The Super Bowl, and Goodnight

Look into my eyes . . . for the last time?
Look into my eyes . . . for the last time?

The Exit- I’ve been appearing weekly at this fair site for more than two years now.  But all good things and mediocre people must come to an end, and my time is nigh.

As the countdown to my exit began, at first it seemed that a Super Bowl recap would be the perfect note on which to depart.  But really, do you need me to tell you about yesterday’s game?

You saw it all with your own two eyes.  You’ve already observed, discussed, and critiqued not only the game and the coverage of the game, but also the pre-game, the post-game, the halftime show, the blackout, and of course the commercials.

The Super Bowl is, after all, America’s biggest unofficial holiday, leading the way for other unrecognized annual celebrations such as Cinco de Mayo, Earth Day, Kentucky Derby Day, Black Friday, Mardi Gras, and Angry Ward Sober Day, which I think is the third Wednesday of March.

Many of you no doubt celebrated by going to or hosting a Super Bowl party.  However, I was among those who ventured out into the Baltimore environs, lightly dusted with snow.  The original plan was to hit a local bar known as The Bloody Bucket.  But the girlfriend was none to keen on it, so instead the destination was a local favorite called Dizzy Izzie’s.

As you might expect, the place was a maelstrom of beer-soaked purple, loaded down with burgers and crab cakes and steamed shrimp.  I ate a pound of the latter.  There were ooohs and aaaahs and groans and cheers and the gnashing of teeth and the stomping of feet and roaring crescendos in full throat.

Dizzy Izzy's
Dizzy Izzy’s

Located directly across the street from where they used to shoot the TV program Ace of Cakes, this is the same place I celebrated Barack Obama’s victory in 2008.  I hadn’t even voted for Obama, instead giving my ballots to a Scotsman, a gift to a friend who’d lived in the country for 20 years but still didn’t have his citizenship.  Like that night, it was cold and the dark sky was lit by the electric festivities circulating throughout the city, The Diz being just one flourescent node in a network of celebration.

In the end, justice prevailed.  Jim Harbaugh’s dickery, which I’ve chronicled over the course of this season, was exposed on the grandest of stages, and a kinder light was shown upon Harm City a.k.a. Bodymore, Murderland a.ka. The City that Bleeds.

But that is the nature of ends: sometimes glorious, sometimes tragic, always the on the threshold of something new.

And with that, I say adieu, though my online presence lives on at  Hope to see you there, Vive La MtM!


Share Button
About The Public Professor 79 Articles
Mattville's George Plimpton, The Public Professor, is indeed a real, honest-to-goodness, legitimate professor at a major Maryland university. But because he doesn't have a cell phone or cable, he's crazy enough to be with us. A member of Angry Ward's Urban Spur Posse, the terrorized Bronx graffiti artist's by correcting their grammar. His loves? The Yankees, Knicks, NY Rangers and the Pittsburgh Steelers. He also has a real website: (