We are aware—down deep—that they know nothing about football. We know that as they leap and tumble and toss their little tushes to and fro, it's not because their team just intercepted an opposing pass on third and goal in the red zone. It's because someone standing inches off-camera pointed at them and said, "Go!" We are fully cognizant that they may be only two pompoms and a trumped-up aerobics audition away from serving hot wings in a tight white Hooters T-shirt. Please don't ruin it by pointing out such salient information. We get it. We just don't want to think about that right now. We just want to watch the dancing cleavage for a few seconds in between big plays. If the networks would allow strippers on the sidelines, we wouldn't be watching the football game at all. Which is why the cheerleaders don't take their clothes off. Or talk.
Please do not discuss the curtains and which new curtains you are thinking of getting or the carpet or the new carpet you're considering or new chairs or new coffee tables or lamps or bathroom fixtures or tiles or sconces of any kind. We don't care about them on a REGULAR football day, never mind Super Bowl Sunday. We don't even know what sconces are. Sounds like some kind of breakfast thing to most of us. Something like a muffin, only harder. You say sconce, we think butter.
Wine and Cheese
Not today. No wine, no brie, no grapes, no table water crackers, no crudité. It's football. It's beer, booze and beef. Steak and cheese. Beer and Cheez-Its. Cheetos and fried chicken. Pork sausage and potato chips. REAL potato chips. Not baked. No apple slices arrayed on large serving platters with a celery stick section and a little baby carrot area located right next to a petite plastic half-pint container of real Israeli hummus. We want meat. Big, hot, red chunks of meat. And cold beer. Lots and lots of cold beer. Remember: We're morons. Watching a bunch of other morons try to catch a ball made out of a dead cow. Do you really wanna waste your Bordeaux or imported fromage on us? No. Fromage means cheese, right? Or is it a French car? Shoot. I think it's a car. I love French stuff. Mmmm, french fries. Let's get some french fries for the game.