The hoopla was nothing less than I expected. For two weeks, we heard about the nefarious
acts with which the players were involved.
One player was alleged to have made a comment about gays in football,
and another was allegedly involved with a murder some years ago. Forget all the steroid use, dog-fighting,
philandering, bounty-hunting, and substance abuse by other sainted players in
the NFL.
Then we were overdosed by the validity of the teams actually playing in this contest. Some aficionados of the sport felt these two teams should not be playing because they were the teams with the “best” records. That’s the fault of the endless playoffs, no the teams.
It seems the coaches were also blood brothers. Countless interviews with their parents were
designed to evoke emotions trying to favor one brother over the other. Too bad Mom and Dad did not cave – even after
the game. Neither did the brothers. Apparently they now have their own
differences and have not contacted one another after this contest.
But the big story is that Beyonce, the big half-time show
performer, sang and grabbed her crotch – a la Michael Jackson. The week prior, she performed at the
presidential inauguration and lip-synced the words to the National Anthem. It appears as though she found her voice and
actually sang during the Super Bowl. That’s
magical! Hooray!
Just after the beginning of the second half of the game, an
electrical failure darkened the stadium forcing a 35-minute delay of game. This respite in the hoopla gave both teams
time to reflect on the lop-sided score, thereby prolonging the lives of both
coaches whose health conditions were likely guarded.
No Super Bowl would be complete without the anticipation of
the various ads promised to be aired.
Days before this game, one-hour television shows running commercials –
interrupted only by other commercials – ran in order to reflect on ads from
years gone by. Yes, one hour of solid
commercials; how delightful.
People who crazed over new ad spots could care less about
the game itself, only to elate in the fact previously unseen commercials were
entertaining them in lieu of the action.
Personally, I don’t even remember the commercials because I left the
room when they were being aired.
Then there were those ‘alternative’ shows to the Super
Bowl. For those not interested in the
football game and Beyonce, there was entertainment in the form of The Puppy
Bowl IX, The Lingerie Bowl, and the Sky Angle network airing Paul McCartney
singing “Hey Jude.” Welcome to America
For those who just awoke from a coma, the San Francisco
Seriously – The Puppy Bowl?
