Don’t worry. You’re not having a Bill Murray-esque flashback, destined to relive Punxsutawney Phil’s moment of glory over and over again until you resolve all of your deep-seated emotional issues and become a better person.

(If that disappoints you, might I suggest renting the 1993 movie. Or counseling.)

I just find the whole thing amusing. That there are people who seem to hang on the edge of their seat each year to hear Phil’s prediction. When, at least here in Upstate New York, we know that no matter what the mighty seer of seers, prognosticator of prognosticators and weather prophet extraordinaire says (and I use that term loosely), it would be nothing short of a miracle for us to have only six weeks more weeks of winter before spring arrives.

Heck, we can’t even rely on professional meteorologists to tell us what the weather will be like tomorrow with any degree of certainty. We’re going to start planning our lives around a rodent?

Because, let’s face it, that’s what old Phil is. Whether you call him a groundhog, a woodchuck or, God forbid, a whistle-pig or a land-beaver; he’s a rodent. Or, more specifically, a type of ground squirrel known as a marmot.