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Posted by on Feb 4, 2019 in Blog, Essays | 2 comments

My Thoughts on Super Bore LIII



Let’s call it what it truly was — Super Bore LIII.


If you were able to stay awake for the entire game, you either had better drugs and alcohol or some serious money riding on the passing yardage props.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  What a fucking bore.

A hundred million comatose fans bitching and pissed off royally is what happens when the NFL plows the kiddies with sugar candy for more than a decade in the form of preposterous rules changes entirely designed to help offenses and boost scoring.  So, when the occasional game comes out of nowhere and lands on 13-3, it’s like sticking a cold plate of raw green beans in front of a screaming infant.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!  We want touchdowns!  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Talk about horrible timing for the No Fun League.  The league with the black eye the size of the Louisiana Superdome needed a really good game yesterday.  Instead, they got a preseason-like snoozefest played in early February, fattened with enough mostly excruciating television commercials to make even Franklin Graham, Jr. want to abort Flo from Progressive.  What should have been a glorious swan song for legendary Tom Brady and a final victory dance the greatest dynasty in pro football history, ended with a torrential downpour of jeers and boos from the Atlanta crowd when the most horrible person in the universe, a noodle of a man named Roger Goodell forced a weak chickenshit smile and a limp handshake and handed off the Vince Lombardi trophy for the sixth time over to the hated Patriots.  While most of New England danced, the rest of the civilized world all puked at the same time.

What a way to unite America which is mostly in agreement that the NFL sucks ass and the Patriots are the fitting devil’s face of the evil empire.

What a shit show.

Speaking of shit shows, what was that display of animal torture we heard and watched at halftime?  Some guy with tattoos busted through security, ran up onstage, and seized the microphone.  That’s the only logical explanation.  How the fuck did that happen?  And Rappers?  Who likes rappers?  Marooned something or other?  Seriously, bring back Janet Jackson’s left tit or, Howard Stern’s cock.  Dig up The Platters.  Play an old Al Hirt record.  I don’t care.  But get that ear-splitting shit off the screen!  If I want to listen to indecipherable sounds, I’ll cue up any Sam Elliott movie.

As much as the Patriots should be credited on defense, I’ve not convinced New England actually won that game so much as the former St. Louis Lambs lost it.  The Rams were fucked from the moment they came out of the tunnel in those awful 1979 disco uniforms.  Los Angeles did a smart thing when they burned the old St. Louis threads and adopted the Fearsome Foursome look of the 1960s — classic blue and white.  But then somebody decided to start a quarterback who looked like Vince Ferragamo and played like Sam Bradford.  The results were predictable.  The Saints must be having pinata parties with Godell’s head on a Ram’s body.

Zzzzzzzzzzzz.  Wake me when it’s over.

Credit defensive guru Wade Philips and his players for pitching a gem of a game.  Anytime you hold Superman to just 13 points, that should be way more than enough to win a game.  I feel sorry for the Rams’ defense.  They should ask Jared Goff and Todd Gurley for a divorce and should be entitled to keep all the furniture.

I didn’t do a count.  But I think there were more television commercials than offensive plays, and by offensive I mean annoying.  The Rams offense was certainly offensive.  The game basically went — first down; second down; third down; punt; commercial; commercial; commercial; commercial; commercial, CBS program promo.

It was the only Super Bowl ever where Tony Romo will forever be the MVP.

Super Bowl commercials cost as much as Russell Rosenblum’s house these days.  Too bad they’re not a tenth as interesting.  I counted four really good commercials, one that umm okay, and the rest about as endearing as Gov. Northal’s Blackface apology.  Jesus H. Della Femina — what PR firms are scripting these $5 million brain fryers?  Give me a bottle of Makers Mark, put me in a room with Dan Goldman, Rich Korbin, and Perry Friedman for eight hours and we’ll come up with half a dozen advertising spots that would leave the nation in stitches (and offend just about everyone).  Advertising maven, Jerry Della Femina, please lose 30 years and come back!  We need you!

Favorite TV commercials included the Stella Artois ad with Sara Jessica Parker ordering a beer, joined by The Dude (Jeff Bridges), and The Most Interesting Man in the World (Jerry Goldsmith).  Also loved the two Bud Light ads — ripping the competitors for using corn syrup in one spot and the Game of Thrones mix in the other.  Still, there’s no way I’m ever ordering a Bud Light.  I’d rather drink corn syrup.

Favorite serious ads were the Budweiser Clydesdale’s pulling the wagon and promoting wind power and renewable energy.  Beautiful.  Also loved The Washington Post ad which ran late in the game with Captain America Tom Hanks proving the voiceover.  Yes — good reporting matters.  The press is not “the enemy of the people”.  Someone else is.

Many viewers loved the “NFL 1o0” spot which promotes the league’s upcoming centurium.  I thought it was contrived.  But, the Franco Harris immaculate reception moment saved it.  Well done.  Too bad the promo was marred by Commissioner Noodle at the podium.  A smart PR guy would have had a ref coming out of nowhere, throwing a yellow flag, and overturning one of the most famous plays in pro football history.  But hey, the NFL won’t laugh at itself.  We do that on our own.

Oh, and did I mention using rap and techno music to sell (most) products is really, really dumb?  I fully recognize that I’m not exactly the target audience for distorted voice warbling machines and techno pop.  But hey, the vast majority of a football viewing audience doesn’t know ‘Lil Kim and Kim Kardashian from a bottle of Kim Crawford or Kim Jong Un and no one is going to be enticed to go out and buy a Chrysler by some jiving funkster warbling to Autotune.  If my attempt at bad humor offends you, then send all complaints to Bill Maher (if his mailbox is full, too bad)

At least there were a few winners on Sunday.  As I wrote before, “Rams -1” was a terrible opening line.  As I wrote before, “the sharps” were not on the Rams +2.5.  As I wrote before, the National Anthem was a lock to go way under the total (the ticket cashed easily).  As I wrote before, the second half to be higher scoring than the first half was the best bet on the board.  Oh, and I somehow managed to lose $285 yesterday.  Not counting my alcohol bill.

If the NFL and it’s millions of fans lost, at least there was one happy group of lost souls who won big.  The kittens and puppies in the Kitten Bowl and Puppy Bowl were all adopted.  More than 400 “adoption parties” were held around the country before the game started, which resulted in thousands of cats and dogs getting good homes.  How awesome!

Hey, maybe Super Bowl Sunday wasn’t so bad, after all,




  1. Gotta admit I enjoyed a true defensive chess match between two defensive masters. Yes, the offensive norms of the majority of games provides mucho more excitement, but witnessing a truly magnificently planned game once in awhile is worth the exception. Agree strongly with your halftime analysis.

  2. I liked the SJP and “the Dude” commercial as well. Very creative! The game bored the hell out of me.

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