First off, I am completely neutral regarding the outcome of the Supe this year, as opposed to last year's, where I vaguely favored Baltimore. In the utterly irrational way of fans of sport worldwide, I did so because their quarterback is from Delaware, a state that has produced several girlfriends for me. I was completely neutral the year before last as well, but that is because I detested both teams.
Not so this year. Ordinarily I would favor Seattle, because they have never won a Super Bowl. I figure the more teams that break their schneid in the Supe, the sooner one of the two teams I have been a fan of in the past, who also share the ignominy of having never triumphed in the big game, will eventually get around to winning one, too. But having seen Peyton Manning's commercials and this skit from Saturday Night Live, I have a tough time rooting against the guy.
The big news, though, is that both teams come from states that have legalized weed. Manufacturers of high-cholesterol snack foods are tingling with excitement. No one gets the munchies for a big bowl of kale. One of the reasons I quit smoking marijuana back in my youth was that when I was stoned, I could look at a gallon bucket of nacho cheese and think fondly "I wonder if I have enough chips to get to the bottom of this?"
And I have to admit that, exactly as the bitter opponents of getting legally baked predicted, the fact that dope is legal in this year's Super Bowl states has made me toy with the idea of going to one of them and smoking it once again, although the only proactive step I have taken towards that end is to Mapquest the distance to each state border from my home. Colorado is closer by a couple hundred miles. Is that a sign I should be rooting for the Broncos? And speaking of signs, is the fact that the two teams with the highest proportion of legally stoned fans are clashing in this year's Bowl a sign from God that He loves marijuana smokers as much as the rest of us?
Perhaps, although if you want to see signs from God there's never any lack of them. The Pope was recently praying for peace in the Ukraine. As part of the solemn request, two "doves of peace" were released from the Vatican balcony at the conclusion of the Pontiff's prayer. They were immediately attacked and driven away by other birds ("birds of war"). This was interpreted by cynics on the spot as God's response to the request, i.e., "Fat chance."
What God wants us to know is both the Broncos and the Seahawks have a better chance of winning this Sunday than the Ukraine has of peace breaking out. One can only hope that on Sunday He also makes it plain what He thinks of having the Super Bowl in New York in this Year of the Polar Vortex. At the very minimum, He is going to for sure deprive us of the spectacle of sun-kissed cheerleaders flashing their tanned flesh on a balmy Sun Belt afternoon and replace it with ski-parka wearing sideline commentators trying not to scratch the icicles dripping out of their noses on camera. A tsunami of icebergs roaring up the Hudson is not out of the question.
Speaking of cheerleaders, the only fly in the ointment of this year's football jollies is this lawsuit, filed by an Oakland Raiders cheerleader, which accuses the Raiders of substantial violations of California labor law in their treatment of their cheerleaders, including making them practice for free, subjecting them to fines for violations liking bringing the wrong pom-poms to workouts and making them pay for their own hair care, makeup and breasts.
At first glance, this lawsuit might not generate much sympathy from fans of the NFL, who think they deserve having these perfectly formed young women gyrate in front of them while they sit there in a glazed stupor induced by intense tailgating, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in their guts that their team (especially if that team is the Raiders) is doomed to once again lose. But consider the amount of cash that the bloated plutocrats that own NFL teams vacuum up every year from the sport (billions and billions) compared to what they pay the Raider's cheerleaders ($125 per game) and you realize that if you were to pay a proportionate amount of your income to have a physically perfect, scantily clad woman do the splits on your front porch during the timeouts of the football game you were watching on TV, it would cost you about 25 cents a half. I would be happy to take that deal, as would any of us, so I suppose we can't look down our noses too far at these cash-fat oligarchs, but really, shouldn't these women be paid as least as much as they could earn in an equivalent amount of time on a stripper pole?
Give them a grand a game. That way when we're watching a football team that will never win while being entertained by women we will never have, we will be able to enjoy it even more. And we do enjoy it. Don't ask us why. It's a hetero guy thing.
We'll be back to our regular selves on Monday.