Your Official Super Bowl 2012 Guide

I watched football over the weekend.  In fact, I have watched football for the past several weekends.  But if you ask me who played or who won, I would look at you with a dazed expression and say, “I’m supposed to know that?” 

It all started with the Bengals wildcard game.  And the reason I remember this one so precisely is because in order to get the game televised, they were giving away two-for-one football tickets to the game in Cincinnati.  When my husband asked if I wanted to go, my answer was: “And how am I supposed to stay warm?”  Because it was cold out and sitting for hours in the cold, on a metal bleacher watching a game I had no interest in was waaaaaayyyyyy above “If you love me you would…”  Getting special chips and dips, okay.  Giving the children money to leave the house so my husband can watch the game in peace, okay.  I mean, do you think my husband REALLY wanted to listen to whiny Lori for the entire game that I was freezing and you have to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!?  I doubt my electric throw would have access to an outlet.  Then again, knowing me I just would have ended up in a concrete hall somewhere with electrical access reading a book.  Much like I did the year we were newlyweds and used our vacation to follow the Dodgers during Spring Training in Florida.  Then again, since Michael would do that again I would define it as a vacation for one. (Feel free to send me a postcard.  To Miami.  Where I’ll be sunning on the North Beach). 

Most of the games were watched at BWW (Google it if you don’t know what the initials stand for; I am an experienced football game watcher and speak the lingo).  This is what I remember from the three or four games that I watched:

  • I enjoy looking at the backside of the players.  You know, how pretty their hair is as it cascades out from under their helmet.
  • I remember one Hail Mary and now I know what it means.
  • The Bengals sucked and were given the wildcard by default.  And before all the Bengal fans start making mean comments, my husband already took care of that by leaning over the table and asking me, “And what, exactly, do you base this comment on?  Please enlighten me about your vast football experience!”
  • I understand about the coaches using their laminated game cards to cover their mouth when they were giving directions.  But I had an instant sense of kinship with the coach that used a plain manilla folder.  I wanted to find out where his pretty laminated play card was.
  • Once in awhile I would ask questions.  Not that I really cared, but I love my husband and wanted to show my support other than just being the designated driver.  Although when I asked him how long a quarter was and he answered, “15 minutes,” that really irritated me because I know damn well he knew that I was referring to “Sitting at BWW waiting for the game to be over quarter time” and not the official time; which I already knew.
  • I now know what Tebowing is.  And I also understand why that pissed off that other really good quarterback.  (I tried to google the name but since I had no idea what I was looking for; I googled “Football Quarterback.” This was NOT helpful. Michael finally had to remind me that it was Tom Brady. Yeah, I never would have remembered that; I was about to go with Peyton Manning).
  • I spent the majority of my time on the restaurant playmaker playing Shark Attack.  I have the highest scores for the Kids (Up to Age 12), Teens and second highest for Adults.  (BTW, Who gets up to 107 points?  Stupid Jederman).  And for the record, “Human” is not a good answer for “Name of a Person” and “Earthworm” seriously cannot be considered “An Animal.”
  • I kept asking my husband: “Now, who do we want to win?” and then would immediately forget.  Today I would have to google to even find out who is going to the Super bowl.

I want mega good wife points for sitting for hours watching the game every weekend.  Trust me; I will make this up by making him take me to some sappy chick flick. I figure this should cover at least three to five movies. And I want Nachos.

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