“Oh, John, you really don’t look well this morning,” said waitress Beverly patting him empathetically on the shoulder.

“Yeah, you look as if you’ve been left outside in the cold all night,” I added.

“Well, the last few days have been kind of wet blanket,” John shrugged.

“Here, our Yemen Mocha special will warm you up fast,” Beverly promised.

“Well, Yemen may be too hot these days,” John worried.

“So what’s dampened your spirits, my friend,” I encouraged.

“Oh, you know, the usual pandering, criticism, exaggeration, and falsehoods that happened every year about this time—just a damn circus,” John shuffled halfheartedly in his chair.

“Right, you mean the Iowa Freedom Summit with all those Republicans invading Iowa,” Beverly shook her head.

“It was indeed a sad spectacle,” I declared.

“Wrong!” agitated John. “I’m talking about the Super Bowl hoopla. It’s just depressing.

“You mean you’re…” Beverly and I, looked at each other, raised our hands, exchanged a high five, and said in unison “…deflated!”

“It just won’t stop, it just won’t stop,” John moaned with his head in his hands.

“It’s all about the New England Patriots cheating by deflating the football in their game against Indianapols.”

“I hear it was a letdown,” smiled Beverly.

“No, no…”

“Well, it took the pressure off the Patriots for sure,” I added.

“Ugh…”

“Kind of a chilling effect given the weather,” observed Beverly.

“Groan…”

“I wonder what precipitated that,” I chuckled.

“Stop, stop…”

“Ok, ok. I’ll stopping raining on your parade,” Beverly winked, “I mean that was just cold of me.”

“It’s just too much, “John countered.

“Absolutely way too much media coverage over a non-story.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, John. It’s very, very simple,” I explained. “You inflate a football in warm, dry conditions, then you play the game in cold, wet weather. Duh, the ball looses pressure.”

“But…”

“No buts about it, John,” Beverly joined. “Heat makes objects expand; cold makes objects contract. In this case lose air. No cheating—case closed.”

“What about…”

“Forget it,” I interrupted. “The footballs lost air pressure because of the cold and rain. Or put another way, the footballs lost air pressure because of rain and cold!”

“You mean…”

“Right on, too many reporters with too much time on their hands with too little to report. So everyone chases a rumor than is as flat as an AFC Championship football.”

“Whew, thanks guys,” sighed John. “I was getting pretty heated up there for awhile. But you two have calmed me down.”

As John leaves, Beverly says “This is your tip?”

“Beverly, I think we taught him too well.   When John cooled off…”

“I know, I know. Cold makes objects contract…and my tip got smaller.”