Feb 1
It’s Super Sunday at Dodgeblogium!
2:00 p.m.
Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and a special hello to our Armed Forces overseas. It’s Super Sunday, and people are clicking off their TVs and turning to Dodgeblogium for minute-by-minute analysis of the big game.
That’s right. I’m devoting the considerable resources of this blog to covering Super Bowl CVXIII or whatever especially for our international visitors, who are most likely in bed. That is, unless I get distracted by my new Xbox game, True Crime: Streets of L.A., which is way cool. It’s got like 700 square miles of Los Angeles digitally mapped out. Not that I’d know it from Biloxi, Mississippi, because I’ve never been to L.A, or Biloxi, for that matter.
Whoa! See what I mean about being distracted?. Focus, man, focus!
Before we go to Houston, let’s set the stage by drinking 13 beers.
Whaddya mean, it doesn’t start for another two hours? I’ll be hammered by then.
Thash alright, though. I do shome of my bes’ blogging like thish.
First up, let’s get our predictions down. In contrast to most pundits, who are forecasting a tight defensive match, I’m going with my gut and predicting a lot of scoring. When the dust settles, I think the final score is going to be:
Carolina 65 0 7 10 16 22 29
New England 40 0 7 14 21 29 32.
And you can take that to your bookie.
Stay tuned, folks, there’s much, much more to come.
Made ya look! Made ya look!
3:00 p.m.
I would have to do this on the day the MyDoom.A worm bites. I can just barely connect with my Crimsonzine site and not at all with my MT blog. Grrr.
3:30 p.m.
One hour to kickoff, and the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Not that you’d want to do that — things under tension will sometimes snap right back in your face when you cut them. I’m just sayin’.
3:45 p.m.
Remember the TV show Hill Street Blues? I was just cruising around L.A. and there’s a Hill Street. And guess what? There’s a big hill right in the middle of it. So that’s probably where they got the name from, ya think?
4:00 p.m.The essential difference between American (or Canadian) football and the sport more properly called “soccer” is that American football is very, very tough on fingernails. There’s really no point in getting a manicure before the game, because it’ll likely just get ripped off.
There are no “metrosexuals” in American football. Still unconvinced?
American football: Dick Butkus.
English “football”: David Beckham
Case closed.
4:15 p.m.
To win this game, Carolina has to dominate on offence, be stingy on defence, and give 110% effort.
Conversely, to win this game, New England has to dominate on offence, be stingy on defence, and give 110% effort.
4:30 p.m.
And here we go! New England kicks off to Carolina!
OK, by the time I got that typed up and posted, I seem to have missed several plays. But I’m sure they were exciting. Hmmm. I may have to go for a more impressionistic rendering . . .
4:45 p.m.
Ouch! That’s gotta hurt! Woohoo, what a catch!
5:00 p.m.
This is the time when John Madden starts talking about sweat and blood and saliva and Gatorade and semen and stuff. Too bad he’s not doing the color commentary.
Madden understands like few others that football is a very fluid game.
5:15
Inside outside. leave me alone.
Inside outside. leave me alone.
Inside outside. nowhere is home.
Inside outside. nowhere is home.
Inside outside, where have I been?
Inside outside, where have I been?
Out of my brain on the five fifteen.
Out of my brain on the five fifteen.
OK, this doesn’t really have anything to do with the football game, but it was one of my favorite Who songs.
5:30 p.m.
That was the worst call I ever saw! If you could see it too, you’d agree with me.
5:45 p.m.
No, that was the worst call I ever saw. Trust me.
6:00 p.m.
Time for the half-time extravaganza! Yikes. Time for dinner!
6:15 p.m.
Singing and dancing continues. I can’t stand it. Many of the performers might be classified as “metrosexuals.”
6:30 p.m.
So now it’s down to the final 30 minutes. This is the point where bloggers must “suck it up” and find the strength to stagger across the finish line. Inasmuch as I’ve switched from beer to wine, “stagger” will be the appropriate adjective, er, verb. Hic!
6:45 p.m.
Some football stuff happened.
7:00 p.m.
I’ve called a blitz on the liquor cabinet. I regret that I’ve but one liver to give to the game.
7:15 p.m.
It’s actually 7:19. But who’s counting? Damn. New England scored again, so I must, ah, touch-up a few things.
7:30 p.m.
Damn. Carolina just scored. Let’s cool it with the offence, boys. Especially since I stand to win the pool. Bwahahahaha.
7:45 p.m.
Interception by Carolina! My pool is safe for the nonce. (“Nonce”? What kind of ponce-y exclamation is that? And what, exactly, does “ponce” mean? Flip, flip, Fr. = souteneur. Flip, flip, souteneur = man living off the avails of prostitution. Well, OK, then.)
8:00 p.m.
Curse you, Carolina, you’ve screwed up my pool!
8:15 p.m.
Down to the two-minute warning, and I’ve got zero chance of winning the pool unless it goes into overtime. And come to think of it, not even then.
I weep, bitterly.
8:30 p.m.
And with that field goal by New England, the 20 dollars that I near as had in my hand is snatched away by my greedy little niece.
But I think I’ve proved something all the same. I blogged the Super Bowl, and I lived to tell about it.
Though something tells me I’m not going to feel so good about it tomorrow morning. Good night to you all, and we’ll see you again a year from zzzZZZzzzZZzzzzZZzzzz . . .
3 Comments so far
Blog Watch
Dean’s World If you like books, you’ll love the discussion of ‘opening lines’ going on there. Dodgeblogium Our gnotalex
what about Ms. Jackson’s tit?
Caught a part of the game and noted that Patriots won. Guess a few East Coast bloggers will be nursing celebratory hangunders!