Superbowl XXX

Greetings sports fans. Welcome to the grandest and most storied sports event on the planet. Yes, it’s finally here. The one Sunday of the year when the biggest game is played on the biggest stage and viewed by the biggest audience with the biggest…well, you get the picture…it’s a biggie!

I am your announcer/color commentator/play-by-play guy, Moonliteman, coming to you live from the living room of Ben and Carrie Dover, our gracious hosts for the evening. Before the game starts, I would like to extend my condolences to the Dover’s, who are the most recent members of our group of sports fanatics. Being the newest members to move onto our street and wanting to impress their neighbors, they have cordially invited us all to their home to view this momentous event. Well, actually, Ben went to retrieve the mail and when he turned back toward the house, we were all standing in his front yard, decked out in our team colors and toting enough snacks to feed Jabba the Hut for a month, not to mention, more liquor than at a whole semester in a Girls Gone Wild sorority house. Poor, naïve newlyweds, they didn’t know what to say, so we took their stunned silence as a welcome and crammed into their small, starter home and set up our command center. I hope that their home owner’s insurance is paid up because their fixer-upper will probably end up being a tearer-downer after we are through.

Oh well, on with the revelry. This year I scored prime seating by making it to the corner next to the hibiscus plant. From here, I can see the big screen TV, and well, you veterans of Super Bowl Bashes know how handy a potted plant comes in after you have guzzled countless beers and the bathroom is full.

The festivities begin with the usual National Anthem of old jokes. Bill spouts off that when he married his wife, she was a tight end, but now she has become a wide receiver. His wife coolly retaliates with, if Bill didn’t have such a small punter, then maybe he would score between the uprights every once in a while. Everyone cheers, somebody accidentally knocks the honeymoon-in-Maui picture off the wall, the visiting team kicks off and the game has officially started.

Of course, the first few plays set the tone of the party. As the home team comes out with short dump passes, I see Tom scoping out Vanessa’s pom-poms. Vanessa in turn is coyly sizing up Allen’s offensive package. Allen is great at disguising his schemes because Vanessa doesn’t notice that he is subtly checking out Tom. Hmmm, I always suspected that there was more to Allen’s Liza Minelli CD collection than he let on. My prediction is  that by the end of the game, after massive alcohol consumption, this trio ends up starting their very own private league. Should be interesting to find out how Tom handles Allen’s tailgaiting.

It’s funny how the little decisions can have the largest impact during games like this. As the home team’s quarterback rolls from the pocket and passes into tight coverage, Pam from two houses down, leans from the couch to the coffee table for a quick raid on the four-cheese nachos. The visiting team’s D-back jumps the route and intercepts the ball causing our local neighborhood hooligans supporting the visitors to leap in celebration and bump Pam face first into the avocado dip. After a few large gulps, Pam resurfaces, missing one of her fake eyelashes. The lash wouldn’t be discovered until late in the third quarter when Larry from the next street over coughed it up after double-dipping his chip. He was the perfect gentleman and gave the thing back to Pam, who dried it off and re-applied it back into place. Didn’t look too bad, kinda like a really thin caterpillar. 

The game is a good one. Going back and forth, with highlight catches, open-field tackles, cheers and jeers from both sides, and Ben and Carrie staring in wide eyed horror at the plague of neighbors that has descended upon their home and were gnawing away at what they had thought to be a promising start in life.

Then came halftime.

As soon as the halftime entertainer fluttered his purple rained/raspberry bereted self onto stage there was a mad scramble for the channel changers. Stan Klaminski, the construction worker from the end of the block, snagged the gadget and being unfamiliar with the new TIVO/DVR/MADE-FOR-NASA remotes, started mashing buttons with his beefy fingers. Suddenly, the images of Ben and Carrie’s honeymoon in Maui nighttime exploits burst onto the screen in full mega pixel, 64 bit surround sound magnificence. Let me tell you, those two gave a new meaning to ‘getting lei-ed’. Sorry, we broadcasters are not known for our witty aphorisms. But, to say that we were all surprised is an understatement. The most surprised was Carrie. Apparently, Ben had forgot to mention that the camcorder peaking from beneath the beach towels and positioned at the appropriate angle was somehow left on (with auto zoom). Maybe he was waiting for the thirtieth anniversary, which if memory serves me correctly is the official ‘give the gift of porn’ anniversary. As Ben was frantically trying to explain this little mishap to Carrie who had retreated, sobbing  in embarrassed dismay behind a locked bedroom door, we diehard sports fans finished the video then settled in for the second half of the game.

I have to tell you, there is something about watching the Super Bowl in someone else’s house that makes the whole experience

that much more enjoyable. The touchdowns are more awesome. The cheerleaders are more beautiful. The throwing up on the new carpet is more satisfying. It’s what sports is all about. Bonding together as a community, enjoying the spirit of competition, and raising a little hell without having to worry about cleaning up afterwards. That my fellow enthusiasts is how watching sports was meant to be.

Unfortunately, I have to cut this broadcast short. It seems that the police have received a call from a lady sobbing in her bedroom: something about a drunken mob invading her house…oh and her husband is a pervert. Poor girl, she’ll probably go into a fetal position every time she hears the theme to Monday Night Football.

Well, the sirens are getting closer so as me and the other guest scramble over the backyard fence and head for the local pub, let me take pride in announcing that this year’s game set a record. This year, my neighbors and myself actually made it to the fourth quarter before having to flee from the cops. Who knows, maybe one day we will actually make it to overtime. Now that would be one for the ages.

Oh, and by the way. If you are looking to relocate, give me a call. If this year is like all of the rest, then there will be a for sale sign in front of Ben and Carrie’s house in the morning. For some reason, the new occupants never stay there for very long.

But, you need to hurry, because the next Super Bowl will be here before you know it…and the neighborhood has plans for the next one. I’m talking, enormous…extravagant…incredible…well, you get the picture…it’s a biggie!

Take care.