An annual highly American life-eclipsing event occurred on Sunday.
Not sure if you caught it.
It garners more attention than our President’s State of the Union Address. Probably because the commercials are better. If Mr Obama would invest more in his half time show than his constituents’ agendas, he would gain some popularity.
I really have no opinion of football.
Thanks to our president, I have that right.
The game’s about as messy as a group of warthogs rooting up truffles and the sock puppet announcers are as entertaining as watching a golf tournament.
So many words. So little to say.
Don’t get me started.
I do, however, enjoy a good party.
By “good” I mean a group of friends on my roster who don’t mind dribbling their guacamole down their shirt fronts while screaming incoherently at the TV over some pass interference by the other team. People who have no problem lounging in awkward positions around the room, cheerfully double-dipping nachos and if strongly provoked, fiercely switching loyalties three-fourths of the way through the game.
I love watching the fans. The more worked up they get, the more entertained I am. When I was in high school, my girlfriends and I formed the “Pep Club”. We were as enthusiastic as the cheerleaders, but got to wear warmer clothes and worked on a consultant basis.
If the fans weren’t doing their job, we stepped in the gap and whipped them into the proper level of frenzy. They had to care about the penalty on that play to the point of storming the astroturf.
This is why my house was set up with Patriot and Seahawk colors, a table groaning under tailgate party snacks, and a giant bingo game for prizes every quarter.
You have to set the stage just right to achieve this level of mayhem.
Turns out, this was a year I didn’t have to try too hard.
For the first time ever, I was sucked into caring, but only at the last minute. When the game began, I chose the Seahawks based on the fact their uniforms contain the color lime green. But when their player caught/fumbled/caught/touchdowned…I mean, that man worked it…I had to give a standing ovation for pure shock factor.
Followed not five minutes later with a barroom brawl that would make every cowboy in the west proud. The refs, not so much.
The game finally showed a little passion.
One year, the Super Bowl failed us. The game was so awful that even the best fans went lukewarm, and by halftime, the party was spiraling into apathy. Not even body paint and jalepeno poppers would have resurrected the vibe.
Had I seen this coming, I would have added “pinatas in the shape of each team’s mascot” to my playbook.
I’m sure a few fans would have been delighted to take a whack at them.
Usually though, most of us are watching purely for the commercials. Which, like the Stupor Bowl, went the opposite way this year. This year, we had cute puppies…almost get eaten by wolves. And little kids…who died young. And if a giant Pac Man Game hadn’t shown up, we would have had to throw the Doritos out the window with disgust.
Seriously. They paid how much to advertise here? And this is what they came up with?
The half time shows, in my humble opinion, aren’t always up to snuff. Sure, if you’re a fan of Katy Perry and pyrotechnics you were watching, but I’m not emotionally invested.
Riding into the stadium on a gold lion: A. Not falling off of it: A+. Dancing with sharks doing the Macarena and freaky beach balls while wearing a Hot Dog On A Stick uniform? F.
Thank you for totally topping Russia’s Olympic Ceremonies but all I’m thinking about while you’re flying around the stadium singing about fireworks is that your lyrics could easily be screams and I wouldn’t blame you. Duck!!
It’s Tuesday and I’m still finding popcorn under the couch; the sign of a great house party the world over.
My State of the Super Bowl Address:
Come for the fans, always bet on lime green, and if this particular team has to win the trophy….better deflate the top just a teensy bit, yeah?