SUNDAY — I’m writing this column on the day of the big game, it’s the early afternoon to be exact.
Ah, the Super Bowl, one of the biggest sporting events of the year. People across the country (and the world apparently), regardless of whether or not they’re actually fans of the sport, gather around televisions of varying sizes, stuff themselves with cheeses and crackers and dip platters, down copious amounts of alcohol, chuckle at the expensive commercials, ogle the cheerleaders and yell at the players, which causes them to promptly lose their voices.
I’m not really one for the Super Bowl. I’m not one for a sport that involves overly buff, muscled men ramming into each other at bone-breaking speeds in the narrow interest of scoring points with a little piece of pigskin. I mean, yes, it gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “bring home the bacon,” but at the possible cost of broken bones, it just doesn’t do it for me.
Sure, rugby is kind of similar, but those guys are actually ruthless. Have you seen any rugby footage? No padding or helmets whatsoever! That takes balls! Well … that’s assuming that they still have them in working order.
That said, I do actually watch the Super Bowl, but mainly for the commercials and the halftime show … or at least I have in recent years. Acts like U2, Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band and The Who have not disappointed, even if they were geared more toward the baby boomers.
But the Black Eyed Peas? Yes, I can see how they’re still somewhat relevant and hip, but last year’s album got middling reviews and I’m not too into them anyway. At least I have possibly humorous commercials to look forward to, along with teasers for the upcoming summer blockbusters.
To be frank, sports and commercialism, over the last decade at least, have slowly been getting to me. One of the many aspects of this is athletes who play like crap and get paid millions. I’m sure you can think of a few such athletes. Another is the giant time-suck that accompanies games. Theoretically, a football game should run for about an hour, but what with commercials, commentary and timeouts, the one-hour game turns into a bloated three-hour affair.
Lastly, the show delays caused by the MLB playoffs in October really bug me. Yes, I’m super excited for the return of “House” in the fall, but two new episodes to start the season and then a month-long hiatus for the playoffs and the World Series? No thank you!
Now if you’ll excuse me, the puppies are calling. Yes, I’m watching the Puppy Bowl, what of it? Watching adorable puppies “playing” football is the perfect way to spend an hour on a Sunday afternoon, thank you very much. And before I go, I want to quickly thank everyone for their kind comments on my last column. Now back to the Puppy Bowl!