Super Blog Sunday

I woke up and had to look up what time the game starts. Yeah, that's how much I care about the Super Bowl. The Super Bowl is the New Year's Eve of sporting events--it should be great, but, for whatever reason, typically sucks. Too much hype, not enough substance. As far as I'm concerned, the Super Bowl is great for one reason: It means baseball is right around the corner. I'd rather watch bad baseball than great football any day of the week--unless the Bears are involved, then I'd need a radio for the baseball broadcast.

I passed out on the couch Saturday night, which happens every so often. I'm supposing my bed missed me the night before, so I stumbled over to my bedroom and crawled under the covers. Very comfy. I picked up "The Glory of Their Times" by Lawrence S. Ritter, one of the best sports books ever. It's an oral history told by the greats who played in the Big Leagues around the turn of the century, back when players were ordinary folks, not unapproachable supermen-millionaires. Without exception, the two modern players (modern for them--Ritter began compiling the interviews in 1961) whose abilities most impressed the old timers were Willie Mays and Sandy Koufax. Who would disagree with those selections? Forty years later, and I'd still agree with them. I wonder which modern player would have really caught the attention of a guy like George Sisler? Probably Roger Clemens and (I grind my teeth as I type it) Albert Pujols; maybe Greg Maddux and Ichiro.

Once I finished the remaining 40 pages or so, I showered and watched some t.v. Everyone knows how brutal the 120-hour Super Bowl pre-game shows are, so I won't even go there. It's not that I'm sour on the Super Bowl, it's that I've already heard the starting line-ups and what to look for at least two hundred times by now. Get on with the game already. The only other options were a boring NBA game, a marginal NCAA game, and not much else. History of Mexican-American food on the History Channel. "Clueless" on Comedy Central. Not much news-wise. Exchanged a couple text messages with the girl I've been seeing. Ignored a couple calls from my brother and mom.

After abandoning my attempt to avoid Super Bowl coverage (which is an impossible task when your fingers reflexively punch in the ESPNs), I turned my attention to Cubs season 94 on MVP Baseball 2004 dynasty mode. They should name future MVP Baseball World Series trophies "The Paddy Award," because that game is my bitch. I don't even play the games at this point; I run the draft, sign free agents, pull some trades, and run the simulator. I grew tired of the game months ago, but I'm addicted. It's a bigger challenge at this point to win the AAA and AA playoffs, so I've been focusing on the farm teams lately. After a little while, I flipped back over to t.v. As fate would have it, ESPN had an ad for MVP 06 NCAA Baseball--done! Impulse buys account for approximately 95% of all my consumer decisions. I grabbed my iPod, threw on a coat, and headed to the store.

It was pretty nice today; cool and clear, not too windy. It was like a ghost town, though; everyone presumably at Super Bowl parties. I went to Starbucks, then CompUSA. College 2006 was unfortunately out of stock. Crap. Maybe Best Buy this week, if the impulse rears its ugly head again. One funny thing: "You Gotta Be Startin' Something" by Michael Jackson was blasting from the large iPod display near the front door. So, on my way out, I did a little jig, and the previously bored security guard laughed at the nutty white guy. What can I say? I try.

Hunger dawned on me when I got outside. Despite the many dining options right outside my front door, I still feel the need to make an occasional McDonald's call. It's gross but good. As I crossed the street, Seamus called me to inform of my brother's misbehaviors of the night before. No surprises there--that's why I didn't go out with him last night. I can't make him stop being a dick, so I get out of the way. I advised Seamus to do the same, and then hung up on him so I could order and be home for kickoff.

I went in and ordered two #2s without onions, supersized. Why two meals? It is, after all, Super Bowl XL, and since the game might be as uninteresting as many Super Bowls of the past, I figured at least one thing about the day should be huge and awesome. Walked home and went back upstairs. Wolfed down the burgers and fries. Good and gross at the same time, as expected.

The game starts.

Seesaw non-action. Ho-hum. Field goal. 3-0, Seattle.

Second quarter.

Madden: "I've never seen quarterbacks in a Super Bowl as cool as these two guys." Maybe they're as bored as I am of these limitless commercial breaks.

What am I supposed to do during the 45-minute halftime show? I'm sitting here alone, there's nothing else on, and I'm not going to call someone to say, "Wow! A defensive first half! How unexciting!" Why are the Rolling Stones performing at the half? Shouldn't it be a Motown revue, or an Eminem and Kid Rock duet, or something somehow related to Detroit? Can you still smoke in Detroit bars? Did they tear down Tiger Stadium?

Commercials, two plays, commercials. Stifled yawn. Contemplating a potty break. Holding it--something to do at halftime.

Antwaan Randle-El just broke his back. Maybe it's not broken, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was. We'll see that replay for the rest of our lives. Fast, barbaric, violent--it could be part of the new NFL Films intro. Anyway, somebody get that guy a cortisone drip; he'll need one in the morning for the rest of his life.

Roethlisberger launched a bomb to Ward near the goal line. It was something you definitely tried on the playground, especially when you had a 10 second blitz count. Sometimes good players get lucky when other good players mess up; so goes sports. Big Ben runs it in. Oh--no, did he? Replay. Call stands. 7-3, Steelers.

Hasselbeck dumps to Alexander on the sideline; Tyrone Carter rips off Alexander's shoe. What a pussy move. Timeouts. Alexander's shoe notwithstanding, very little hurry-up in Seattle's hurry-up. Don't they know there's only 30.5 minutes left in the season?!

Halftime.

I'm glad the game is finally gotten on with, after all the nonsense. My excitement for the Super Bowl would be exponentially higher if it weren't for stupid media week. Last Saturday, I was totally ready for football. But, by Wednesday, I couldn't wait to get on with it. What's the point of the week off? The talking-head response is: So the players can go home and spend time with their families before the biggest event of their lives. Judging by all the heavy comments in the week (weeks, actually) leading up to the game, you would think that these men were on the precipice of performing these valiant deeds on behalf of humankind. It's a football championship, people. It's not going to feed the hungry or give sight to the blind.

I played MVP Baseball for almost the whole break. What'd the Stones play? Would I have even remembered by lunchtime tomorrow? No. So, I'm good with missing it. Also, I started a new baseball book. I won't reveal which one. A shroud of mystery descends...


First drive of the half, huge run by Willie Parker. 14-3, Steelers. Next stop: Blowoutsville?

What to do after the game--Grey's Anatomy (ha!) or get groceries? (Groceries.) Another schmaltzy Clydsdale commercial. Three-way tie for my least favorite things: Budweiser beer; Budweiser ads; Budweiser baseball (a.k.a. the St. Louis Cardinals).

Nice pass from Hasselbeck to Stephens. 14-10, Steelers. Nineteen minutes left. All of a sudden, the game draws me back in. John Madden's broadcasts are like jam band music: It's not what he says, but how he says it, that conjures the greatness.

A few years ago, Barron's ran a cover cartoon parodying Gillette's apparent business strategy for the new millenium, depicting a frightening-looking disposable razor with twenty blades. Well folks, it's good to see that, once again, the world is one step closer to having comedy become reality. "The All-New Gillette Fusion: We Just Keep Adding More Blades." I wonder what they'll come up with for next year? I bet they add another blade. It's not like trowing on additional blades means you won't have to go over certain areas four or five times. I gave up after the Mach3--I find it to be more than enough razor for me personally. Also, I like the vibrating one--it just floats across your skin; it's nice (like my wife). Hey, wait, there's a football game on...

My mom called; I answered. "Hi! No, I don't particularly care who wins. You pulling for anybody? Of course I'm sitting in front of the t.v. Yeah, I'm eating snacks. Sure, I'll call back after the game. Love ya, bye."

Fourth quarter.

Long bomb, touchdown, Big Ben to Hines Ward. 21-10, Steelers. Another bathroom break.

The urge to play video games is overwhelming me at this juncture. My solution is to throw the remote into a corner, which will force me to watch the rest of this game. After all, the future of the free world hangs in the balance of this contest, or so we've been lead to believe.

The Steelers are on cruise control. Maybe go over to the couch for a while? Forget it. Make more popcorn. Pop Secret Homestyle with a splash of paprika. It's the best.

I'd like to be familiar with the ABC actors on these public service announcements, but I can't remember the last time I watched a show on ABC. Oh wait, "Boston Legal" from time to time. (Good show.) By the way, the big secret in the show "Lost" is...nah, I'm not that big of a jerk.

Pittsburgh's got this one in the bag. Four minutes left. Why is the Steelers' logo only on the right side of their helmets? That's always bothered me.

One minute left. Why is Seattle throwing up the middle? They did a shoddy job of managing the clock from the very first snap; that'll kill you every time. The Seahawks go for it big--another pass up the middle--a completion, but still the middle. Madden keeps saying, "You take one shot at the end zone, then you try a field goal and onsides kick." They should have gone for the field goal thirty seconds ago; now they've got no chance of an onsides kick or any kind of miracle. An inbounds sideline catch, another downfield completion, and utter confusion at Hasselbeck's line. Clock runs out. Steelers take XL, 21-10.

Re-read the post; looks good. Not a bad game, I suppose, but just another game all the same. Aw yeah, the grocery store is open for another hour...thank God for a rare short Super Bowl.