Silverlake, Los Angeles--The Priuses (Priusii?) circled the block looking for parking, a Buddhist monk named Lama laughed at a commercial with vampires disintegrating in front of Audi headlights, smokey aroma from the carne asada on the grill–from that carniceria in Compton–filled the air…the Super Bowl party I went to probably wasn’t much like the one you did, with one possible exception: Everyone at my neighbor’s house was rooting for the Giants. I think even Lama was swayed, if he wasn’t completely overwhelmed by America by halftime. As for myself, I was nearly overwhelmed by the growler of IPA I drank. Fortunately I tried to take notes.
“Denegrated sir Elton to flavor flav, Promoting pool pee.” This I think has something to do with some of the first round of Super Bowl commercials. The formula for these commercials is basically the same as the halftime show…pack them with pop culture and some kind of fabricated showdown between generations to drawn in a cross-section of slack jawed noobs.
“America introduced to safeties and intentional grounding, illegal huddle.” The game provided the masses with its own infield-fly like chance to see something they didn’t even know they didn’t know. There was also a flag for too many men on the field that was key to the first touchdown. This was turning into a real learning experience!
“Mud Donna.” That’s how Al Michaels said her name. An expert at the whole cross-generation thing–remember how she stayed hip by kissing Britney Spears a million years ago?–Madonna’s auto-tune halftime performance brought out every current pop star except Will I Am, and only because he played there last year. Young folks got to see a kind of stunned looking LMFAO, old folks got to see Richard Simmons bouncing his groin on a tightrope. It all feels a bit neutered, in fact, but people seem to like it (guest M.I.A.’s videos can be a tad more violent), though I found it strange that an Indianapolis venue would give such a shout out to Ron Artest at the end like that.
“Eli Man-Crush.” I think this must occur to dudes after half a dozen beers, or somewhere around the beginning of the fourth quarter of Super Bowls. Seems like a good guy, low key, not weird the way a lot of superstars are–the way Tom Brady is oh-so close to being–and now multi-Super Bowl MVP. And seriously, stop bringing up his brother to him already…I’m sure he’s sick of hearing about how Cooper was the best athlete of the litter.
Manningham, he keep his eye on the ball…and he is very very happy.
Victor Cruz…he keep his eye on the ball, and he does happy dance.
Wes Welker, he do not keep his eye on the ball…and he is blamed for being overthrown after getting wide open.
“It is truly better to be Lucky than Good” I needed a Giant win for a modest money line cover, and an Ahmad Bradshaw touchdown to finish the day in the black, and so that crazy last score, with him almost taking a knee, was particularly breathtaking.
“Why don’t they put time back on clock for too many men penalty.” Couldn’t the Giants have just trotted too many men out there again, sacrificed the five yard penalty just to run a few more ticks off the clock? Or was I just drunk when I typed this?
“Gronkowski no Kirk Gibson, Willis Reed.” No question the Giants were good, but running the table and winning this game took a lot of luck. Two recovered fumbles luck. Hobbled Gronkowski luck…and even then, the guy almost came up huge on a game winning Hail Mary tip drill, which would’ve changed the entire narrative.
“Ray Berry Sad.” That changed narrative would’ve had the former Patriot coach jubilant–sort of the jubilant that Don Shula showed when he didn’t have to hand the trophy to another undefeated team in 07–but it wasn’t to be. The eerie similarities to that year are now complete.
I’ve now blown well past the 500 word limit, but hey, it’s the Super Bowl. Grote2DMax will surely be more concise tomorrow.