I’m not a huge sports fan. As a Bostonian, I adore my beloved Red Sox and all things New England, so with the Patriots in this year’s Super Bowl, I’m happy to join my husband in front of the tube to watch it – particularly with Tom Brady and Eli Manning playing. Neither are hard to look at … minus the helmets and all that padding.
The problem is, well, the entire game itself. I just can’t seem to follow along. Baseball is easy – there are runners and hitters, balls and strikes. The rules are simple to understand. Three strikes, you’re out. Get tagged, ditto.
Watching football is a true test of my temperament, patience and love for the game. The action starts and you can’t count to five before they’re stopping for something. A flag is thrown, whistles are blown, and coaches are swearing on the sidelines – I can’t read lips, but the message is loud and clear; even the networks can’t bleep out that noise.
This is where I have to enlist my husband for perspective. “Honey, why can’t they just get through five minutes of play?” For him, that’s part of the game – something about strategy. Men seem to have more of a big-picture perspective when it comes to football, and I mean that both metaphorically and literally. They’ll call their buddies weeks in advance to decide who has the largest TV screen, and that’s where the game will be. Funny, they can’t seem to call weeks in advanced before an anniversary and make a dinner reservations.
There are a few aspects of “The Big Game” (that’s right, you can’t even call it the Super Bowl anymore for some crazy licensing restrictions) that anyone can enjoy, like the funny commercials, and of course the halftime show – if only to be on the lookout for big controversies such as wardrobe malfunctions
Madonna and football … the outcome of the halftime show is as mysterious as the outcome of the game itself. Place your bets.
