Like the 60-minute contest itself, post-game analysis of a Super Bowl can be divided into four segments: 1) How good was the on-field competition and outcome, 2) How memorable were the commercials, 3) How entertaining was the halftime show, and 4) How tasty was the food and drink spread at the party.
How, then, did the Vidiot’s Super Bowl stack up this year?
COMPETITION & OUTCOME
Unless I have a stake in the outcome (i.e. I’ve placed a bet, I own one of the team’s shirts or I despise a player on an opposing team), then I’m a proponent of the whole “I just hope it’s a good game” sentiment. The Indianapolis Colts are one of my favorite teams, however, so, much like I do during Boise State games, I was rooting for a blowout. If you saw the final score, the Colts came up short, losing 31-17 to the New Orleans Saints. Though the competition was fantastic for 56 minutes, the outcome was awful. I don’t care how much the city of New Orleans “deserved” a win. I own like four Colts shirts, and the loss stung.
Super Bowl advertisements have been slipping for years. They aren’t funny anymore. Most aren’t memorable. Heck, several are downright confusing. And this year wasn’t any exception. Two commercials, however, did stand out in my mind as the best of this year’s bunch: Kia’s minute-long pitch to buy the 2011 Sorrento and David Letterman’s 15-second plug for his show featuring Oprah Winfrey and Jay Leno.
Ever since Janet Jackson and Nipple-Gate 2004, Super Bowl organizers have made sure to book only white men 48-years-old and older as their headliners. This year, the trend continued as The Who—or as I like to call them, The Who Gives a Damn, It’s Not 1970 Any More—took the stage. Snooze.
FOOD & DRINK
When you arrange a stay at the Vidiot’s in-laws for a weekend, you’d better be ready to eat, because you’ll be served a mountain of food. And if Super Bowl Sunday should fall during your visit, plan on looking like Violet Beauregarde when you leave. I ate chips, crackers, cheese, artichoke dip, queso dip, deviled eggs, pigs in blankets, chili and a lemon bar. And I was even wearing blue. Burp.
In summary, unless one of my favorite team wins the Big Game, the annual football smorgasbord shall henceforth be known as Super Bowel Sunday. Because if the game isn’t won by the Colts or the Seattle Seahawks, I’m really only going to remember one of three things: the commercials stunk, the halftime show featured old farts and the overeating gave me gas.