I’ve listened to yelling juveniles dressed in the flesh of men. I’ve seen so-called grown men beating their chests and drooling like savages. I’ve listened to driveling inquiries about my plans for some stupid game involving overpaid, mentally inadequate, self-aggrandizing, steroidal camera junkies. I’ve listened to advertisement after advertisement about commercials and games and arbitrary, meaningless nonsense.
So what’s the deal? Is there some all-important, cosmically relevant activity taking place today?
Oh, the Super Bowl?
Football is the sport of weaklings, an activity for crybabies and their handlers.
It is rugby for wimps.
I’m sorry, but I didn’t even know the infantile event was taking place today until yesterday when someone asked me about it.
I still don’t know who’s playing.
And I don’t care.
If as much energy as is focused on this display of prepubescence could be similarly focused on really important things, imagine the world we’d be living in.
Besides, it’s just rugby with people who don’t want to get their hair messed up or break a nail or get bruised. All that padding is an indication of immaturity considering they’re playing rugby with a lot more crappy rules and self-protecting practices.
I’d rather watch a real sport, thank you very much.
Oh, that would be rugby… or soccer… or hockey.
Besides, when all that money and effort can be focused on the stuff that matters, let me know.
Meanwhile, I say: “What game?”