I once knew a woman who won a pair of tickets to the Super Bowl, but spent the afternoon sitting on the bus, in the parking lot of the stadium. She just wasn’t a football fan, but she was fine with the pre-game pomp.
The same woman, a few years later, recorded the game on her VCR, then fast-forwarded the action and slowed it down only for the commercials.
Both stories astonished me. But they spoke to the reason that, as the late Bill Walton once said, “the real national holiday is the day they play the Super Bowl.”
It seems as if everyone is taken by the Super Bowl, which, this year, provides extra flavor for us in these parts as the Patriots are playing in their 12th one. People who know nothing about football go dashing up and down the aisles at the supermarket, loading up on snacks that would make nutritionists die of heart failure.
Not only that, you can park your keister on the couch from noon to midnight and learn all about which starchy snacks taste better — and have the loudest crunch; which sugar drink refreshes best; which car offers the best deal, and so on. There are the usual car commercials and Clydesdale ads that compete for the most achingly cute. (Personally, I like puppies.)
By the way, if you ever find yourself at a Super Bowl, be warned you don’t see those multi-million dollar commercials on the big screen. You just see a lot of NFL promo ads.
By the time the entire TV package is complete, and turned into a total production, the game is almost secondary to everything else. And to those of us who actually enjoy football, that is awfully irritating.
So are halftime shows. I’ve seen the whole evolution, from college marching bands to Anita Bryant and Up With People to Bad Bunny. Things began to change in the ’90s with New Kids on the Block kicking off the decade in 1991. By 2002, U2 was playing “Where the Streets Have No Name” and “Beautiful Day” in one of the best ones I remember.
I saw two up close and personal: Tom Petty and Madonna (a spectacular production). I missed Janet Jackson thanks to knee surgery.
What people need to understand is that the halftime show — expanded by almost 15 minutes compared to the usual 12 — is only there so the football fan can go out to the kitchen, make a plate of food, and still have enough time to tend to the necessary. And that’s it. Captain Kangaroo could stand there for 20 minutes and it wouldn’t matter to me.
All of which reminds me of another phenomenon: Super Bowl parties and their menus. Why is it that on any other Sunday, we can bury ourselves in a bag of Doritos, have a ham sandwich at halftime, maybe drink a couple of beers, and have everything cleaned up by the fourth quarter?
But Lord Almighty, all of a sudden, we consult cooking websites and cooking columns for advice on what to prepare. Are you kidding me? A nice plate of macaroni and cheese is all you need if you want to get fancy. But people make these exotic dishes they would never serve to anyone else on a dare. The game usually ends around 10:30 p.m. and those who host these shindigs are up to the wee hours of the morning cleaning up. It takes less time on Thanksgiving, with twice the crowd.
As I love to say, nothing exceeds like excess.
Finally, since the game’s on NBC this year, it’s C-o-l-l-i-n-s-w-o-r-t-h. Where do you see a G? You don’t. So, why do people insist on pronouncing it with a G? It was the same way with quarterback Fran Tarkenton. Nobody, not even the late, venerable Curt Gowdy could keep from saying “Tarkington.”
All the hoopla in the universe can’t equal one David Tyree catch, one Malcolm Butler interception, one Leon Lett fumble on the goal line after showboating all the way downfield, or one Santonio Holmes game-winning catch. I understand the need to broadcast highly-rated sporting events, but let’s not get ridiculous.
I love puppies and horses, too. But I wish they’d concentrate on football when broadcasting football games.
