The worst part about the Super Bowl isn’t when they trot out the washed-up and/or hardly appealing “stars” for the halftime show…
Nor is it the desolate stretch of barren time between the conclusion of the conference championship games and the spectacle itself. It’s not even the fact that, often times, you’re forced to watch the game in a room full of people who you barely know—among them, many of your wife’s friends who know nothing about the actual sport. (“DID HE SCORE A TOUCHBACK ON THAT? WHY DIDN’T HE JUST GO AROUND THAT BIG PILE OF MEN? CAN WE WATCH THE PUPPY BOWL? LOLZ.”)
No, the worst part is “media week,” a turgid span of auto-fellatio wherein a bunch of hacks endlessly try to one-up each other with BREAKING, EXCLUSIVE NEWS, whiny, contemplative missives about what a circus this has all become and their hot-take on the feel-good pieces that have all been covered elsewhere, ad nauseam.
The deaf guy.
The player with an incarcerated grandma.
The player who BROKE THE CHAINS of the XFL to become a real, actual sports-player.
The one whose dyslexia made learning a playbook “especially complicated.”
Look, I get why we like these stories. We’re human. It’s often a fragile, perilous condition fraught with insecurity. When we hear about a puppy pulling a toddler from a burning Dunkin’ Donuts, it validates our belief that the world isn’t inherently evil. (At least not all the time.) A legless refugee from a war-torn land we can barely pronounce finding a cure for the hiccups allows us to believe that we too can be worthwhile human beings who make valuable contributions to society. (Especially because the great majority of us have at least one leg… probably even two.)
It’s human nature.
And so are the various afflictions that befall these athletes. The crack addicted mother. The cleft palate. The crippling allergy to soy. But you know what’s even more compelling than these adverse truths?
THE FUCKING SUPER BOWL.
That’s right, the actual game that these “heroes” will play on Sunday. The contest that pits the two best football teams—in the ENTIRE WORLD!—against one another in a winner-take-all, physically and emotionally brutal battle for supremacy.
Can’t we make THAT the story?
Isn’t that exciting enough?
But I digress. It’s going to be a good game. I’m pretty sure about that much, at least. I’ll not bog you down with advanced analytics that most of us will only pretend to understand. (I’m sure Bill Barnwell on Grantland will give you 3,300 words about how “Seattle’s pass defense is ranked 1st in Field Adjusted Value matrices on attempts over 20 yards, but only 15th when accounting for Wind Speed Variance in excess of 10mph, and so therefore, Denver holds a considerable advantage because of the Eastern United States Air Quality Index.”)
Here’s what I know:
Peyton Manning is really good, Russell Wilson is good (but not as good, obviously), the Seahawks have a terrific defense, the Broncos have an amazing offense (maybe the best ever), and both teams have respectable, evenly matched running games. Oh, weather may or may not be a factor, and they’ll play for at LEAST 60 minutes. (Of this fact, I am absolutely certain.)
Come on… try and argue with me on any of that.
Therefore, all things being equal and all accounted for, this game will definitely take place on Sunday, February 2nd.
Until Peyton Manning retires—or the scientists who engineered him are unable to adequately repair his replacement parts in the offseason—the Broncos will continue to win every Super Bowl, ever. It nauseates me to write that, but I’m afraid it’s true.
It’s the Super Bowl. It’ll be fun.
Broncos 38 Seahawks 30