Monday, February 2, 2015

Super Bowl Observations

Midway through the third period of last nights game, I was feeling rather smug about my prediction of a Seattle blowout. The Seahawks were up 24-14, and the wheels appeared to be coming off for New England. Then Tom Brady started doing what he's been doing for the past 15 years, playing the quarterback position with robotic efficiency, slinging perfect passes to his latest collection of midget receivers.

It's very easy to dislike a guy like Brady, he of the cleft chin matinee idol good looks, the Warren Buffet sized bank account and the smoking hot wife. He of the breezy, effortless confidence and annoying Uggs billboards. But there is no denying his accomplishments on the football field,where he simply has no contemporary peer, having just won his fourth Super Bowl. The fact that he led his team to two fourth quarter touchdowns to win the game should come as a surprise to absolutely no one.

Still, there were the Seahawks driving down the field for the winning score with time winding down, aided by a miraculous bobbling catch that put the ball on the five yard line. After Marshawn Lynch dragged 11 guys down to the one with 30 seconds left, it seemed a sure bet that Seattle was about to steal the game. Then, for reasons that escape me and roughly 20 million other football fans, Pete Carroll decides to NOT give the ball to the most devastating running back I've seen play the game since Earl Campbell. Instead, he calls for a pass, a slant to somebody named Davey Crockett or something. Some other nameless rookie intercepts the ball. Game over. The cameras cut to Brady jumping up and down on the sidelines like a middle schooler. Pete Carroll hangs his head in disbelief at his own stupidity. What a finish!

Of course, there was a halftime show. Katy Perry and a cast of thousands. My son pointed out to me that the halftime show at the Super Bowl long ago ceased to be about music, having instead become mini- Olympic Games opening ceremonies. As such, this one was pretty dazzling. Everyone kept their clothes on, there were virtually no hyper-sexualized themes, and Miss Perry's outfits were kinda cool.

This year's commercials were...surprising. It seemed like no matter the product being pitched, the theme was "aren't Dads great?" One ad after another extolled the many virtues of fatherhood. There's Dad making breakfast with his little boy at 2 in the morning. There's Dad picking up his crying high school daughter in the pouring rain. There's Dad dropping his daughter off at the airport, tears flooding his eyes. It was quite refreshing actually. Normally, Dad is depicted as a clumsy, incompetent rube in commercials, always having to be bailed out by the wise wife. It was nice to see men depicted as something besides money-grubbing, ass-grabbing drunks.

So another football season can be laid to rest, leaving us only 63 days removed from the first pitch of baseball season. Yeah, baby!!