Supersuck.

It may be possible to be more underwhelmed by the upcoming spectre of !SUPER BOWL SUNDAY!, say, if I were a member of some long-forgotten tribe that communicated only in clicks and grunts. I say it may, because presumably such a tribe would've know enough to muster up the same feelings of dread and apathy. Hell, I don't even know who's playing.

At this point I think I ought to be able to derive a sense of accomplishment from the fact that for over a quarter of a century, I have stubbornly refused to find the merit in sports spectatorship. I went to a football game just once in high school, despite the endlessly lauded abilities of our coach & team. I admit this was because the whole scene was too "establishment" for me.. I was far more likely to be found on a beach somewhere, tripping my face off or reading Kerouac or Vonnegut. I did go to a couple baseball games last season, however, I'm sure I spent more time contemplating which beer to have next than I did actually observing anything going on below.

See, though I highly doubt any enjoyment will be derived from my following the game or any some such nonsense (I pretend that I could, if forced), imbibing enough alcohol enables one to fake enjoyment or even ignore that a major sporting event is taking place. So despite these misgivings, I will be at a friend's house later, celebrating.. just not the superbowl.