The True Meaning of Super Sunday

While trying to come up with ideas for this week’s blog, I enlisted the help of the lovely and talented Nebraska Cheri.  She practically begged me to write a blog about sports and the “Big Game” played on Sunday.  Could it be that interacting with me for these past five years has turned her into a raging sports enthusiast, or was she just trying to divert me from my other idea of using rides at Disneyland to describe the various sexual lives of people I know?  It’s hard to guess really, but the reason why is inconsequential.  I aim to give my audience what it wants, especially when it has such great legs and cute painted toenails.

Side Note:  All of you Splash Mountain types (slow, methodical foreplay followed by a quick, giant “splash” of ecstasy, ended by a meandering anti-climax) should send Cheri something nice for guiding me away from that topic.

Super Bowl XLIX.  The NFL Championship.  The Big Enchilada.  What can I say about this year’s game?  I could join the masses and angrily demand, “Why didn’t you run the ball, Seahawks!?”… even though at the end of the first half, the Seahawks decided to throw the ball with just 6 seconds and until it worked fans were yelling, “Why aren’t you kicking the field goal, Seahawks!?”  Perhaps the results of the play color the perception?  Perhaps if the last throw had been a success it would have been the greatest call of all time?

To put it succinctly, I don’t much like acting like a petulant teenager and whine when things don’t go my way.  The Patriots’ player Butler made a better play than the Seahawks’ Lockette.  End of story.  Stop the second guessing already.

 I could join the media and slurp the undercarriage of Tom Brady… even though of his 4 touchdowns only 2 were really decent throws and 1 was an obvious offensive pass interference push-off by Edelman.  Plus his first interception was just a poor decision and his second interception looked very similar to the end of game interception thrown by Wilson.  Defender makes break on ball, outplays receiver, gets interception.  Perhaps Brady isn’t the greatest quarterback ever?  Perhaps his career has been defined by his good fortune to play for a brilliant head coach, and an organization that has mastered the ability to cheat?  Perhaps we should stop counting wins by a team as the property of a quarterback, and stop looking at yardage and completion percentage when the distance he actually threw the ball was consistently shorter than how far my 7-year-old nephew can toss a pigskin?

To put it bluntly, I don’t much like quarterbacks (including Wilson of the ‘Hawks) getting so much credit for a team’s victories.  It may be, as the media proclaims as truth, the “most important position on the field,” but it’s also the position that is most dependent on other players.  A slow arching 7 yard pass on the outside shoulder, “where only his guy can catch it,” type of throw is still an incomplete pass if the receiver drops it.  Great pocket presence still relies on five individual guys blocking to form said pocket.  So no, I won’t be cupping Brady’s deflated balls and proclaiming him the greatest QB ever.

I could go on a rant about people who take football so seriously that a Super Bowl loss actually puts them into depression, or a fit of rage where they proclaim they are no longer, “good company to be around.”  It’s just a game, and you didn’t play in it.  Relax.  I could also rant about fans of winning teams over-celebrating and looking like compete asses (again, same held true last year when my team won).  But those societal idiots are just not worth my time in the same way that staunch extremist conservatives and liberals aren’t worth my time.  The sports truth of this game is somewhere between the extremes of, “This was the worst choke ever,” and, “This was the greatest victory ever!”  Just like the political truth is somewhere between, “Obamacare will open a dimension to Hell that will swallow all true Americans into a lake of fire,” and, “The Affordable Care Act is God’s hand protecting us through the wisdom of our President.”

Okay, so that was a small rant.

So, Cheri, what I really want to say about the Super Bowl is this:  The family game of Trivial Pursuit was a lot of laughs as my mother-in-law pulled correct answers out of her bum, and the siblings fought over whose turn it was to read the question.  I baked a Crescent Pizza Ring recipe I had seen on Facebook and it was delicious.  My mother-in-law and brother-in-law made a chili out of every bit of leftovers they could find without mold on it.  We drank Cokes mixed with toasted caramel flavored whiskey and judged the commercials like we were handing out Oscars.  We watched the halftime show and swore we were on LSD.  And yea, we high-fived every Seahawk touchdown and slumped at every Patriot score.

Because watching the Super Bowl isn’t about a bunch of guys playing a game that is sometimes slow and boring.  Or listening to former players/coaches analyze the game.

The Super Bowl is an excuse to gather with friends and family, to enjoy each other’s company, and to ignore the stresses of those things which really do matter with the fluffery of something that truly doesn’t matter in the slightest.  It’s Christmas, without the religious rituals and expectations of gifts.  It’s Thanksgiving, without the six hours of cooking time.  It’s a birthday, without the reminders the birthday person is one year closer to death.

And if you’re my mom, it’s an excuse to stare at an athlete’s ass.


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