Super Bowl Sunday.

Look at me, being all topical.

I don’t like football.  I never have.  The thing I like most about Super Bowl Sunday is that I know it means the regular season is ending and I don’t have to hear as much about it on future Sundays and Mondays.  (That is true, right?  The season is ending?)

It’s so much worse to live in the area of one of the teams that’s in the game.  I keep hearing people talk about “My Giants.”  I’m rolling my eyes just thinking about it.  And the people who don’t talk about football all year but then suddenly they’re all into a team for this game?  Those people make me roll my eyes so far into the back of my head I’m surprised I don’t need surgery to correct it.

I don’t think I’ve ever gone to a Super Bowl party.  I can drink beer and eat snacks at home with something enjoyable on TV.  Thank you very much.

Also, that game is on too late and takes too long.  There’s a lot of unnecessary stuff going on in there.  Half time shows and what not…  Who needs it?

My favorite Super Bowl Memory?  One year, my then-boyfriend now-husband and I watched some Disney thing about a wolf named Chico.  Chico was cute.  We snuggled on the couch (Kris and I, not Chico).  It was nice.  And there was no football.  I want to say that was 1999.

I could go on and on (and on) but I don’t want to.  On Sunday, you will find me probably hiding in my house, putting my kid to bed early and eating dinner while watching  reruns of Weeds and 30 Rock on Netflix.  Feel free to call me a party-pooper or tell me I’m no fun.  I’m ok with that.  Just don’t talk to me about the game.

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One Response to “Super Bowl Sunday.”

  1. That’s it. My new line is now “I’m gonna snuggle Chico like it’s 1999.”

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