick was so bundled up, I'm surprised they didn't throw a blanket over him in the huddle.
And I could've sworn I saw Antwaan Randle El running a curl route in a parka.
As it turned out, the Eagles and the Patriots were best suited for the blustery weather, with New England again ruining my hopes of an all-Pennsylvania title tilt.