Gather ’round children. Listen closely as I tell you of something… magical… that happened just last night, as you sat unawares.
The superbowl has become much like Christmas to me, in the sense that its meaning is largely lost to other peripheral traditions (like nachos and dip, Geico commercials, and Madonna’s weird afro-sporting tightroping sidekick during the halftime show). And everyone celebrates it, whether you believe in football or not. There’s a lot of buildup to the big day, resulting in an anti-climactic ending with one of the two teams winning, and one losing, which we all knew was going to happen anyway… like watching Aunt Marge get drunk and start to take her clothes off, then crying after cousin Wescott storms out after breaking the news that he got his redneck girlfriend pregnant with genetically disappointing twins. The only way to really enjoy it, like most holidays, is to drink a lot of happy juice (which I did).
The actual viewing of the game is much like watching the Macy’s Christmas Day Parade, with all the floats, performances and irritating commentators ignorantly using phrases like “gaping hole”. I watch it every year because it’s tradition, and somehow I wouldn’t feel like a whole person if I didn’t. This is what society does to us, goddamnit. We get used to believing lies, like the idea that Tom Brady and his gigantor forehead and discomforting hair-helmet is the least bit attractive. Sure, there are little highlights that make it all worthwhile, like Nicki Minaj and M.I.A. showing me their legs, Madonna and Cee-Lo singing “Like a Prayer“, taking me back to my early childhood like a sweet Christmas carol telling me of baby Jesus‘ birth, or the “asian guy” sitting in a bathtub filled with gold coins, all happy. I wish I were that happy…
But regardless of all those things, something magical always happens. And this year, it was Bob Costas‘ waddle.
1. (noun) – The part of skin that is sometimes flabby underneath one’s chin.
2. (verb) – To tap someone’s waddle with your hand, flat and outstretched, in an upward motion. Like tapping someone on their shoulder but in the opposite direction.
And, much like the fickle behavior of your crazy nephew determining whether or not he will receive presents that year, it is Bob Costas’ waddle, flapping gaily in the wind, that determines the fate of that much anticipated football game. May it ever blow in your favor.
- Madonna’s Super Bowl Performance: A Cheat Sheet (mtv.com)
- Madonna hit with a Cease and Desist Letter for Superbowl?!? (villagebuzz.com)