It’s a rare thing to find me in front of the television, and rarer still – I think I vie with the eternal candidate for the Rarity Award - the scarcity of hens’ teeth – that I found myself in front of the television watching an entire football game.
I refer, of course, to Super Bowl last Sunday. I confess I’m a bit of a closet Patriots’ fan if for no other reason than Tom Brady is tall, handsome, has a gorgeous wife and gorgeous children and seems to be an all-round Mr. Nice Guy. Oh, and I hear he’s quite talented too.
And so there I was gritting my teeth for approximately ever, madly scribbling notes for my upcoming column as I watched Atlanta streak ahead to an insurmountable lead, and realizing that yet again I had proved a point to myself. I couldn’t back a winner if there was only one entrant.
I am so bad in fact, that next time you’re tempted to have a little flutter on a game, just ask me who I like and then go bet on the other competitor.
I remember as a teenager not giving a fig about Rugby League back home, but seeing that Dad and my brother E seemed to like it, I felt I should put my game face on and become involved. I therefore picked “my team,” the St. George Dragons, resplendent in the red and white uniforms, and with a most impressive record of 12 years of taking the League national title. Twelve years – fancy that. And then in I tromp on a dreary Sunday afternoon, declaring my new found devotion to the team and yes, well you guessed the rest. They couldn’t win a two-legged race even if all their competitors had but one leg. I’m like a human version of Friday the 13th carrying a black cat under a ladder while spilling salt with carefree abandon.
As you know by now, the Patriots pulled off an 11th hour miracle and won the championship, which of course blew my note scribbling right out of the water. Not one to waste a good scribble, I shall segue my rotten record to cover what is really the “amusement” part of Super Bowl Sunday.
Commercials, and the Half-Time Show. I’ll get Lady Gaga out of the way first, being ridiculously pleased that she was professional, put on a good show, and didn’t go off on a political rant.
Now, however, I’d like to turn my gimlet eye to you Advertising Executives. Whatever happened to humor, I ask you young Armani-clad whippersnappers.
Oh, there were a couple of commercials where I had a minor chuckle, but where were the really good Budweiser and Doritos ads, I ask you? All I remember seeing where interminable ones for violent video games – I particularly liked the nice touch of the young son cozying up to his father for a bonding session over blowing something up and torching the odd fort; and for car commercials and promos for other stuff on TV.
Come on people, get with the program. Humor sells, funnily enough.
-- Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at email@example.com.