I’m a football fan. It’s my favorite sport to watch, so I actually do watch the Super Bowl for the game…except that I rarely actually care about the outcome. And, since I have the tragic misfortune of being a Lions fan, I most likely never will. Sure, I wanted to see the Patriots get the historic 19-0 mark three years ago…and I was dating a Steelers fan a couple years ago, so I had a stake in Santonio Holmes putting a knife in the collective heart of Cardinals fans everywhere. But, for the most part, it’s pretty irrelevant to me. Although, assuming a normal distribution, the same is true for about 94% of all football fans each year, so maybe I should quit whining.
If right about now you’re trying to predict where this post is going and saying to yourself, “Here come the commercials,” you can just go ahead and launch that train of thought right off the tracks, preferably into some sort of mountainside which will result in a fiery comet of metal and bodies. (Whoa. That got violent quickly. Why are your thought trains so violent? Calm down. It’s not like this is the classic Steven Seagal action movie, Under Siege 2: Dark Territory. Spaz.) I will not be discussing any Super Bowl commercials. Well, maybe one:
If you don’t think that commercial was spectacular, you don’t have a pulse. And that’s not just my opinion; that’s a fact. It’s been proved empirically. I read about it on the interwebs. Over 100% of people who did not describe that commercial as spectacular also did not have a pulse. Seriously, I had chills watching that commercial. In fact as long as I have the link up, I’m gonna watch it again right now. Give me two minutes. Use this time to pretend to work. It’s Monday morning after all, and I hear your boss is a real jackass.
But no no no, I will not be the guy who blogs about Super Bowl commercials. That would be annoying and trite and inevitably hypercritical. Instead, I will spend my time incessantly picking on mistakes in the various performances involving people whose talent level is about 943% of mine. What can I say? Haters wanna hate.
I hate to do the obvious thing and start with Christina’s flub of the lyrics to the Star Spangled Banner. Wait, did I say I “I hate to”? I mean the opposite of that. That’s the perfect place to start. Let’s not be too hard on her, though. I mean, it’s not like she’s done it before. I’m sure she was just nervous because it was her first time, right? I mean, except for this time. And this time. And this time. Well, there goes that theory. Guess she just sucked.
Oh, calm down. She was fine. I’m just bitter because her little (read: egregious) lyrical mishap caused the rendition to only last 1:52, costing me my “over/under 1:54” prop bet…which I hypothetically would have made, if that sort of thing were legal in this country. I think Genieinabottle made gambling history there by allowing the first ever “backdoor cover by an anthem” moment. Whatever. It’s not like she did about as well as any 13-year-old girl could do.
Right after the stars and stripes, some football happened. I feel pretty confident in saying that, because I remember making several jokes about
Roth Roethels Roethlizbu Big Ben. I don’t have space to reprint all my thoughts on him here, but in sum: he’s a douche, and I feel pretty confident he assaulted that girl. On to the halftime show. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Fergie, Will.I.Am, and uh…that other guy and the Hispanic guy!
“Haaayyyyy, Fergie! What? Can’t hear you. Oh, it’s because your mic’s not on. Can someone just– there we go! That’s better.” I know, I know, not her fault. Nor is it the Black Eyed Peas’ problem that the “V” on their “LOVE” stage was malfunctioning (are we allowed to use the word “malfunction” around Super Bowl time now?) and didn’t light up, turning the field into the world’s largest “LOIE” sign. (I tried t
o think of a fake product that could be advertised with that acronym, but it’s late. And I’m tired. And it’s dark. And hell is hot.) Regardless, that’s bush league. The biggest sports spectacle on earth being held in a stadium that cost a hundred million dollars to build and you can’t get some decent engineers? Really? Did Fox hire this guy to rig up the set? On the plus side, unlike Fergie, referee Walt Anderson had an overactive mic, so we got to hear his conversation with Packers head coach Mike McCarthy during that idiotic coach’s challenge. I don’t think McCarthy knows the possession rules, which would be fine if he were a casual fan, but as a guy who gets paid to run a football team, he really ought to have at least a passing familiarity.
Aside from technical difficulties detracting from Fergie’s decidedly un-sexy shoulder pads (WTF?), it was a good halftime show. It’s nice to see the NFL has finally shaken off the gun shyness from seeing Janet Jackson’s titty enough to go back out on an extremely short limb and hire a relevant halftime act. As fun as it was to see Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey looking like middle-aged lesbians last year, it was still refreshing to see the Peas. And of course it was also fun to be Slash, whose appearance was apparently solely for the purpose of giving Fergie someone to dance up on. (Reader poll: Fergie in HD– your thoughts. Preliminary opinions that I heard were somewhere in the range of “eh” to “OH MY GOD IT’S THE CRYPTKEEPER!”)
Afterwards, some more football happened. Spoiler alert: now Aaron Rodgers gets to put on a championship belt for realsies. And then some guys talked about Brett Favre for much longer than anyone should be allowed, considering he was nowhere to be seen and hasn’t actually played in this game since 1998. I’m just glad I didn’t have to see his dick. Oh, and it’s possible there won’t be any football next season, which would be too bad. I really like the Super Bowl.