THE SUPER BOWL PARTY
The Super Bowl Party is not about the Super Bowl. It is not about football. It is about showing off food, and 58 inch TV sets. The Super Bowl party is to football fans, what the New Years Eve party is to alcoholics; strictly for amateurs.
Part of the problem with the Super Bowl party is women. Super Bowl parties all have women. Don’t take offence ladies, but when you all talk about breast feeding, child birth, monthly visits and shoes, I step the frick out of the conversation. At the Super Bowl party I really don’t want to hear that the Patriots will win because Tom Brady is “Like way more awesomer than Eli Maningham.”
Every Super Bowl party should have a large poster by the TV stating:
1. The names of the teams and their uniform colors
2. Where the game is being played
3. The temperature at game time
4. Who is lip-synching at half time
These are the questions asked by every woman who enters the Super Bowl party; there is no need to answer them 18 times.
This one fries my patoot. A controversial play ends in a loss of downs and change of possession, when the commercial comes on and the men strike up a discussion about what just transpired on the field, they get shouted down by the women, “SHHHH, it’s the new “Bank One” commercial!” I can’t talk football because it interrupts the fucking commercials? WTF!
Half time should be for recapping the first half, arguing over play selection, going to the bathroom, eating chili, drinking beer and marching bands. Not at the Super Bowl party. Half time is for quieting down, dropping everything, and watching this year’s superstar lip-synch her latest hit song to the backdrop of 287 dancers, 5000 fans fucking up the field, and $500,000 worth of fireworks.
W O-fucking W!!
CAN WE PLEASE GET BACK TO FOOTBALL?
The second half is played with critiques of the half-time show and endless discussions of 47 different commercials competing with the play by play calling of the game on TV. The game is always secondary at the Super Bowl party.
The Super Bowl party sucks!Can anyone guess why the Cranky Old Man has not been invited to a Super Bowl party in the last five years?
It does not matter. I am not seeking a party invite, if invited I will not accept, and if my wife accepts, I will not attend.
Tune in tomorrow for Cranky’s “Super Bowl Prediction.”
JH, we observe the same rules here for Super Bowl Sunday. I do seem to recall we watched several games - well at least the first 2 quarters together and then spinted home to get the little ones in bed - - and... watch the second half with peace and quiet. I think we stayed in Westfield one time to watch the full game in the basement - away from the party if memory serves me correctly. Anyway, I too will be watching from home and if Mrs. C needs a date, tell her to call Ms. H on her cell. I'm not leaving either. Enjoy your Cranky weekend. And go Giants! (Gotta pick one of them - right?)ReplyDelete
You need 2 parties going on to really enjoy any of it. One for the men, one for the women. The women can chat up anything they want, the men can get their game freak on. Problem solved!ReplyDelete
Damn I am good at this. Waves the pixie wand and disappears.
Nice to meet another victim of NJ family court decisions. From a woman who does everything you just complained about.ReplyDelete
Aw come on now! I'm crying foul. Or out of bounds or off sides or something similar. Pick your poison.ReplyDelete
Although we are few and far between we do exist. Women who actually LIKE sports that is. I'm aware that the New England Patriots were once known as the Boston Patriots and the logo is based on the art of a traditional minuteman. The Boston part is also why Steven Tyler (rock and roll god) was there for the Pats today. I have no idea what Tom Brady looks like other than he's number 12 and he's a pretty big guy for a quarterback. Oh and all their receivers apparently dipped their freaking fingers in butter before the game today.
As for the Giants, never have liked them, maybe it's because they try to confuse me by playing in New Jersey while claiming New York. I'd think the Yawkah's would hate that. Or maybe it's just because the jersey girls are easier to pick up.
As for the commercials, that's for after the game, when you're sitting on your couch feeling like you're gonna throw up from eating too many atomic wings and potato skins and not quite ready to go to bed in case you actually DO have to puke or well, other, which would require you to get up to do so. There's a neat little website that lets you watch them all at once and thank God you can skip the stupid ones and move on.
If you insist on forbidding women to the room, I'd suggest having a password. Name the top producing running back for your team, or the team record for the season in order to eliminate women who are there just to check out the tight little asses in their shiny pants.
Oh and for the record, that would be Green-Ellis, #42 out of Mississippi.
Wanna talk hockey now? :D
I hate it when what I write sounds funnier when I'm writing it than when I'm rereading it. Damnit. Was just giving you a hard time, although I am up for the hockey debate lolReplyDelete