Out of Sync

Tomorrow’s the Super Bowl, it’s precise meaning beyond me. But I’ll get to chase my grandson around the living room and stuff my face with “mini bagel dogs” by Vienna. I’ll leave the conspiracies to those so inclined. Some folks are social drinkers; I’m more a social football fan. I don’t want anybody calling me a Communist over a perceived lack of gridiron enthusiasm. Only this year, I feel more out of sync than usual. You’ve got all these people going ga-ga over a combination of TV ads, halftime entertainment (full disclosure: I can’t even tell you who the entertainment is this year. Prince? The Stones?); and an excuse to eat/drink to excess. I might wash my mini bagel dogs down with some Green River, but that’s it. And it won’t get any better the day after, at least for me. The Chicago media can’t seem to help itself—there’s a stadium story to cover, dab gummit, and that’s what every local news outlet is going to do. I wonder how long until a reporter writes or utters those immortal words, “It’s a done deal” in regards a new White Sox stadium? I’d like Jerry Reinsdorf to spend his own money, and I’d like him to build an updated version of Comiskey Park. But that’s not going to happen. The more I want it to, the more I grow out of sync with the state of things.