Dropping the Bowl

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I have reached a point in life that I never anticipated. It is unexpected, difficult to accept, and to some degree painful to talk about.

This is somewhat embarrassing for a red-blooded American man to admit. I certainly won’t volunteer it in either polite or impolite company.

But here it is; I may have watched my last Super Bowl.

There it is. I actually wrote the words. I’m on the record. And now I must explain my reasons for this betrayal of American sportsmanship.

The decision (which is still provisional) came to me after the 2019 game in which New England beat Los Angeles 13-3. By any standard, it was a boring event. And that is just the actual football part. A championship game that features three field goals and one touchdown is decidedly a demonstration of offensive futility.

But beyond the boredom of the play, it was made more boring by how interrupted it was by commercials, reviews of plays, and a halftime show that seemed to last forever. I honestly can’t remain focused on a sporting event that has more interruptions than sporting action.

And for the most part, the interruptions were sophomoric.

Perhaps there were viewers who were thrilled by the lead singer of Maroon Five taking off his shirt and strutting around in his semi-buff torso and tattoos. And he was better than the rap stuff. Not my cup of tea.

In fact, I must now make a serious personal confession. My wife and I take dance lessons and not long ago did a routine to a Maroon Five song: “Moves Like Jagger.” I solemnly promise never again to go down that shameful road.

But returning to the Super Bowl, perhaps the problem with the halftime show is people want to make it more than the break in a football game is designed for.  Why all the massive production?  I’d rather see (and hear) the marching band from the University of Illinois.

But just to be fair, there was one positive musical note in the eight hours of pre, during, and post coverage: Gladys Knight singing the National Anthem. God bless her for singing the song with maturity, dignity, grace, and talent.

Then there are the commercials. The brilliant advertising agencies that designed the ads clearly were not targeting me. I don’t like robots. I don’t care what Hollywood stars drink. I don’t drink beer.

Looking back on the majority of the commercials – even those that were faintly amusing – I can’t remember what they were selling. I guess being cute and clever is more important than selling chips and cars.

I watched the game until the boring end, then skipped the award ceremony and thought about better ways I could have spent the previous several hours. Here are a few of the preferred options…

  1. Adoration before the Blessed Sacrament.
  2. Engage in some solid spiritual reading.
  3. Talk a walk with my wife.
  4. Sort out my fishing tackle so I’m ready for spring.
  5. Clean out all the old files on my computer.
  6. Watch an old movie that doesn’t have graphic violence or naked people.
  7. Play with the grandkids.
  8. Clean the garage.
  9. Go dancing.
  10. Write another blog.

Those are some of the options I’m considering. Of course, if the Bears make it to the Super Bowl next year, all of this sanctimonious and superior posturing goes out the window. In that event, I’ll be glued in front of the TV and will put up with whatever stupid ways people come up with to sell hamburgers and roasted nuts. And I’ll enjoy the halftime show with the band Chicago and the Blues Brothers.

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