Ever since Sunday, September 12, I have not had one Sunday during which I accomplished anything of productive means except for the watching football on our low rider couch and the occasional late afternoon trip to Super Duper Weenie.
So it is with mixed emotions that I greet this year’s Super Bowl. I am happy that the Eagles are playing, sad that now I have no excuse for being lazy on Sundays, but mostly angry that Doug Brien is the worst professional kicker in the league and happens to be on the Jets payroll.
This being said, my love affinity for the pigskin does know several bounds, extremes to which I just cannot bring myself to participate in…mainly as a result of health and sanitation concerns. For example, my freshman year experience of the Super Bowl at Fairfield was New England vs. St. Louis. After the Pats won an insane playoff game against the Steelers in the snow, my guy friends were relishing in their obnoxious Boston Pride. For game day, they were outfitted with five T.V.’s, two set up so John Madden could be played between commercials and one in the bathroom, Dominos on speed dial for orders every hour, empty cardboard tubes slipped over their biceps for God knows what reason other than to have another surface to write PATS RULE on, eight coolers and a keg strategically located in various areas of the rooms, and every piece of Boston apparel on that they owned from Red Sox flags to Boston Bruin blankets draped over shoulders. In this situation I could understand the need for multiple TVs but found the rest of the night’s festivities gross, not to mention disturbing fact that one of my friends actually ate three dozen hot wings in 15 minutes.
Furthermore, I will never get so excited about a football win that I decide to strip my clothes off and go jumping in the snow while howling that my team rules (many have tried but I fail to see the appeal). I will never pee my pants over a close field goal attempt, wear the same underwear on game day for 17 weeks without a wash, or like the Eagles fan James Philips shovel snow for 30 hours straight without gloves on and happily loose all tactile extremities plus an ear all for the sake of the game. Go Eagles!
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