Super Bowl 44 - Colts and the Saints

Carrie Underwood is singing the national anthem as I type, and as usual, I am a teary, sniffling mess. Why can I not hear that song without being a complete dope? Aaaagh. At least we're not at a party this year; we were invited to Jeff and Julie's house, but we can't go because of the puppy. Zuzu is too young to go for so long without being let out to do her business.

Anyway, so it is Super Bowl night. I am really proud that the Colts are there, but I have to admit that I am usually completely unaware of sporting events of any kind. Basketball, football, competitive hair-brushing, skiing...it all just leaves me cold. And baseball, which is my husband's favorite sport? Baseball seriously makes me want to poke my own eyes out.

But it's always nice when the hometown team does well, isn't it? That Patrick Manning is such a nice boy. Ooops, coin toss! The official emblem came up heads and the Saints have the ball. I just asked my husband if this favors the Colts or the Saints and he said a mouthful of football jargon that I did not understand and then finished up by saying that he doesn't think it really matters. Although he'd prefer that the Colts have the ball at the beginning of the second half, which I assume is what's going to happen since the Saints won the toss? Whatever.

It's an absolutely beautiful evening in Miami. All kinds of camera flashing going off in the stadium. Some of the players look grimly determined, others look like they need a quick trip to the bathroom.

For this Super Bowl, I have to say that I'd be happy if the Colts won, but I'd also be happy if the Saints won. New Orleans has been through so much in these years since Hurricane Katrina and it seems to me that this would be a nice boost in morale for the whole city.

Whoa. My husband just told me that the Saints quarterback, Drew Brees, went to Purdue. I've been informed that we are diehard loyal I.U. fans here. Don't know if I can support the Saints in any way if I want to keep living here.

The Who is going to play at half time, which is just kind of sad. I mean, Roger and Pete are my parents' age, which seems.....weird. I do hope they're not going to sing "Teenage Wasteland," unless they dedicate it to their grandkids: their children are my age or slightly younger. Sadly, John and Keith are no longer with us, so I'm assuming they've hired new help for the bass guitar and the drums.

Am I being ageist? Not sure on that. I do know that back when I was in high school and taking guitar lessons every week, I had that famous poster of Pete Townshend on my bedroom wall with his fingers bloody from playing his guitar and the thought of him up there on stage, grey and balding, makes me feel a little ishy. And Roger Daltrey? He looks less like a rock god, with his undone shirt and his mop of long hair and more like our dearly loved Rupert Giles on Buffy, played with such perfection by Anthony Stewart Head. Maybe it's time to quit when you could be mistaken for a staid, tea-drinking member of the Watchers Council.

Commercials, commercials....the Tim Teabow commercial that pro-abortion advocates were throwing such a conniption fit about was just on and I'm, like, dudes. What was the problem with that? Then there was a really funny Doritos commercial that made Meelyn and my husband laugh, but I missed it. Hyundai seems to be trying to corner Toyota's market.

"Third and six," some announcer just said. Crowd cheering like crazy. I have no idea what "third and six" means and find myself unable to care much. Maybe it means I should get my third piece of chocolate sheet cake and eat it in six seconds flat?

Anything to support the team. Because I'm like that: Caring. Encouraging. Loyal. Willing to eat chocolate cake until it hurts.