The Most Boring Game Of All

Super Bowl weekend is upon us. I won't be watching the damned thing, of course. But I do ridicule it each year. And so it's time for this year's edition.

Super Bowl About To Unleash Hours Of Boredom And Pointless Glitz On The World

Miami (AP) And so it is that once again we come to that time of the year again. Super Bowl Sunday unleashes its overblown nonsense this Sunday, February 2^nd, 2020, overshadowing Groundhog Day and presenting hours and hours and endless hours of commercials, commentary, a halftime show, and the most boring game of the year (editor: hey! Shut up! I like the Super Bowl!). This year’s edition is being held in the suburb city of Miami Gardens, Florida, at Hard Rock Stadium, which has hosted the game before.

This year Fox is broadcasting the game. The network has had its sportscasters in the area for the last week, building up hype for the big game. Fans have been streaming into the metropolitan area over the last few days, having tailgate parties, wearing team insignia from across the league, causing mayhem and chaos in the bars and beaches, and in all other ways acting like typical football fans: complete boors (editor: hey! Football fans are great people!).

This reporter, cursed to have an editor who hates him, and an editor subjected to a restraining order for multiple threats on his life over the years, has been remotely dispatched by that editor, who really is a cranky assed (editor: shut up! Shut up or you’re going to regret it!)… well, to put it mildly, this reporter was dispatched to cover the event. This reporter considers that a punishment, since this reporter hates football, hates this event in particular, and wishes that his cranky editor would just retire already (editor: I’ll retire after I’ve ended your snarky life!!!!). This reporter would also like to note that these footnotes are to be deemed further threats, and that the authorities might take steps to arrest the editor for violating the restraining order. (editor: I hate you! Oh, I hate you!)

Back to the subject at hand: the game pits the Kansas City Chiefs against the San Francisco 49ers. It’s something of a shock for Patriots fans, who have been accustomed to their team appearing in the game for the last few years. Indeed, Patriots coach Bill Belichick, lurking around the pre-game festivities in recent days, was dismayed that his team missed the playoffs this year. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way, dammit!” he told reporters, visibly frustrated. “I had a deal with the Prince of Darkness! My soul for repeat Super Bowl wins!”

The Prince of Darkness, aka Satan, on vacation in Las Vegas (where else?) shrugged when asked about it at one of the casino city’s golf courses. “Hey, old Bill has leveraged what passes for his soul one too many times, and I’ll be calling in his IOU pretty soon. Besides, I hate football. Golf is my game. Especially because everyone who plays against me is too scared to try to beat me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m kicking the **** out of Rupert Murdoch on the fifteenth hole.”

The two teams have never faced each other in a Super Bowl game. In fact, they have rarely ever played against each other. San Francisco has a narrow lead in their all time games played series, 7-6, and had a slightly better record over the season. Fans across the nation are picking their own favourites for the game, even if the teams involved aren’t their home teams. Betting pools have been set up. And advertisers have been devising overblown commercials at premium prices to get attention for their products.

Roger Goodell, the NFL commissioner, has been seen in recent days at pre-game events, shaking hands and looking like the cat who ate the canary. He has sparked some controversy, however. The other night, after drinking one too many Fireballs, Goodell let his guard down and started talking frankly. “Look, we all know this is a pointless sport. Guys slamming into each other for six or seven hours, opening themselves up to concussions and brain trauma and life long effects, not that the League can ever admit that, because if we do, we’re gonna be dealing with lawsuits for decades to come. I’m just saying, CTE is real, and every one of our players is ****ed.” The following morning, when Goodell was sober and dealing with a headache, he was confronted with his own words, caught on camera. Staring at himself saying the very same words, he shook his head. “I never said that. You guys must have gotten some lookalike to say that.”

Of course the halftime show is the subject of much speculation. Jennifer Lopez and Shakira are signed up at the headliners. As usual, the concert setting for halftime threatens to overshadow the game- this is typical given how boring Super Bowl games usually are (editor: shut up! The Super Bowl is not boring!). Lopez and Shakira are keeping a tight lid on their act, not willing to let any detail leak on what they promise will be a halftime show to remember. This reporter would point out that every act at this event says that line of nonsense.

Some onlookers are hoping for wardrobe malfunctions during halftime. Others, such as this reporter, are merely hoping that in advance of the game, the coronavirus forces the cancellation of the game, or that both teams break their legs when stepping out onto the field and thus cancelling the game and simultaneously causing millions of sports fan brains to short out (editor: I’m visualizing your brain shorting out).

There are those who are bothered by the timing of the game. The game traditionally takes place on the first Sunday in February. This year that just happens to coincide with Groundhog Day. That fact is bothersome to Fred Vaughn, president of the Groundhog Day Society. “It’s not right! They’ve got football half the year!” he told reporters outside Hard Rock Stadium. “All we have is one day! One day to pay honour to the groundhog! And they overshadow it with this game! It is sacrilege! Sacrilege, I say! It is a desecration to the Groundhog God, for whom we serve! I tell you now, there will be a terrible reckoning! You have not known fury until you’ve seen the Groundhog God unleashed!”

Reached by phone from Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, George Delaney, the Vice President of the Inner Circle, the group that manages the annual Groundhog Day event in the small town, had a different take. “We can share Mr. Vaughn’s agitation at having the occasion overshadowed, but not his level of agitation, or his other… eccentricities. I would like to point out that the Groundhog Day Society has a membership of one- Mr. Vaughn himself. And I’d like to add that there’s no such thing as a Groundhog God. And lastly, Mr. Vaughn has spent thirty seven years of his fifty two years on this planet in one mental hospital or another.”

There has been someone else in Miami Gardens, trying to make a spectacle of himself and find some place on the big game’s stage. O.J. Simpson, the one time football player, failed actor, and defendant in what some called the Trial of the Century, has been seen out and about, talking to fans, ignoring the disdainful glare of those who still think he beat a murder charge, and trying to be the centre of attention. The NFL, for its part, has been going out of its way to refuse to let him have any place in the game, given criminal convictions and the cloud of suspicion that remains above him to this day. This reporter saw him at a distance; there is a restraining order forbidding Simpson from being anywhere near this reporter, given previous threats of violence against him (editor: there shouldn’t be! The Juice should have as much right to throttle you as I should have!).

“It’s like this,” Simpson was saying to a group of people, some of them reporters. “The ****in’ NFL doesn’t want the Juice around! But they ****in’ owe me, man! They owe me! I’m the greatest ****in’ player in the history of this ****in’ game, and they treat me like I don’t even exist! It’s enough to make you want to ****in’ kill someone! Stab ‘em in the heart! But I’ll tell you, I’m ****in’ above that. Because I’m a better ****in’ person than that. **** yeah! So I’m here to tell all my fans that they need to tell the ****in’ League to make this right. They need to tell the ****in’ League to make me Commissioner! Like I’ve been sayin’ for years!:

He paused for a moment, looked through the crowd, and saw this reporter. “Hey! It’s you!” His eyes took on a dark, hostile look. “It’s that ****in’ mother****er who said I was threatenin’ to ****in’ kill him! I got some things to say to you, mother****in’ mother****er! Don’t you go around ****in’ tellin’ people I’m ****in’ threatening to ****in’ kill you! Because if you keep sayin’ that, mother****er, I’m gonna kill  your mother****in’ ass, mother****er!” He started charging through the crowd, only to be intercepted by three police officers who tackled him. “Let me go!! Let me go! I’ll kill that mother****er for tellin’ people I was gonna kill that mother****er!”

The belligerent former player was arrested, and taken away in a police car, screaming and cursing every step of the way. This reporter mused that he could benefit from another twenty years behind bars, not that it was likely to happen. This reporter also mused that his cranky editor should be locked away too, just for good measure (editor: I’m going to carve out your heart with a pick axe). Once again, this reporter reminds the world that his editor is a sociopathic lunatic clearly threatening the well being of this reporter (editor: I hate you! Oh, I hate you so much!)