You probably know me well enough to know that I don't like football. Even in high school, where the marching band was reqired to stay at a game until our halftime show was over, I was out of there before the second half began, and cared not one bit whether our team won or lost. For college or professional teams I care even less.
It's true that when someone in the house had the TV on for a game, I'd wander in at halftime to see the bands' shows, which was always of interest to me. Ohio State football? Yawn. But when the select Ohio State sousaphone ran onto the field to dot the I in "Ohio"—now that thrilled my heart. But when halftime shows threw out the marching bands, I went out with them.
The Super Bowl? Double yawn. Not interested in the game, nor the commercials, and especially not the halftime shows. They long ago became garbage not worth wasting my time on.
If I were the type of person who cared for football, the Super Bowl, or modern halftime shows, or if someone had tied me down and forced me to watch one or the other, I'd have chosen the TPUSA version. Not that that alternative appealed to me, but I could at least be pretty sure the language would be decent and there would be no crotch-grabbing nor wardrobe malfunctions. However, since none of the above situations were true, I remained blissfully ignorant of it all. I didn't even find out who won till the following day.
I'm not against people watching the Super Bowl; if you did, I hope you enjoyed it. I understand it can be a fun time with like-minded friends. Just not for me; I'd rather read a book, write a blog post, or even scrub my kitchen floor. One of the advantages of advancing age is a keener awareness of what is, and what is not, a worthwhile use of my time.
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