The Stupor Bowl

God. I’m glad I’ve got stuff to do. It’s Super Bowl Sunday. The game doesn’t begin till sometime long after 6:30, which is when it allegedly starts on TV, which isn’t the same as when the game starts. The game will take an abnormally long time, but it’s a drag race compared to the pregame show, which, on ESPN, is prattling on even now.

If I watched all this, how could I possibly watch the game? On the other hand, if I edit a manuscript, and blog, and read, and play my guitar, and the hype is on TV but I’m not really watching it, not all the banalities will permeate my brain. I’ll just get a little satirical trickle, and that’s what I’m looking for, a little hype buzz. I don’t want addiction here. It would be like being addicted to The Young and the Restless or something. Or having my soul taken over by Chris Berman.

Damn it, I’m interested in the game, but I’m not going to turn this National – buh-buh-buh-BUH! – Football League championship game into a presidential election. I’ve got a laptop, an iPhone and a guitar, and I know how to use them to keep the Orwellian impulses of the NFL at bay.

Just for a point of reference, I looked up at the TV just now, and “Manning Passing Academy 2005” was emblazoned across the screen. Later I’m expecting: (1.) The Heartbreak of Having a Brother Who’s a Quarterback, Too; (2.) What’s Great About Having a Brother Who’s a Quarterback, Too; (3.) Peyton: Eli Will Rally; (4.) Eli: My Big Brother Is Going to Win; and (5.) Archie: I Love Both My Boys the Same.

That’s only a small, pre-Richard Sherman segment of the coverage.

I love football. I’m American. But some of this Super Bowl coverage ought to be un-American.

Oh, wait, I forgot. There are sports bars crowded with drunks, and today, for the first time, there may be weed parties crowded with stoners.

I mean, in the TV coverage.

I’m rooting for the Broncos. Colorado’s got weed already. Maybe my opinion of the Mariners will rise later, once Washington fires up. As Peyton Manning would say, Boston, hurry, hurry!

Meanwhile, in Colorado, it’s medicate, medicate, dance to the muuuuusic.


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