The Big Game and Ruggers
I’m becoming less and less of a professional football fan every year, because at heart I am a 77-year-old man that doesn’t like children on his lawn. I don’t like all the celebrating, I don’t like that nobody but Jesus-freaks in Denver run the option anymore, and because I am a complicated fellow, I dislike both the frequent concussions and the complete wussification of the game in the name of eliminating concussions.
Mostly I don’t like that during football season there’s not much baseball on TV.
That being said, I did watch maybe 2/3 of yesterdays Big Game, and have the following comments:
- I did not watch the National Anthem, out of protest. I’m told that Kelly Clarkson did an admirable job, but since she’s not a brass band, I don’t care. (This protest does not extend to refusing offers to let me sing the National Anthem at sporting events, because of being a complicated fellow (see above). However, while I am not personally a brass band, I do insist upon performing the entire number with a trumpet impression that I am told sounds remarkably unlike a trumpet.)
- Nor did I watch the half-time show, partially out of protest, and partially because I knew Sarah would want to watch it off the DVR later and I didn’t feel the need to subject myself to Madonna twice. I hear she was great. Since she was not a marching band playing music written before 1920, I expect to be all meh up ons. (Translation: I will be indifferent to Ms. Ciccone’s performance.)
- The game was pretty rad, though I would have preferred the Pats winning, because I dislike the Giants. (Oh well. At least the Mets still suck.) Also because Eli Manning just has one of those faces that you want to punch over and over to see if you can change it. Unfortuanately, Tom Brady looked pretty dinged up after his left shoulder got slammed into the turf, and The Gronk was clearly about 60% of himself. Also, if you’re Bill Belichick, your receivers drop two passes that hit their hands in the closing seconds of the game, and you’re not breaking clipboards over their heads, I don’t know how great a coach you can really be.
After the game was over, my younger son refused to go to sleep, so I stayed up with him until about 11:15 watching Rugby Sevens. Holy crap. If you’ve been watching football, and said to yourself, “You know, this game is nice, but it’s just not dangerous enough for me,” you might want to look into Rugby. Full contact, no pads, no helmets, cheerleader-style pyramids to block kicks, and a ball shaped somewhat like an enormous whale testicle. Quick comparison; this person is a professional American football player:
This person is a rugby player:
Which of those two people would you be happier to see at the opposite end of the Octagon? Just looking at the rugby guy picture made me wet my pants just a little bit. I’m gonna go find alternate pantaloons. The football player looks like he might work as a bagger at Shoprite.
Have a pleasant Monday. Try not to dream about rugby players.
