We have never seen a Super Bowl game. In fact, we didn’t even know the annual occasion had rolled ‘round again until we saw a mention of it on the Fox website.
Baron: This was Super Bowl Sunday. Did you know the Colts aren’t in Baltimore anymore?
Dymphna: Where are they?
Baron: I’m not sure. But they played the Super Bowl this year.
Which reminds me of the time I brought the fB to a friend’s house. At the time he was about eight years old and, as you know, hadn’t been exposed to television much. He saw an ad for the Super Bowl and asked me how big this “super” bowl was, because it sure did seem to have a lot of taco chips in it.
Needless to say, our friend was horrified. She warned me against the folly of having the fB grow up ignorant of important cultural events. I’m sure I said something polite at the time. However, now free to hang it out on our blog, I will admit similar sentiments to those of Maverick Philosopher, who calls it “Stupor Bowl Sunday.” Wish I’d thought of that.
Here’s his outlook:
I won’t be watching the game. I don’t even know which teams are playing. Undoubtedly there is more to football than I comprehend. But the games are nasty, brutish, but not short, and I know all I need to know about the implements of shaving.
As for the buxom wenches who strut their stuff during the half-time show, the less I stoke the fire below the better.
I am no fan of spectator sports in general. We have too many sports spectators and too many overpaid professional louts. I preach the People’s Sports, despite the leftish ring of that.
Remove your sorry tail from the couch of sloth and start a softball league with your friends and neighbors.
He has a bit more to say about our sloth and indolence, but I’ll leave it to you to go see his final suggestion.
Meanwhile, it’s nice to know we have kindred spirits out there.
By the way, does anyone remember Andy Griffith’s routine, “What It Was, Was Football”? That about sums up the subject.