Super Bowel

“Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I assure you, it's much more serious than that...” - Bill Shankly

Yesterday was the Big Game - and I hardly even noticed. It was both unimportant and inconsequential, mainly because I had no money riding on it. No, I cared so little about this event that I didn't even realize it was happening until I received a cryptic text message mid-yesterday afternoon that mentioned beer and pizza, but barely eluded to any kind of sporting event. So in that moment, my day was changed forever. I ate too much, paid little attention and criticized the Half Time show mercilessly - just like everyone else.

That Half Time show was something else... I'm certain it was developed by a team of scientists who took a kindergarten class from some impoverished Detroit elementary school, fed them a steady diet of psychotropic drugs and had each kid write an idea for a Saturday morning cartoon on scrap of paper. Then they took all those little slips and put them in a hat and formed the show by picking them out, one by one, until the hat was empty. God only knows what the creative process involved from there, but one thing is clear - it wasn't for entertainment. It was either a very elaborate practical joke or a spiteful insult to America. The only way they could top that steaming pile next year is to have Roseanne Barr mud wrestling with the Geico Cavemen while a cassette of Sweet Home Alabama plays on a boom box.

In review: there was no sweat in my seat, and the most stressful moment was when I realized that the peanut butter pie was too much for my stomach to bear - the straw that nearly broke the camel's back.