Monday, February 2, 2015

Your words were like raindrops from a storm in a vase

Another snow storm, another day off from work. I went to bed late last night and woke up to my alarm. Shortly after, I received a text from Marcy: no work today. I tried going back to sleep; didn't happen. I can't decide if it was because I don't need as much sleep anymore or because my mind started cycling in anticipation of various morning noises (I'm talking to you, Steve The Snow Shoveling Demon). Either way, I'm up sipping coffee and plotting my next move.

I managed to catch the Super Bowl last night. I watched it free online and knew there was a good chance my computer would crash throughout the game. It did, mostly near the end.. I saw the game-changing Butler interception and then the computer, for the second time, crashed. All in all, things only went FUBAR four or five times. Not bad, eh?

Still, I was happy to have been able to catch the game. My attention to it wasn't all-consuming - I did things like record some tracks and watch some Sopranos - but I saw most of it. Here are some take aways.

- I like watching football but the overabundance of commercial breaks is a turn off, if not downright offensive. Since I haven't had cable TV for years and years (one of the healthiest decisions I've ever made), the welter of commercials, particularly early in the game, almost prevented me from sticking with what proved to be a great game.

- There was a point in the second half when I almost turned the game off. Seattle seemed to be in full control and the Patriots looked punch-drunk. I didn't want to be there when things got ugly. I had a feeling, though, that the Patriots would rally, would at least go down fighting. They'd done it before.

- When that miraculous  catch occurred, it seemed like the Pats were fated to lose. The Gods had made it known they favored Seattle by enabling that ball, which had been juggled to the point of absurdity, to land securely in the arms of the receiver. When you're the opposing team and you see something like that occur, how can you not feel dejected? Those fuckers, though, were resilient and mentally tough. They looked fate in the eye and, through sheer determination, brought it over to their side. To wit, the interception that saved the day.

- When it happened, I cheered loudly, jumped up onto my chair. Ultimately, I have no dog in this hunt, meaning the Patriots, the NFL, organized sports. Our culture's mad devotion to football indicates to me we're in a spiritual crisis, among other things. I find it kind of sad and obnoxious, but I say that with caution; I don't want to be that guy, the one who's the moral arbiter, the one who knows what's best for everyone. What the fuck do I know? Life ain't easy, son, so if you take some pleasure watching people throw and catch balls, tackle each other, then I say keep doing what you're doing, buddy. What I'm trying to say here is that I really savored this game. If there was ever an F.U. game, this one was it.

- Not much talk of Deflate-gate after the game. I figured, with the absurd amount of  gleeful emphasis the media put on it, it would be a leading topic of discussion. Guess the talking heads at ESPN, etc., forgot about it or something. Or maybe they didn't want to eat crow (Maybe I'm a homer after all, but it seems obvious to me they really, really, really wanted the Patriots to have the shit kicked out of them). Let's face it, the Patriots are the most hated team in the NFL, perhaps in all organized sports. This was their F-you game, a chance for retribution. I was kind of hoping someone like Thom Brady would have said something like "So are you going to blame this victory on deflated balls, you sons of bitches?"  No dice, but winning speaks volumes.

- Seems like every other televised Katie Perry performance is a thinly-disguised black magic ritual. I'm not even kidding.

--

I'll practice some yoga and go outside and shovel. Winter has decided to be a fucking asshole, but I'm not letting it get to me. Yet. Just have to take it one day at at a time.

Or some shit.

Peace, brethren.

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