Monday, February 8, 2010

Super Bowl Review: F*ck You Garrett Hartley, and (not) much more

As promised, my Super Bowl review:

My good friend The Dude hosted a Super Bowl party yesterday. As I mentioned in my last post, there wasn't a whole lot of game watching that went on (on my part, at least). Instead, there was ping pong (which saw yours truly get dominated by a combined score of 62-22), nom noms (chili dogs, nachos, and the like), and gambling-o-plenty (you try getting about 20 cheapskates to buy "squares," it's damn near fucking impossible). Because of that, I won't have much of a breakdown of the game, so I hope that's not what you're looking for. Oh, and I refuse to talk about Super Bowl commercials (mostly because I didn't see any). And last but not least, I won't mention The Who beyond this point (although my good pal Kory did a bang-up job filling in on drums for them).

So, while helping prepare the food (among other things) and then dishing myself up a large plate or two, I completely missed the first quarter and most of the second as well. I finally got to sit down and watch for a minute and noticed that because the score was 10-3 Colts, I was in position to win a 75er if that score held up until halftime. But, those pesky Saints seemed destined to ruin things for me as they drove down the field and suddenly, found themselves inside the five and ready to score. However, the Colts defense (and a questionable decision by Saints' head coach Sean Payton to leave points out on the field) kept my dream of finally owning 75 dollars for the first time in my life intact. That didn't last long, though, as the ultra-conservative (and downright boring) Colts immediately went 3-and-out and allowed the Saints to get the ball back with ample time left in the half. It all came down to Saints kicker Garrett Hartley and a 43-yard field goal attempt. If he missed, I would be the proud winner of three-quarters of a hundo. If he converted the kick, the money instead would go to dudes like Aaron Jones (the Peter Gammons look-alike at my work) and Richard Kunkel, who is a squirrely little fuck (but righteously good dude) that I know through my buddy JR. I figured I had a good shot of getting the money, as the field goal kicking in the NFL playoffs had been atrocious up to that point. As it turns out, though, the son of a bitch split the uprights and part of me died inside. Had he missed and I won the money, it would have saved me from a rigorous sweating at the hands of my sometimes-mean-yet-always-adorable wife earlier today. Oh well.

Despite the continued bad financial luck of the big guy (me), good times were still definitely had. The Saints won, obviously, so that was cool too. The Colts are insipid, emotionless, and employers of Austin Collie, so they didn't deserve to win (sorry, Uncle Rick). Drew Brees is a god damned animal and is now no longer the most underrated quarterback in the NFL (and deservedly so), and the rest of the team is filled with pretty likable dudes - outside of Reggie Bust, er, Bush and Jeremy Shockey, anyway.

My review of the new Crime In Stereo record (and maybe a DL link, if you're lucky) will be posted within the next week (or sooner, if I get my vinyl copy early). Also, I'm going to start talking some Colorado Rockies baseball soon (though not much, as I'll make you go to another site that features my writing - - for the real in-depth info), since pitchers and catchers will report to Spring Training next weekend (OH MY GOD I LOVE THOSE WORDS).

'Til then, take 'er easy.

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