Super Bowl Schmuper Bowl. I Don’t Give a Sh*t!!!

Previously Featured on the Huffington Post


Hey guess what? I didn’t watch the Super Bowl and I’m writing this before it has even aired so it was premeditated. That’s right Super Bowl XLIII: The Pittsburgh Steelers vs. The Arizona Cardinals means nada to me. I didn’t even know who the competing teams of brow ridged barbarians were until I Googled it, and frankly find it weird they use archaic numerals to describe a game whose average meathead fan thinks Sisyphus is a venereal disease.

Oh I admit organized sports have their ancient roots. Harkening back to ole Titus’s bloody Coliseum built to distract the rabble while the government had forceful carnal relations with their proletariat-backseat bumpkins. Perhaps an ample explanation for the re-election of our own George W Caligula, sans the sexiness, although in many cases appointing a horse would have been an upgrade. And at least back then you got to watch a good God-fearing Christian get mauled by a lion. It was truly life or death excitement. More bang for your Buck… or Dupondius. What’s the best we can hope for today a dislocated shoulder or hamstring or perhaps a fleeting ogle of the new Go slave girls. If you ask me I think Plaxico Burress’s most exciting play was off the field and in that nightclub.

I don’t care about organized sports, even if my hometown team is participating in the finale or whatever fancy name they give the coda (yes I drink Starbucks and read the NY Times!). Go ahead call me nerd, geek, commie, pinko, un-American, …gay! GAY! That’s one I got a lot growing up in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn in the late 80’s when other pre-pubescent street corner Goombahs (AKA my best friends) mercilessly mocked me for my lack of interest in playing or watching football, baseball, basketball or hockey. GAY! A phrase I still get called to this day when alpha males sniff out my disinterest and dissension towards the nucleus of their droll existences. GAY! OK. Let me ask this then: When did the epitome of masculinity become watching a bunch of sweaty well defined men, in tight form fitting uniforms, fondle a ball for hours, repeatedly patting each other on the ass and hugging, while you’re on the couch with your hand down your pants in a room packed full of dudes. Rainbow flags away, that is gay! Not that there is anything wrong with that!

It never ceases to amaze me how many lives meaninglessly revolve around a Game. A Game you are not even playing. Come on, every one of you knows one of those freaky fanatics that somehow find the need to pledge their allegiance to their team during any public gathering whatsoever. All the sudden out of nowhere you’ll hear “Let’s Go Yankees!” Completely regardless of where you are. “LETS GO YANKEES!!!” You know what…let’s not. For God’s sake this is a funeral. Have some compassion she was your mother! I mean, it’s an open casket; did you have to paint her face? And please take that giant pointer finger off her hand the formaldehyde is leaking out…ugh. It’s like psychologically they think they’re part of the team. Like they’re going with them. “LET’S GO YANKEES!!!” Um…you’re not going anywhere Joe. You’re a plumber! What are your big stats for the season huh? Your number of poopy pumps? Are you the Barry Bonds of poopy pumpin’? Have you been injecting yourself with anabolic steroids to enhance you poopy pump potential? Cause I’m looking at these poopy pump numbers and they don’t seem humanly possible. I think you’ve been poopy pumpin’ under the influence. I think we might have you testify before congress or at least put an asterisk by your name to protect the public posterity from your massively inflated poopy pump betrayal. And yes I know the Yankees are a baseball team and have absolutely nothing to do with the Super Bowl, but it’s all the same to me!

I personally think they should be allowed to take steroids. Hell juice them up even more so that they are ripping limbs off and decapitating heads on the sack, then maybe I’d watch. Or, hear me out, we shoot them up with heroin and let them aimlessly amble across the field. It’s really not that cruel. Think about it. They certainly get paid enough to go into a good rehab program whenever they decide to retire, which we can film and run on VH1 perhaps with Flava Flav heading the intervention. Comedy Gold. That’s entertainment I’d Tivo every week…if I could afford a Tivo. Can anybody out there get me a pitch meeting? I’m available to meet all day Sunday and Monday nights. Its not like I’m watching anything.


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