Fortunately, I was among those at a Super Bowl party where the camaraderie and cooking were the main attractions. I saw little of the game and none of the cultural sludge that passed for half time entertainment. Frankly, football in February is pushing the envelope. And the largely overbearing and preening personalities who analyze and chatter for a living hardly help.
As for that notorious half time, I’ve long since come to grips with this sobering reality: I’m an alien in my own culture. I didn’t sign on for any of this — from crotch-grabbing as choreography to the American flag as poncho to flashing as finale. Are marching bands and majorettes just too corny for a football game with Roman numerals?
Anyhow, I don’t regret missing most of Super Bowl XXXVIII, however close the over-hyped game was. And I don’t see that changing — unless, of course, the Bucs are in it again.