I don’t care about the Super Bowl this year. I mean, I care about the important parts, like getting wasted and overeating and watching commercials, but I don’t care much about the game. To be honest, unless a cheerleader pops a boob out, I’ll likely spend most of the time playing Tecmo Super Bowl on my laptop.
And hypothetically speaking, let’s say a cheerleader did pop a boob out, and the cheerleader was actually attractive in a “former ballerina, but with boobs” way instead of in that “wrinkly at 28 from too much tanning booth time, smiling so big that it’s actually kind of a turnoff, but I’ll go for it anyway because she’s being really nice to me and it seems easy and I’m too lazy to actually work at charming a more interesting girl” way. What would it be, like two seconds of entertainment at that point? Two seconds I could catch on 400 different websites after the Super Bowl is over?
Ow! Damn it! I just pulled something. I was putting my feet up on the table, and I raised my leg too quickly and strained a muscle or something. Jesus, that stings. It’s like once you reach the age of 30, you have to think about every movement you’re going to make beforehand, so you don’t surprise your limbs.
Seriously though, a ballerina would be an excellent fit for me.
This Super Bowl matchup is one of the dullest in history. The Steelers have been there too many times, and the Packers have the most boring collection of players since the last time a Packers team went to the Super Bowl. If it weren’t for the 30% chance that Ben Roethlisberger might literally rape another player on the field during the game, I wouldn’t tune in at all.
Seriously, who’s the Packers running back again? Some mediocre backup who gets three yards per carry? Zzzzzzzzz. Wake me after the Black Eyed Peas get done singing cutesy late-90s slang terms into the microphone. Actually, no. Wait until the game’s over to wake me. If a man catches even the slightest glimpse of Fergie without using a mirror to do so, he may turn to stone.
Keith Urban playing the pre-game concert is almost as bad. It seems winning a Grammy is now a confirmation that your band completely blows. Once you win three of them, like Urban, you get to lip sync in front of a record-breaking global audience, to solidify your lameness for all of eternity.
If you win six Grammys, like the Black Eyed Peas, your band should be quietly drowned in a bathtub backstage to keep the number of gag-worthy pop songs for middle-aged housewives at a reasonable level.
Tape the Super Bowl commercials for me, though. I wouldn’t want to miss that nearly identical “chick pretending to almost expose half an inch of cleavage” commercial that GoDaddy has aired the past five years, or E-Trade’s obnoxious talking baby commercials. If we’re lucky, this time the talking baby will be mauled by the family dog and buried in the yard.
There are only a few things I can think of that might make this Super Bowl exciting. First, replacing announcers Joe Buck and Troy Aikman with a four-hour-long audio track of farting noises, and replacing sideline reporter Pam Oliver with a disembodied, floating set of teeth, since that’s all we notice when she’s on the screen anyway. If Fox could also give Frank Caliendo a plane ticket to the wrong city so we don’t have to see his terrible “this impression would be mildly believable if I weren’t so damn fat” impressions, that would be greatly appreciated.
An alternative entertainment option is to have a live grizzly bear parachute into the end zone every time a touchdown is scored, where it will devour the defensive player who allowed the touchdown. We could dispose of the entire Packers special teams in one quarter. Officials could also, in addition to challenges, allow each head coach two beatings per half, for when they think the other coach was out of line or his players were taking cheap shots. Just the chance of seeing a good baseball bat to the knees would keep me glued to the set.
That, or they could just replace the Packers with a decent team so it’s not boring. Y’know, since everyone already knows the Packers will get steamrolled like a turd in a Playdoh machine. I suppose I could be wrong. The Packers could overcome their complete lack of a running game, as well as their complete lack of ability to defend against the run, and Pittsburgh’s entire team could die in a plane crash, allowing the Packers to squeak out a slim victory, but that seems unlikely.
If I’m wrong, may God or Jesus or Miscellaneous Deity of the Decade burden me with diarrhea for a week straight. If I’m right, may every person in Wisconsin owe me a beer the next time they see me at the Brewhouse. Get those oatmeal stouts ready, because I’m a thirsty man.