NEW YORK, NY – Cheesy Bruin’s life is resembling a sad country song this week; intestinal issues, marital strife, his dog turning its back on him – if the man had a horse, we’re fairly certain it would have up and died on him as well. Anyway, he is currently sans pot to piss in and that includes a computer, so I’ve agreed to an 11th-hour pinch hit.
Today is Super Bowl Sunday, or as my friend Dennis likes to call it: the Biggest Domestic Violence Day of the Year. I will be watching the big game with the aforementioned Dennis as well as his uncle, Grote2DMax, the aforementioned Cheesy Ruin (we may just want to drop the “B” temporarily), and whatever other motley miscreants decide to slum it with us. One of the funnier aspects of this year’s game is that outside of San Fran and Bal’mer, almost no one really gives a damn about either of these teams, myself included. So, in an effort to make things at least a little interesting, I’ve decided to forgo the booze this year. This really isn’t such a big deal except for the fact that the last time I watched the big game without a lot of liquid comedy, let alone none at all, was sometime back during Ronald Reagan’s first term.
The first hurdle I’m really going to need to clear today is the spartan spread at Dennis’ pad. There will be no 5-foot Italian subs dripping in oil and vinegar, no hot trays of baked ziti and sausage and peppers, no chicken wings and certainly no pork explosion. If we’re lucky, someone might bring a family size bag of Doritos and a small bag of fried pork rinds. I’ll bring my usual generous contribution, a box of Entenmann’s chocolate frosted donuts. The good news is, because this will be such an Al Bundy ass-scratching affair, there will also be none of the feminine touches such as Carr’s Table Water Crackers and crudite. As a sidenote, I’m convinced that crudite was invented as a way of forcing people to buy up all of the unwanted cauliflower. We really need to start thinking about letting broccoli’s albino cousin go extinct.
The bigger potential problem about Super Sunday sobriety is the game itself. Like I said, I don’t like either team. I am pulling for the Ravens only because I find them slightly less offensive (ever so slightly) than the Jim Harbaugh-led Niners. What if the game absolutely sucks? Booze was always the great safety net against this. It sucks? Who cares? Let’s just make fun of everything… AT THE TOP OF OUR LUNGS!
Of course there was that one year when I kept calling the game: “Worst. Super Bowl. Ever” throughout the first half, all while slowly drinking bourbon out of jar. By the second half things got a little more interesting and by the end of the fourth quarter it became one of the more exciting SBs in recent memory. I ended up having a pretty good time but really didn’t remember much about Patriots 32 Panthers 29.
Nevertheless, I am really looking forward to watching today’s game with a clear head and an unknown anger scale. Here are things I hope to see:
1) Ray Lewis get absolutely run over by someone… anyone.
2) Randy Moss and Bernard Pollard have a knife fight at midfield.
3) A wardrobe malfunction from Beyonce.
4) Ravens TE Dennis Pitta crashing headlong into Jim Harbaugh as he gets tackled out of bounds.
5) Dan Marino cooing over baby pictures of the lovechild he had with that CBS production assistant with the gummy smile on the pre game show.
6) Maybe winning a couple of bucks on one of the two lousy Super Bowl pool boxes I have.
Enjoy the game everyone! Have a drink for me and tune in tomorrow for another sobering day, The Public Professor’s First Retirement Day.
Filed in: Angry Ward