I hate the Super Bowl.
Crazy, right? The only way to get more un-American is to throw apple pies at bald eagles. To make matters worse, I’m a Texan. We grow up on touchdowns and tailgates. I can feel the tar being boiled and the chickens getting plucked, as I write this. So, let me explain.
It’s not that I hate football. Despite the truckload of feminist issues I have with the sport (We get our own league, but we have to play in lingerie? Are you fucking kidding me?), I’m a fan. I know a field goal from an extra point and have no need to ask my boyfriend what down it is. At one point in my life, I was even a cheerleader. Pro-football, however, makes me livid. All the guts and glory of college football too quickly devolves into flashy touchdown dances and salary negotiations at the professional level. We treat the players like gods come to Earth, when so many of our students can’t name one Supreme Court justice. The Super Bowl is the worst example of this. Just the thought of all that money going into advertising, merchandizing, and entertainment for this one game sets my stomach roiling.
With all that righteous indignation, why not just blow it off and go see a movie? I would, really. Only…as much as I hate pro-football, I love a good party. With friends yelling at the TV, food traditionally eaten without utensils, and gallons of alcohol, Super Bowl Sunday has all the makings of a solid American party holiday. When you add in vampires and stack the empty beer cans into trees, it’s almost like Christmas! If you’re throwing the party this year and pigskin makes you wretch, don’t fret. I’ve got you covered.
A Super Bowl Party Guide (for the haters, the unwilling hosts, and the soccer fans):
- Join Pinterest – If you don’t have a Pinterest account, you’re a masochist. Instead of angsting over party details, please let others do it for you. With a 30 second search, I learned how to turn strawberries, rice krispy treats, and deviled eggs into footballs. Sure, molding food into unnatural shapes is a bit creepy, but this is the kind of shit that makes other people squeal in delight. You have just become the Martha Stewart of your friend circle! Unfortunately, if they also have Pinterest accounts, then they’ve probably brought a true-to-scale stadium chip & dip tray. Damn one-uppers.
- McDonald’s Is Your Friend – The big day arrives. Instead of spending the morning whittling a fondant replica of Tom Brady, you slept off the hangover from last night and read a book. All your big plans are shot. You can’t deep fry macaroni-and-cheese in less than an hour! Breathe. McDonald’s, that bastion of faux-food we love to hate, has you covered. On Super Bowl Sunday, they will sell you fifty – FIFTY – chicken nuggets for under ten dollars. Get those nuggets, readers. With enough fried poultry and beer, people will totally believe your story about throwing a “nostalgic” party. Bust out your ancient box of Twister and it’s middle school all over again.
- Tim Tebow Is Also Your Friend – Look, if you’re going to sit through this travesty of modern athletics, you should probably be drunkish. Enter Tim Tebow. No, the Broncos didn’t miraculously make it to the Super Bowl, but that won’t stop people from talking about him. Whenever an announcer utters his name, everyone must drink. If your gang wants to get really crazy? Take a shot every time Tom Brady flips his hair. I swear, that man is a Pantene commercial come to life.
- Run Low on Ice –When it gets unbearable, usually halfway through the third quarter, go get ice. This is every hostess’ favorite trick. When your head pounds after the thirtieth scantily clad beerbunny ad, just escape. I don’t care if everyone is drinking beer straight from bottles, people will always believe you’ve run out of ice. Take a breather, run to the grocery store (not the one right around the corner), and revel in the deserted, post-apocalyptic world of Super Bowl Sunday.
- Move to England – Perhaps a little extreme, but let’s be honest. The only way to truly escape this trumped-up gladiator match is to leave the country. Skip the Super Bowl party and throw yourself a flat-christening party instead. I promise, you won’t find any cheeseheads in London. You will, however, still find football fans. It may be a different ball, but the zeal is just as intense. The upside? The World Cup only happens every four years.
Be strong, fellow haters. After Sunday, we have seven whole months without professional football. In the meantime, I shall be working on my apple carving skills.