For those who revel in the spirit of the Super Bowl, I’m crossing my fingers that the showdown between the 49ers and Patriots turns out to be one for the history books.
Unfortunately, my team, the Cowboys, was handed a rather humbling defeat by the Packers—well, actually, they were humiliated. I left that game during halftime and went to the gym.
Since I live in California, I’ll be rooting for the 49ers. But considering the thrashing the 49ers also gave the Cowboys, I could turn on a dime and root for Taylor Swift’s team. So, I am not all in, not just yet.
My Super Bowl ritual is simple. But I love it!
Camp out in front of the TV with a pizza or hotdogs, a hefty pitcher of lemonade or tea at my side, and assume the lotus position atop my coffee table.
This setup is my little slice of heaven. It grants me the freedom to let loose a barrage of emotions, whether busting out an after-touchdown moonwalk or other moves, hurling expletives, or passionately yelling at the referee calls from the comfort of my living room.
“Bullshit! That’s not holding, ref!…. Prick.”
Or, screaming at a Cowboys player: “Catch the G…D ball! Jeeez!”
To ensure peace with the neighbors—particularly Fernando next door—I make it known that any outbursts of seasonal shouts and profanities are my way of enjoying football season. Nobody’s complained yet.
However, a trick learned from an ex-girlfriend, a voracious reader with a calm demeanor who developed a case of seasonal PTSD from my football-viewing habits, has proven useful. She once muted a close Cowboys’ game, insisting the absence of sound would calm the nerves.
“Heeeey!” I said, fuming.
Despite my protests, she was right.
Watching the game in silence lessens the intensity, a tactic I resort to whenever the Cowboys are badly floundering or when a game’s outcome seems all but decided by halftime.
My love for NFL football is unwavering—it’s a modern-day gladiatorial arena without the lions, where fierce clashes unfold into a spectacle of billion-dollar proportions, complete with all the drama, flair, and ceremony one could ask for and some.
The nation’s best brutes, who are as big as coke machines and wear shoulder pads, go full speed and hit anything that moves.
Follow the complicated rules to get a pigskin full of air across the goal line to score a touchdown.
Does America love NFL games?
As of Wednesday, the average price of tickets sold on StubHub was $8,600, down from about $9,300 on Monday. Last week, seats were going for more than $12,000 on Seat Geek. Average ticket prices are on par with the 2022 LA Super Bowl, StubHub said
I have never gone to a stadium to watch an NFL game; too pricy, even for the cheap seats, and I don’t enjoy Super Bowl parties.
First, I’m not a people person, and the chatter during the Super Bowl party can be a real buzzkill. Then, there’s that special breed of spectators (often the ladies) who breeze in exclusively for the halftime spectacle and the barrage of Super Bowl ads.
And the occasional, “Wow, who made the potato salad? I love it. Can I have your recipe?”
The recipe details are given and repeated slowly—twice, sometimes three times.
This year, however, the buzz is all about Taylor Swift—will she be there? So, a lot of new and younger females will probably show up to these parties with mom and dad to see if Ms. Swift is in the booth.
They’ll enjoy the house parties, and many might discover why football is the male version of chick flicks.
“There she is, Dad!” a lot of proud pops will love hearing from their daughters this year.