We all know by now, I am pretty into Groundhog Day. So between this week’s Nor’easter and the pandemic, I was wondering when or if Punxsutawney Phil would have his moment Tuesday, Feb. 2. Monday morning at sunrise, I went to groundhog.org and was relieved, the big day was still on, coronavirus style: Live at the usual spot for Phil and his team and, for the throngs of anxious, celebratory onlookers, online instead of in the festive foolishness of standing en masse in the Pennsylvania cold.

A press release cited safety for the shift and, since I have always watched the event on TV or other device, there is no loss except for seeing the huge, nay, colossal, bundled crowd it draws, joyously packed in, so many fellow fans of a tradition infinitely silly with a twist of sweet. 

I never want Phil to see his shadow Groundhog Day morning; the only good winter is a short winter and, although this January was sensibly, relatively snow-free, it appears February missed the memo.

Phil’s predicted early spring last year provided encouragement we did not even know we would need for 2020. I do not even like to write 2020. Do you? I know the point of Groundhog Day is the tradition, not the prediction; but in that moment, it matters, like this Sunday’s professional football championship (go Tom Brady) and New Year’s Eve.

Tuesday morning, my tries at viewing Phil’s appearance and the pre-show at the aforementioned website were failing. Perhaps much of the world was trying to join the live feed at 6:30 on the dot, as I was. But I got to see both the pre-show and big moment via YouTube. The event was like some other things in the past year – different, but just good to see it could still happen in any form – like graduation 2020.

Phil saw his shadow in the falling snow and rising sun, and the sweetness of the quiet gathering lessened my disappointment with the prediction for six more weeks of winter. You go, Phil! See you next year.

And go Tom Brady.