Not watching the Super
Bowl in this age of Trump would be like joining the Communist Party in the
1940s or ’50s. So, yes, I watched the
Super Bowl last night.
It was exciting, kind
of. I mean, baseball and more recently
the NFL have moved to shorten the length of their games, but the Super
Bowl? Never mind. By my unofficial clock, the game timed in at
3:50. That’s ten minutes short of four
hours, folks.
The idea behind sports
is to play the contest until one side wins; victory is dependent on action;
commercials interrupt the action and delay the whole purpose of the game. That’s why fans have grown tired of
ad-a-thons during regular season broadcasts.
But the Super Bowl is, literally, all about the ads. It’s hard—at least for simple me—to focus on
the game, switch my attention to the commercials, then go back to the
game. That’s why I can’t really say the
Eagles beating the Evil Empire of Tom Brady and Bill Belichick was totally
satisfying.
Don’t get me wrong. Anytime that talking turd of a head coach has
to face the media after a big loss is fun to watch; why God put so much talent
in so miserable a human being is beyond me.
So, Belichick and the always-smug Brady losing I do count that as a good
thing.
On the other hand,
the half-time entertainment is just a thing.
This year Justin Timberlake went through the motions. If he’s not on Saturday Night Live, I don’t
find Timberlake that engaging. A certain
daughter I have is reported to have been dancing on the couch in her apartment
during Timberlake’s performance. To each
his or her own, I guess.
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