Hmm. Sunday Afternoon. Wonder What's on TV.

I won't be dwelling on the subject of the Super Bowl for very long, primarily because:
(a) it's depressing, and
(b) it's football.

Suffice it to say, the first 14 seconds of the game were just transcendentally wonderful, with the crowd at the party we attended on its feet and positively reveling in the glories of life. And that was about as good as it got.

I do want to point out that Peyton Manning had no more business being MVP than I did. The man was competent. Which, admittedly, was all we hoped Rex Grossman would be, so it's not like "competent" is that easily achieved, I guess. It was just the final element in the NFL's conspiracy to shove Peyton Manning down our collective throats. I'm reminded of many years ago, when I was working in the library at DeWitt Perry Jr. High. This particular year, Sports Illustrated had named Kareem Abdul-Jabbar their Sportsman of the Year. Shortly after putting out the magazine, I was fortunate enough to overhear this conversation:
GUY #1: Who's the man of the year?
GUY #2: Kareem.
GUY #1: What for?
GUY #2: (brief pause for reflection, then:) Being Kareem.
That, to me, sums up this year's Super Bowl MVP.

I also want to take a moment to congratulate the most evil family in all of sports on their victory. I'm talking about the Irsays, who were once the owners of a proud football franchise called the Baltimore Colts. Then, back in 1984, the Irsays hired a bunch of Mayflower trucks, backed them up to the Colts offices, packed up everything and moved the entire franchise to Indianapolis. Oh, I almost forgot to mention -- they did all this in the middle of the night. Under cover of darkness. It's possibly the most cowardly, despicable act in the history of American sports, and it's why I wouldn't care if the Colts fell into a tar pit, let alone win the Super Bowl. Even Art Modell, who is his own brand of puppy killer, at least had the courtesy to stick around and listen to the boos before he hauled his team out of Cleveland. (To Baltimore, charmingly enough.) So congratulations, Irsays. You won the Vince Lombardi trophy. See if they let you take it with you to hell.

What I really want to talk about is the commercials, and this notion that the ads are the real reason to tune in to the game. Let's just stop that nonsense, because the ads were atrocious. Among the delightful treats that came our way:
- Two men kissing each other, then yanking out their chest hair to prove that they're not luv-ahs.
- An unattractive stripper being sprayed with water to promote a website.
- A person throwing a rock at a friend.
- Talking lions, talking gorillas, and a cult of crabs.
- My personal favorite, an auto assembly line robot -- who presumably put several humans out of work -- becoming depressed because the car it made is too good, and hurling itself off a bridge. I think this was supposed to be "sad".
- Norbit.

The best commercial of the entire day was a ten-second spot involving David Letterman and Oprah Winfrey pretending to be a couple watching the game. It was funny. It was clever. And it was ten seconds long. It had everything going for it.

People, the commercials aren't good. Stop tuning in for the ads. If you're at home, don't watch. If you're at a party, have a conversation. If you're at a bar, call the Doritos ad people something vulgar. Whatever it takes. If we keep encouraging them like this, they're never going to learn. We can do this. We got rid of Bud Bowl. Let's keep it going.

I know, there's a lot of anger in here. But that's okay. It's all gonna go away. You know why? Because of the very best thing about the Super Bowl. My favorite thing of all.

Now it's time for baseball season.