Cherry-popping goodness

ok so that was a bit of a gross title, BUT....it finally happened. the freshness seal has been pulled back, the cherry has been squeezed, popped, and juiced....

I lost my superbowl virginity.

This was the very first superbowl I've ever watched. Up till now I've been able to avoid it- multiple tv's, big house, more girls in my family than boys, gay friends- I had all the excuses. There was no sneaky-sporting tactic I couldn't use to avoid getting tackled (see, sports reference!) by that tacky mess.

Yes, I said tacky mess.

my problem was never REALLY the sport, but all the fuss around it. The pre-game show. the pre-kickoff-show. The halftime show. The post game show. and all the commentary leading up to it, following it, during it- yammering old guys in ugly ties philosophising on a sporting event that really, how much is there to talk about? Honestly. It's a bunch of guys and a ball. Yes, I get it's difficult, I get that it's exciting and interesting and yada yada but HONEST TO GOD, how much is there to say???? I'd rather the bouncing buxom blond bimbos of the slut-squad cheered their way around the field and into prepubecent boys happy-pants fantasy's than have to listen to retired-stars, coaches, and yahoos wax poetic about nothing.

BUt I digress.

This year, as I live with A Guy, it was on the one and only tv in our open concept and thin walled apartment. His buddies were in our living room, the beer was in the fridge, and there was really no way to escape it. So I sat, watched, and tried to figure it out.

And it wasn't bad. the football itself was interesting- although I got a little annoyed with the constant starting and stopping, and you have to wonder if the players get pissed when they ahve to take 'scheduled tv breaks' for commercials to play so the game can be broadcast in real time. Wouldn't it make for more exciting tv if they co-ordinated the commericals with the endless time-outs and clock-stops? Who knows. And while i still dont' entirely get the fanatical devotion that leads men who look like they're in their 3rd trimester with triplets to strip down to spanky pants and prance about in fullb ody paint, I have to say the last 2 minutes of the game were exciting. As soon as it stopped being a foregone conclusion that the Patriots would win, suddenly, I wanted to watch! So maybe my point is that if all those pundits would just keep their mouths shut a bit more, and leave some of the mystery in the outcome, I'd want to watch more; if it's endlessly discussed and debated and scientifically analyazed until you are 99.9 per cent sure one side is going to win, what's the point of sitting throuhg 3 hours of fumbles and chatter and coaches in hooded-t-shirts strutting around the sidelines looking very official with their little headsets?

Although, gotta say, the most entertaining part of the whole thing was watching the people watching the game. Namely my roommate M and his friends W and C. Now, these are all fairly normal people (well, except for C of course ;)). Nice guys who have female friends, will go to the gay club, and in the case of M will actually volunteer to see 27 Dresses (which was a mess in and of itself. I just want to smack that grays anatomy bitch, seriously. Although her co-star was delightful). And yet, when that game comes on, suddenly they're neanderthals leaping around my living room. While, not leaping so much as yelling, ranting, and beer swilling. There's osmething hugely amusing about a touchdown or soemthign equally exciting leading to M yelling, punching his fist, and then smacking himself in the thigh so hard the thwack roused me out of my mikes-hard-lemonade-and-joint stupour. Almost as amusing as when three minutes later he mutters 'I hurt my hand'.

There's something insane about fanatical events that lead to self flaggelation ;)