We interrupt this championship event to bring you an innovative peanut commercial and a halftime show featuring non-threatening rock-and-roll coupled with the latest pop starlet. After two long weeks of waiting and wading … through the pointless player interviews, and oddball requests from international reporters, the National Football League’s biggest cash cow has arrived. A fortnight is a long time to wait. Tom Petty was right; waiting really is the hardest part. At this rate, Bocephus may have to pop some uppers or stay-awakes to get the juices flowing. Are you eventually ready for some football?
Super Bowl Sunday is such a big deal these days, no wonder the good lord rested on the seventh day (the same could be said about the Cleveland Browns, weeks 1-17). Nearly one-third of America tunes in each year. After all, what’s more American than sitting, eating, and watching television? Over 100 million people will watch the Green Bay Packers play the Pittsburgh Steelers this weekend. Amazing, since that is over 30 times the population of the two cities combined. That’s enough cheese and pierogies to cause an explosion of aortic proportions.
Over a billion dollars was spent on a new stadium in Dallas in preparation to host this Super Bowl, only for the realization that no team from the Big D will be playing in it. And, Derrick Rose thought he was getting ulcers. That’s like throwing a lavish Oscar party hoping for George Clooney to attend and finding out Andy Dick or Jon Lovitz is your master of ceremonies. That’s the ticket! If you have any designs on attending the Big Game this weekend, plan on spending no less than a James Harrison fine’s worth of dollars to do so. At last check, even parking permits to the stadium were being hawked for nearly $1000. That’s almost as much as Jerry Jones’ left shoe.
Seeing as how the NFL was founded in a Hupmobile car dealership, one could say the league has come a long way. Then, that conclusion would be dashed to pieces (much like the Hupmobiles were) when finding out someone from the cast of Glee will be singing the national anthem at this year’s championship game. The 2011 game features two of the most historic teams in the league, now that the Providence Steam Roller are out of the equation. The Green Bay Packers have won 12 pro football titles, more than any other team. However, the only person who could tell you where that city is located is probably wearing a block of cheese on their head (or worse). The Pittsburgh Steelers have won six Super Bowl trophies. They have had only three coaches since the Moon Landing. Appropriately enough, a team that plays in a stadium sponsored by a ketchup company, that waves a terrible towel (believe me, I’ve seen worse at the gym), and whose mascot is the oddly named Steely McBeam, has a pretty good wide receiver by the name of Mike Wallace. I’m intrigued to see if they line up Morley Safer in the slot. Hey, he’s already got the 60 Minutes part down.
This year, there’s a new wrinkle that has nothing to do with the lines on Dick LeBeau’s forehead. Nope, this year there will be no cheerleaders for the first time in Super Bowl history. (Cue Hank Stram or Vince Lombardi’s expletive-laced reaction.) The Packers do not use cheerleaders because … wellit’, s Green Bay. And for Pittsburgh, the image of a steel mill is probably not one you would associate with cheerleaders anyway. What does this mean? Well, probably nothing. Or there might be 100,000 lost fans on Sunday unsure of when to chant defense and disillusioned that there is no one for whom to give a ‘B’ (and a lot fewer Ds as well, to come to think of it).
As soon as the banner is waved once more (sorry Bills fans, you may need someone to explain this to you); homage is paid to the land of the free (to say nothing of football stadium concession costs); and honor is given to home of the brave (a Green Bay-sized line waiting to get to the bathroom at halftime would fit the bill), kickoff will be right around the corner. That is, if you assume the corner is two-and-a-half minutes away with a talking sock puppet and dancing lizard to help slow you down along the way.
A large portion of the globe will be dialed into this football bonanza come Sunday. Will there be another great moment of David Tyree using his head or Leon Lett forgetting to use his? Some will have a rooting interest in Pittsburgh or Green Bay (much of the same folks who cheer at a G8 summit). Others will use it as an excuse to go over to a friend’s house for “complimentary” food and booze. There are those that will have a vested interest having bet the over/under on the number of Dinner with Scmuchks plugs (never get tired of hearing Al Michaels say “schmuck”). Perhaps there will be a small few crowded around the television concocting a drinking game based around the mere mention of Frank Zombo or Maurkice Pouncey.
This weekend, one of sports’ greatest spectacles will take place in Dallas, which has nothing to do with Michael Irvin and Nate Newton’s alleged excursions at the “White House.” There will be the pageantry. The excitement. The thrill of victory. The bitter taste of defeat. And, that’s only the soft drink commercial that precedes the game. So, strap yourself in for the full 60 minutes (read: six hours). Maybe something productive will actually occur this weekend? Sorry, Al, I’m not believing in miracles this time.
