If you watched the Super Bowl, I hope you enjoyed it. I didn’t see it. Now, hearing that, you might feel sorry for me and wonder what kind of horrible incident kept me from the most wonderful event of the year? Steel yourself, because this might rattle you to your core. Ready?
I just didn’t watch it.
Now, before you jump to conclusions, let be clear:
I knew it was Superbowl Sunday.
I do not see football as immoral.
I’m not angry about my team not being there.
I have nothing against the Seahawks.
I have nothing against the Broncos.
I am not currently on any medication.
I am not under the influence of alcohol.
My electricity and television were working.
I am not a communist.
I am male.
I am human.
So, why didn’t I see the game? Well, here’s where it gets uncomfortable, because I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t think football is amazing, or that I think fans are misguided, or anything like that. But here it is:
I just don’t care.
Now, many of you have told me that I should care! I know I should care! I should really care a lot! I should care because I’m an American! I should care because my neighbors care! I should care because not caring makes me look like a bookish uber-dweeb!
If anything, I should care because I am my father’s son. Here’s a man who ran marathons for most of his life, played every sport available to him in high school, and can recite every tidbit of sports trivia down to birthmark locations. God blessed this sports-loving man with 2 daughters and an artsy son.
It’s not that being artistically driven automatically means you don’t care about football. I have many comedian and musical friends who love sports. But for me, why spend 4 hours watching a football game when you can make fun of it for 2 minutes and then do something more entertaining — like Ms. Pacman?
I guess I just missed the sports gene. My sons seem to have missed the gene too. I will always remember 2 years ago on Super Bowl Sunday, when the television was off the whole day. There were no cheers. All you could hear was this loud conversation:
[Me] “Hey, when you boys do your sewing, don’t do it on the living room rug!”
[Boys] “What? What do you mean?”
[Me] “Just what I said — Don’t sew on the living room rug! The needles are going to go right up into my foot!”
[Boys] “What? Are you saying we can’t sew anymore!???”
[Me] “No! I’m not saying you can’t sew anymore! I’m saying if you leave your sewing stuff on the rug, you’re going to jab someone on the foot!”
[Boy] “Oh! We are so relieved you aren’t saying we can’t sew anymore!”
[Me] “You know I’ve been very supportive of your sewing thing. Haven’t I said that? I like what you sew. I’m a big fan of your sewing! ”
[Boy] “It just made us nervous, because it’s so much fun, and there’s just nothing good to watch on TV today.”
So, needless to say, I didn’t see the game. But one of my friends who is a devout Broncos fan told me the score was pretty close.
By the way, my buddy David Pendleton has a gene that attracts tornados. And when a tornado approaches David Pendleton, he does what anyone else would do — he leaves deadpan messages on my voice mail! Click on the banner above to listen.