It’s not because I’m not cool (even though I’m not). It’s not because I can’t make pigs ‘n a blanket (I can’t, but my wife can). It’s not because my TV is small (at least in comparison to most of the screens we use these days. Compared to your phone, watching the game on my TV is like a screen-ogling session at Best Buy.)
It’s just that I would put some pretty serious parameters on my party that I’m not so sure you’d be okay with. But perhaps I’m wrong. Please let me know if this is too much to ask, fully knowing that even if it is it won’t change my mind and I’m happy to watch this game by my damn self.
1. You have to watch the game. And not talk much. This wouldn’t be a rule for any Super Bowl, but this is not just any Super Bowl. My team, the Panthers, are playing. That means I’ll be pretty much glued to the TV and watching every detail down to the snot that Luke Kuechly knocks out of Bronco ball carriers. I’ll have to listen to the commentators fawn over Cam Newton and explain why he’ll probably get the Panthers to win the next 20 Super Bowls. And you’ll have to sit there and not crunch too loudly on your chips. Still interested?
2. You’ll have to excuse me during the halftime show. I’m just telling you I may dissappear for the next half hour. There are two kinds of people who watch the Super Bowl: those who care about watching the game, and those who care about watching everything but the game, including the Star-Spangled Banner, commercials, and the insufferable halftime show. I’ve already told you what crowd I’m in. So when the 1st half ends, I’m going to get up and do something. Maybe I’ll pee. Maybe I’ll clean up kids toys. Maybe I’ll order a pizza, go pick it up, eat it, and still be back in time for the can’t-miss-Coldplay-finale. What do you want? I’ve watched sports my whole life and halftime is generally resigned for bathroom breaks and yard work. Now I have to watch a laborious musical performance before finally getting to watch football again? No thank you…Really, you still want to come over?
3. You must endure my frenzied buffalo wings and blue cheese consumption. Seriously, if you want one you better snag it while my eyes are briefly closed and my wing sauce-slathered face is smiling at the heavens. I just don’t get to have wings and blue cheese much. Maybe like four times a year. So on the rare occasion they are presented to me I gormandize them like a fox who’s breached the chicken coop. So I’m just warning you if you reach for a wing, I am happy to share ONE but cannot guarantee you won’t draw your fingers back without them looking like they belong on my bone plate.
So that’s it. Needless to say it’s going to be a pretty quiet party at the Speights this year. Really though, come over if you want. Just bring your own blue cheese, Paco.