It's the Super Bowl!

The only interest I have in the defining celebration/contest of the weekend is that I get to watch one more football game.  I love football season.  I don't, however, feel like it's a life-changing event requiring me to paint my face, throw off my shirt, or worship at the altar of NFL sponsors.

For some reason, on any given Sunday morning, I'm either highly cynical or completely ironic.  Just ask my husband.  He's the victim of any and every long-winded speech I deliver from the platform built on every worry, fear and injustice I find the day before Monday hits.  Some get the Sunday blues.  I, the Sunday Spews.


Today, irony held court.  Out shopping for various things we did and didn't need, the Super Bowl's mere existence validated each purchase.  Do I really need three face creams? (My husband naively but helpfully asked which one he was supposed to put back. Ah, he's still learning.)  Yes!  Three face creams!  It's the Super Bowl!

Seeing a highly coveted item of the elementary set I ask, "Do we really want to feed our growing children these chopped meat parts dipped in pig dye and squished into dough?  Do we get the pizza rolls?"  Why not?  It's the Super Bowl!

Yes, I have seventy-five pounds of both high-quality and Valentine-y chocolate, dark and milk, filled and unfilled, sitting in my pantry at home.  Do we really need four more bars and two more bags?  Of course!  It's the Super Bowl.

We were late to church this morning.  Super Bowl!  I'll put off that laundry until the morning.  Super Bowl!

My joke entertained me well into the afternoon.  But it's not just me, nor just a joke.  The NPR tells me that the Super Bowl is the second biggest food-consumption day (after Thanksgiving) with Americans spending 55 million dollars on football-friendly fare.  See?  Super Bowl!

And while the American football match-up cures hunger, resolves world political issues, clothes the naked and warms the freezing (or, none of that), we have to remember those who are a bit crushed under the weight of the true spirit of this game.

Take this conversation overheard at church:

Young marrieds: (They actually call them that, ahem. I mean amen.):  Oh, hi man we know standing there alone!

Lone man:  Hi!

Marrieds:  Where is your wife?

Lone man: Oh, she couldn't be here.  The baby has a low fever.

Marrieds: (gasping audibly) Oh, no!  That's awful!  That's just awful!  (Because a mild fever doing its job to fight infection is the hidden terrorism no one talks about. But I digress.)

Marrieds: That's the just worst thing. Nothing is worse than when your baby is sick!

And the three walk off.  But not before I hear Lone Man mutter the words, head dropped:  Especially worse when it's...The Super Bowl.