Game Goes to Best Kicker!

Nobody’s Opinion:

Last night, it was reported by Fox News Reporter Sheppard Smith, who was standing in front of an empty (?) New Orleans brothel house in order to sound official, that over 103 million people watched the Superbowl…biggest in history.

Amazing…I know. I was number 103.

And being since I’m a nobody, and don’t usually watch football games, here’s a few random thoughts from my experience.

We can still make fun of football, can’t we?

First: I’m not sure I actually saw a game…I think I did. But, I’m not sure. I saw a guy kick the ball pretty good…and a lot of guys fall down. I saw a big crowd that LOOKED real, but after AVATAR, I’m not sure. Squinting didn’t help.

It seemed that if you didn’t know any better, the actual football game is just trivial amusement in-between the REAL entertainment---which is the commercials. In all, not very important, unless of course you are from a city with a team playing---then its life or death, and you might end up losing your wife, job, and next house payment if your team loses, or the guy next to you gets too drunk and bashes your head in for saying obscenities about his team.

Not that it matters anymore---What are they gonna do? Take away your Medicare?

Anyway…Here’s My Nobody Summary of Superbowl 44.

Impressively, not two, but five very big, and by the looks of their suits, very well paid commentators, who, between the five of them (or was it ten?) had looked like they had just eaten a herd of cows with twenty baked potatoes topped with eight tons of sour cream. They did not tell us what was REALLY going on, but they talked very fast so they could all be sure to get Tiger Woods cancelled endorsements.

I bet these guys are still downtown Miami and are still talking about nothing, or the lady who was sitting on the 50th yard line.

Game starts: BIG black lady sings “God Bless America” and the cameras shows mostly white men's serious faces. Big black lady has the lungs of a five-pound gerbil. But, one song was not enough. A really tiny white girl, with the lungs of a 500-ton blue whale sang, “the bombs bursting in aiiiiiiiirrrrr.....” and they showed serious black faces, and then the jets fly overhead.

What? Now we need two songs to start the game?

Why stop there? I think it would be fun if after the songs, a gang of black and white pigs wearing the jerseys and numbers of the team players were turned loose to run around the field, and each player had to catch his own pig before the game starts…but that’s me.

Puppy Bowl is simply not enough.

First half: I have mostly one repeated vision going through my mind’s eye, of two big black men dressed in blue, who can ram any man and then spin around like a washer machine, and then fall down so hard, you hear ducks quacking in Canada.

Wonderfully fun to watch.

One guy had long dreadlocks, which may or may NOT be real…depending. They might have been attached to his helmet; at least I hope so because Miami is the home of the famous cockroach nests. You know---the story where a woman didn’t wash her head “buns” for a week, and she found a nest of cockroaches nesting in her hair?

Miami…it’s true. Dreadlocks…cockroaches…not a pretty thought.

THEN….commercials: Lots of “anti-men” commercials. One in particular is a guy staring at another man’s…butt while he is getting a drink at the water cooler. We see football player’s butts with thongs, dancing and spraying tan on their faces. Then we see one guy flop up like a whale onto his belly, looking rather…wet…and ready to be petted. Add in a lot of humiliation by a woman shopping while her man misses the game, and the whole football “manly” thing was pretty much a master experiment in subliminal suggestions to the world audience, that “men are basically wimps, and we like them like that...” attitude for “change.”

In the 21st century.

If I ever see another man in naked “buns” commercial ever again, it will be too soon.

Luckily we were saved by a dog that outsmarts the jerk called man and gets his Doritos.
Humanity is redeemed and put back into the proper advertising perspective---that men deserve to be ruled by women, and their dogs.
.
Back to the game. The Saints still look pretty lame, but lucky for them, they have a wonderful kicker. The Colts, are constantly being yelled at by a quarterback with tiny little hands, who likes to sit very still and get his picture taken. The Colts take the lead.

UNTILL, that tiny insignificant little white guy comes in again and kicks the ball through the posts. The Saints coach decides a few points are better than none, so he keeps letting the guy add up points.

HALF TIME; Wow…Disney came to the field, and a man disguised as Goofy played guitar. The famous singer, Roger Daltry, pulled out the same coat he wore on Dick Clark’s Bandstand in 1957, just to show the world he could still fit into it.

And if hair doesn’t come with age, wisdom does! Who watched the old guys on stage when you had probably a hundred 20-year-old geniuses work out a Laser light show that was seen on the Moon?

I wouldn’t mind seeing that again! Wow.

Second Half: Gonzo was on a run! He was so quick even the camera man couldn’t keep up with his speed and fast moves! Look at him slurp that bowl!

Wait,--- that’s PuppyBowl.

In the second half the Colts kicker, missed his one and only kick. Therefore the very important quarterback, so named because he is never on his back, unless they flip the quarter wrong, a guy named Manning, blamed the whole loss of the game on HIM, even though he threw the ball to the other team and lost the game…

And he threw it to a guy that took it and ran the whole field while waving his finger ordering what appeared to be a number one at Jack-in- the-Box!

But, that’s why the men are becoming wimps. Manning kept shaking his head at the loser who missed the kick, and men are not allowed to do that anymore. They are allowed to drink beer, and THEN blame the kicker, but not before.

Times truly are changing.

After the game was over, everyone in Miami took a plane to New Orleans to celebrate, after they got out of the parking lot in Miami. (Which means most of them will arrive just in time for Mardi Gras) And we will now have to hear for at least a year, how the winning quarterback of the Saints and his wife single-handily built every house destroyed by Katrina back with their own bare hands. Their son will passed out Mardi Gras Beads to all the kids every Mardi Gras, and star in the next Spielberg film.

The Colts will move to Haiti.

And God is good, and quarterbacks cry, even without admitting they did steroids.

And because of Janet Jackson WE SAW ONLY ONE CHEERLEADER. Well, maybe two. Cheerleaders take up too much commercial time, but come on…NO cheerleader shots? What kind of game is that?

And speaking of “cheer leading,” I’m not sure what America was supposed to get out of the Budweiser commercials. “We must all get along” with…India?

Find a bull and be friends?

Why do I get the feeling that the new owners of Anheuser Busch do not actually LIKE Americans? I mean, they made a human bridge and ran their beer trucks over perfectly ordinary, good Americans with their dirty beer truck tires….

I took offense at that---which brings me to the conclusion: The NFL should buy the Clydesdale's. And make them go over a bridge made out of Bud Light beer cans, pulling wagons of Sam Adams Beer, and then when they get over the bridge of Bud Light smashed beer cans, the bridge will collapse.

And the Clydesdale's will turn and laugh, and they will show this EVERY Superbowl til’ the end of time.

What do you think?

Wait---I almost forgot to mention that girl who wanted the OTHER girl to finish her massage before she got on the Internet…remember those two beauties?

Good advice. Always finish the message.

I don’t think either of those girls was real, but I can bet those first five commentators tried to find out...in fact...Google is sending in the NSA to find out whose making all those "googles" at a certain restaruant in South Beach.

And now…aren’t you glad somebody was paying attention?

(Nobody notes, you had to see the game to understand this...or...maybe not.)