Why The Super Bowl is Super

I left the studio at 6:25 to meander up to the house so I could be sitting in front of my 72” TV with a cold beverage precisely at 6:30. It's game time. I'll admit there was never a Monday night or Sunday that I had previously placed myself in front of the TV to watch this game. Truthfully, I didn't know there were two brothers leading two different teams to the biggest game of the year until Tuesday. That was the day I found out who was actually playing also.

So why bother getting all excited and following the hype? Because I don't and that is what makes it so fun. Super Bowl becomes a mini holiday at our house. We gather around the boob tube as a family and watch high-priced commercials and highly paid athletes battle it out.

Growing up, I didn't have an athletic competitive bone in my body. That isn’t to say I didn't play sports. I attempted many. I played everything from soccer to baseball and I even tried football. The ability of my brain to tell my feet where to go has never fully developed. I think the majority of my nerves control my hands and then it stops there. I’d still go to all the practices and participate in keeping the bench warm every week. When I played sports there wasn’t a desire and drive like when I approach the easel. By college, my sports career had subsided and given way to beer pong and cards.

This is why I gather the kids around the television; to show them some competition. I believe a little competitive edge is needed to get through life. Not that it takes much convincing to get the kids to watch TV because it is a considered a luxury and a privilege at our home. I entice them with food and soda pop. It's that mini holiday feast of chicken wings, french fries and any other leftover item I can throw in the deep fryer. All of this followed by nachos and more icy cold soda pops and adult beverages. We sit five crammed on the sofa with just enough room to lift our beverage to our lips. We cheer and the kids pick teams by the color of the jerseys and continue to call them by color for the remainder of the game. “Go white team,” screams Mia. Then it happens; the silence and anticipation of the first commercial aired. I wonder if it is going to be a talking baby, a talking beer or an obscure reference to 1984 so a fruit stock can rise. Nope, it's a family oriented company called godaddy. Anything with dad in it has to be good, right? As I sit with these three kids nestled in my arms, we watch. Godaddy isn't really about dads, instead it’s a commercial loosely based on a Greek tragedy where the awkward kid wins the heart of a beautiful woman. I guess because a 30 second commercial costs over $1 million, they show the main characters then speed it up and skip all the dialogue. They went for the final shot; an extreme close-up of lip locking and tonsil hockey. I then wished I hadn’t chosen the HD feature. My daughter then turns to inform me that was a “Parisian kiss.” All I could think of was that there was no way we were going to watch the World Series. I don't need commentary on how to get to second base.