The Superbowl is lackluster for me this year. It just doesn't feel right without the Patriots in it. I was pleased to see in the pre-show festivities they asked Bill Belichik to highlight what sucks about each team that is playing, and then show what he thought may catapult them to success tonight. His hair was so grody and silky. I love him. When I think of all the people I want to get drunk with, he tops my list. Rodney Harrison is there tonight in the booth and speaks of his fateful attempt to bring down Tyree last year, and I get sad for a moment. He says he replays that moment in his head over and over. So do we, Rodney. He is wearing a bad sweater in the taped recap interview, but I still feel for him despite his obvious fashion faux-pas. I think he is very cute and I want to give him a hug. Then they show Eli Manning and I find myself recoil in disgust at the dopey looking man-child. The Mannings are scuzzy, save for Peyton's SNL skit about mentoring children in football. I held him in an Andy Sandberg light for five minutes, but then he went back to being the dickslap he is.
The Steelers are messy. I view them as pipe fitters and miners. Boils on their backs the size of Milk Duds. Fans that enjoy nitrates and saturated fats immensely. The Terrible Towels remind me of ShamWow. That is what holds my interest. I bet they have a booth set up in Tampa at the NFL experience. Again, I miss my chance to meet the ShamWow guy. I know nothing of the other team save for the Kurt Warner fairytale story. He plays arena ball, stops playing, stocks cans of Jolly Green Giant beans and picks up his wife in aisle four. He gets to play again, puts his anger of canned veggies to good use and brings his team to #43. But he is all ferociously Jesusy and that negates any interest I have in him and his tale of triumph. Once you throw religion into the mix of professional sports I am all done.
Maybe next year.