Football with band-aid

My Nerve-Damaged, Chip-Filled, Bean-Dipped, Encephalopathic SUPER Chronic Ad BOWL Blog Post EXTRAVAGANZA

Welcome to my new genre: nutball screed.

  • If you like football, step away. This is going to get ugly. I’m not holding anything back. If I played football, I couldn’t hold anything back, because my shoulders would literally move in only one dimension, like Barbie doll arms. Regardless, I have a religious fervor! A moral awakening! I can’t seem to go to sleep! I may have eaten a coffee tree. The point is, I’m not going to stay silent anymore! I will stand up and speak out! The masses will not censor my words! The censors will not muzzle my snout! I’ve put this on a largely unread blog.
  • Um, I’m sorry, but I can’t remember: is today Super Bowl Sunday? Or is that tomorrow? Actually, what week is it? No matter, I’ll just turn on the TV and sit and watch it. I don’t need a functioning memory for that. Also, I can’t walk, run, or turn my head, so I’m pretty much stuck on the couch. I guess I shouldn’t have played football for one week when I was nine.
  • Friends, Romans, countrymen! Lend me your ears, for mine are not working! I come not to praise the Super Bowl, but to harshly criticize it and the entire sport of football for causing brain damage; memory loss; arthritis; joint pain; chronic muscle pain; multiple surgeries; suicides; uncontrollable anger; and spousal abuse. It’s cliché to say that we are the modern-day equivalent of gladiatorial spectators sitting in a massive virtual Colosseum watching armored slaves injure themselves for our delight, so I won’t say it. Hail, Caesar!
  • Hm, my extravaganza has no where to go from here. That’s as radical as I can make it. What do I do now? What day is it on again? Ah, Sunday!

Hail Mary, full of grace and excitement.

Our Lord doesn’t really want to have anything to do with you anymore, because someone’s going to get hurt.

Blessed art thou among football throws, and blessed is the fruit of thy pass attempt, which even if nothing happens, promises to be thrilling. Jesus.

Holy Hail Mary, Mother of Plays,

pray for us sinners,

now and at the premature hour of our death from accumulated head trauma.

A-many-men-are-dying.

  • It’s more about the ads, though.
  • What could we replace football with? Flag football! I know what you’ll say: too dull. But what if they were actual, regular-sized flags? Are you interested yet?
  • What else would work? Football played with a soccer ball! No hands allowed.
  • Field hockey with roller skates!
  • Women’s lacrosse using tennis rackets!
  • Adult t-ball using kickballs and aluminum cricket bats!
  • I’m pretty sure we could come up with something that would be great and not kill people. But just kidding about that soccer thing—bo-ring.
  • I mean, the ads are pretty awesome, right? I feel bad about all the guys debilitating themselves for temporary glory and millions of dollars that will compensate them for the remaining half of their life when they are in pain all the time, until they feel they may have no option but to end their own life early, but the commercials are so hilarious! I don’t feel bad about consuming them at all!
  • Hm, I’m not sure I want my kids watching any of this.
  • But the snack opportunities are amazing too! The things that can be done with corn these days are truly astounding. I think I’ll make a corn and black-bean chili dip over a bed of crushed corn chips, fried in corn oil, thickened with high fructose corn syrup, and spooned into flour tortillas. Corn tortillas break too easily. Like Peyton Manning’s neck. And people brains.
  • But what will we do without football, really? What will we do on this random Sunday in February? There will be literally nothing to do! Half of America and all of Canada is buried under snow or depression! Many people don’t know this, but the Super Bowl actually coincides with an odd cosmo-meteorological event in which the outside world briefly winks out of existence owing to the dimmed imaginations of billions of people staring at TVs. No other sports, food, or ads even exist at that time! We might have to watch the ice type of hockey!
  • Why am I trying to take away everyone’s entertainment, anyway? What do I have against brain damage? I need to just segment the part of my personal ethics that are being compromised. Go to church, then render unto Caesar—simple. One part of your brain goes over there, and the other goes over here. Very easy. Like Junior Seau’s method of suicide. And autopsies.
  • Advertorial combat! That’s the answer! Players dressed in sophisticated mid-century Madison-Avenue clothing will arrange themselves in corporate board rooms and attempt to use common office paper products to create various objects that can be thrown to the opposite end of the table and debonairly caught by fit men or women with shiny white teeth, or adorable CGI animals like gerbils or talking Shetland ponies. A perfect mix of fierce competition, class, humor, aspirational conspicuous consumption, and no one becoming mentally disabled! The winners get corn.
  • The important thing is to be able to talk about it with your colleagues on Monday. You don’t want to be the one who answers the question “What did you think about that Bud Light ad?” with “You know, Bob, I’m really troubled by treating repetitive subconcussive head injuries and damaging bodily collisions as a form of personal entertainment and social bonding, so instead of participating in the blinkered annual tradition of gawking at this modern-day reinvention of ancient combat, I read a book about the geographic settlement patterns of early colonial America. But I’m curious what you thought about that Budweiser Light Beer commercial and its broader place in the cultural landscape of rapacious greed that seems to have swamped our ability to interrogate our own assumptions.”
  • So if you are asked about a Bud Light commercial, just answer: “It was great! Just great! VERY, VERY GREAT!”
  • In closing, I would simply like to say: I hope the Panthers win, so I can enjoy it privately later.

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