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Super Bowl ReCap by B-Ho

Super Bowl Wrap-Up

by B-Ho



I fully expected the Colts to win the Super Bowl, and even went so far as to predict it publicly. To the shock of no one (especially myself), the Saints pretty much stomped a mud hole in some Indy booty in the second half to pull away 31-17.


But you don’t want to read a straight recap article, do you? Let’s face it, if you have any interest in reading this then you obviously watched the game anyway. So let’s delve into the depraved mind of a man who likes football AND porn.


I bought all my feasting fare earlier in the week. I think it came out to 75 chicken wings, hot dogs, mac ‘n’ cheese, chips with 287 different kinds of dip, beer and soda. You know, basically barely enough food for three people.


But I got impatient. I cooked the food at around 1 p.m. because fuck waiting three more hours.


As for what led up to the game on my beautiful HDTV, I watched Puppy Bowl VI on Animal Planet. I would have called up some of my stoner friends to turn it on, because that shit must be hilarious in that state. Then I realized I don’t have any stoner friends. Actually, it’s pretty funny sober anyway. There was a Chug (Chihuahua-Pug) named Jake that was going ape shit for about 45 straight minutes.


Then the last, final, seriously-last-pre-game-show began. I pretended to pay attention, but it’s hard to do so when you are eating so voraciously that those around you think you are a velociraptor.


Right before the national anthem there was a commercial for a new movie. Looked pretty standard at first. Then the three most frightening words in cinema appeared on the screen: M. Night Shyamalan. This time the twist is that it will suck horrible, outrageous levels of ass. Did anyone see ‘The Happening’? You know your movie is a shitstorm when it is apparent that Mark Wahlberg could do better.


Excellent renditions of both patriotic hymns. But really all I could concentrate on was Carrie Underwood’s camel toe. Don’t judge me. And being one of the fighter pilots that flies overhead at sporting spectacles must have fun bringing that tidbit out at parties…


Conceited Fucktard: “So what do you do for a living?”

Awesome Fucking Jet Pilot: “I fly 400 mph while simultaneously giving the entire world goosebumps. Fuck. Off.”


The first half of the actual game was pretty boring, really. Nothing says ‘Biggest American Sporting Event’ like a sloppily-played 10-6 score at the half. But the halftime show featuring The Who was awesome. They are my favorite rock and roll band of all-time and I was very pleased with how good they (“they” meaning Roger and Pete) were. I hadn’t seen them in a while and I was really hoping they weren’t going to come out on Rascal scooters.


The obligatory halftime show with the commentators fighting over eight seconds of airtime like a goddamn hyena over a giraffe femur was especially embarrassing. I thought Bill Cowher was going to lean over to his left and punch Shannon Sharpe in the face with his chin.


Saints coach Sean Payton is dangerously crazy, but also the best kind. He is the same crazy as Boise State coach Chris Petersen who pulled out not only the hook and lateral but also the hallowed Statue of Liberty against Oklahoma in the Fiesta Bowl a few years back. Payton’s decision to onside kick was fucking badass. But it wouldn’t have worked without the flawless execution of the kicker. Sports fans live to see shit like that put into motion…unless you’re a Colts fan in this particular situation.


The Saints made the big plays at the end of the game and the Colts didn’t. Despite the victory (the first for the Saints) the big winner was actually the band Arcade Fire, who had their song “Wake Up” featured in at least five commercials during the game.


Speaking of the commercials, Jesus Ice-skating Christ were they terrible or what? I laughed at one commercial and one commercial only: the integration of the greatest five-second clip in internet history…the dramatic chipmunk (which is in actuality a prairie dog). Carmax gets a gold star for that one. Everyone else failed. Even E-Trade, whose usually irresistible talking baby commercials fell flat with this older, far less cute toddler taking over the role.


Finally, I’d like to send out a quick “fuck you” to Budweiser for making me cry like a bitch during the ad about the burgeoning friendship between a Clydesdale and steer. You made me feel feelings, Budweiser. I hope you can sleep at night. Fuckers.


And then New Orleans burned to the ground, but you can read all about that tomorrow in the paper.

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