Thank you for inviting me to your Super Bowl party, but I'm not going. Nothing personal; I just hate Super Bowl parties.
I hate everything about them. I hate hearing you talk about your new HD TV. (It just reminds me that I could be at home watching the game on my new HD TV).
I hate your brother-in-law from Pittsburgh who insists on wearing his Terry Bradshaw jersey and talking about how great the Steelers were, are and always will be. (Yeah, yeah, yeah... tell it to the Jaguars, pal).
I hate the Vegas Guy, who's got a bet on everything from the coin flip to the time the post game show ends and pontificates about the fine points of what you can bet on, like I give a shit.
I hate your brother-in-law from Pittsburgh who insists on wearing his Terry Bradshaw jersey and talking about how great the Steelers were, are and always will be. (Yeah, yeah, yeah... tell it to the Jaguars, pal).
I hate the Vegas Guy, who's got a bet on everything from the coin flip to the time the post game show ends and pontificates about the fine points of what you can bet on, like I give a shit.
I hate the NFL expert whose watched every game all season long on NFL Sunday Ticket, spends four hours a day on ProFootballTalk.com and can name the entire punting unit of the Miami Dolphins. Dude, I have a sports blog and even I think you should get a life.
I hate the guy who loves Belichick and swears the Browns never would've moved if they hadn't fired him. (I briefly want to walk him through the time line so he can see how screwed up he is, but decide that would require too much effort). I hate the kid who spilled the dip all over the coffee table. I hate the other kid who stole my seat when I went to take a leak.
I hate that all your beer is Bud Light. I hate that Vegas Guy appears to have polished off the entire 12 pack of Labatts that I brought.
I hate the table full of yentas in the kitchen who don't pay attention to the game but spend four and a half hours getting smashed on box wine and cackling so loud you can't hear yourself think, and who interrupt their revelry only long enough to wander in aimlessly five times a quarter to ask what the score is. Sorry ladies, but you've just switched me from "undecided" to "Obama."
I hate that I'll end up wearing more nachos than I've eaten (and I'll have eaten a lot of nachos).
I hate the people who critique the ads. I hate the people who want to watch the halftime show instead of changing the channel.
But I love the fact that I won't be hating any of that this year. Because this year, I'll be sitting on my couch munching my delicious meatball sub while drinking my own beer.
You may say I'm an antisocial jerk, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us, and the Super Bowl party tradition will be done.
I hate the people who critique the ads. I hate the people who want to watch the halftime show instead of changing the channel.
But I love the fact that I won't be hating any of that this year. Because this year, I'll be sitting on my couch munching my delicious meatball sub while drinking my own beer.
You may say I'm an antisocial jerk, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us, and the Super Bowl party tradition will be done.
5 comments:
Amen brother.
I like my HDTV more than someone elses new plasma that they don't even know how to adjust the aspect ratio on.
Plus, I don't have to drive anywhere which means I can enjoy my not-bud light as much as I want.
Mmm, hidden Christmas Ale makes me quite content.
You forgot one thing -- Super Bowl squares. It probably falls under the general heading of "Vegas Guy," but I can't freaking stand them.
Super Bowl squares aren't even a form of legitimate gambling; they're an obsessive-compulsive sideshow for people who wish the NCAA Tourney office pool could last all year.
What more pointless distraction is there besides keeping track of the last digit in each team's score at intermittent points throughout the game? It so anal-retentive and OCD-like, it makes me feel that I should count to 50 by evens every time I enter a room. Or maybe eat a plate of broiled chicken a la Wade Boggs.
If the best reason you can think of to come to a Super Bowl party is to empty your wallet on mindless parlor-game betting, do the American football-watching public a favor and retire to a place where you can watch something besides football.
Vinny, Peeps and I now feel less guilty about not inviting your miserable ass to our Super Bowl party yesterday ....
Starfish -- It's just as well you didn't invite the Rhino. The lap dances from the strippers would have impaired his view of the game, and he would have been unhappy. Great bash, though; can I help you plan XLIII?
Amen. This was my second year of eschewing the "party" so that I could just enjoy the game.
My biggest annoyance 9s the girls who point out that they "don't really care about the game, I just like to watch for the commercials". Dude, that's what I assumed anyway, but just hearing you say it lowered my already low opinion of you.
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