I was pleased that Super Bowl XLVI between the New England Patriots and the New York Giants was a very competitive game that could have gone either way down to the very last play. Yet, I have no intention to invest $99.99 in the Trophy Collection Bundle even though my team, the New York Giants, won 21-17.
I must confess that had the Giants lost to the San Francisco 49ers in the NFC Championship Game two weeks ago, “my” team would have still won. This is because I was born and raised in San Francisco where my father and brother taught me how the game was played when I was a very tender age — around four or five. Considering how complicated the rules are to football, one might say that the main men in my family bestowed me with quite a gift. I suppose it is a pity that the gift I was bestowed was not something more useful in the game of life such as learning a second language, playing an instrument or negotiating a raise that results in being paid a living wage.
Without the patient tutelage of my dad and brother, I would probably be another clueless type declaring the game boring instead of what I am, an out of my mind maniac screaming my lungs out at the TV whenever my team fails to make a play, receives a penalty, or I disagree with the officiating.
Although I am not very sentimental, when I moved to New York in 1982 to earn my BFA in Film at NYU(seless), one of the mementos I packed that I have saved through the years is this ticket stub from January 10, 1982 when I was in Candlestick Park watching the 1981 NFC Championship Game between the 49ers and the Dallas Cowboys.
This was the most exciting and memorable football game I have ever seen in my life – coincidentally this is not the sort of factoid I reveal about myself on a first date unless I’m dating someone I hope to never see again. This same ticket for that same seat would have cost $154 for this year’s NFC Championship Game when the Giants beat the Niners.
Sentimental sap aside, there is so much that I utterly loathe about football, especially the pretension leading to the Super Bowl. What gets on my nerves is the pompous battle music, the frenzy concocted by the NFL that infects the media, the ridiculous hoopla, the endless hype, and the solemn Voice of God narrators recounting highlights from previous games with a degree of reverence one would expect for the career of an illustrious head of state. Do not get me started on the use of the Roman numerals. What the hell is that about? Is there supposed to be some Ben-Hur connection? It’s just a game and if viewers are lucky it won’t be a lopsided blowout. On the other hand, I suppose this sport is good for the economy, but it baffles me who could afford the price of tickets in this economy, but somehow the stadiums are always packed.
On Saturday I relented and tuned into what I refer to as Day Before the Big Game Bullshit. One of the segments was about the Super Bowl ads that would run during the game. This year a thirty-second spot cost $3.5 million. I wonder how many more bags of Doritos Frito-Lay expects to sell by running their Super Bowl ads, but I will admit that their spot, Man’s Best Friend, was my favorite – not that this will motivate me to eat Doritos.
As for Madonna strutting what’s left of her stuff during the half-time show, I did wince when she seemed to lose her footing climbing up a step and made a few other awkward dance moves. Ever the trooper, Madge continued to hoof and I popped an Aleve in sympathy. My back was aching just from watching her, but fortunately I made a recovery in time for the second half of nail-biting and screaming.