I keep reading columns about how Super Bowl LVI was so woke and dystopian, what with its lefty network coverage and creepy ads, but I have to say I don’t know what these people are talking about. It didn’t bother me one bit.
Shareable snack in hand, I arrived at my friend’s apartment for this year’s Super Bowl extravaganza. I ignored the Covidy “masks required” sign on the lobby door on my way inside to gather with a bunch of people from different households for the game of the year.
The smell of fresh food greeted me at the door, followed quickly by the hoots, hollers, and “hellos” of friends. It happened to be one friend’s birthday and another friend’s baptism day, plus the Bengals’ first Super Bowl appearance since the ’80s, so there was no shortage of things to celebrate.
The game was on, and I glanced over occasionally to catch an exciting interception, boo a Rams’ touchdown, or watch an injury replay. But then it was back to grazing from the nacho bar, chock-full of fresh cilantro and jalapenos, and chatting with my girlfriends about what we did the rest of the weekend.
A conversation with a different old friend included mental note-comparing on a book we’re both reading, plus additional book recommendations. Another was dedicated to hashing out details for our next big group get-together.
I thought the halftime show was pretty lame, but I can’t say I was paying too close attention because I was more interested in making faces at my friend’s baby, whom I bounced on my hip to Snoop Dogg’s beat.
I missed the Meta commercial, probably because we were too busy rough-housing with my friend’s real-life dog and having in-person conversations. I likewise have no idea what Pepsi, Doritos, and State Farm had to offer this year; that must have been while our host was showing us her newly rearranged bedroom and cool new wall art she received as a Christmas gift.
Maskless celebrity appearances didn’t stand out to me when they flashed across the screen either because I was too busy yucking it up with the people in the room and seeing unmasked smiles around me.
So no, I don’t get what all the fuss is about, because if the drivel and filth of the last few Super Bowls taught me anything, it’s that they’re no longer worth much of my attention. This year, I didn’t really give it any.
