No SuperBowl halftime show for you!

Yesterday at the Male Bakeoff we decided that any presidential candidate who ran on a platform of making the day after the SuperBowl a national holiday would win handily. Why hasn’t someone done this yet? I would vote for that person. You know you would, too.

Last night’s SuperBowl party was fun, even though the game was less than stellar as far as I was concerned. When the Rolling Stones came on at halftime, I turned to Mike and said, “Remember that time I went to a SuperBowl party and . . . ” and he was like, “I was just thinking of that.” So, here’s the story for your enjoyment.

A few years ago, Mike went to watch the game with a friend in Charlotte, and I decided to go to a SuperBowl party with some friends from church. It was at the house of some other friends. Or “friends.” I didn’t know them very well. It was a little bit awkward, but I would have to say that it was at least a defining moment for me with Brian and Sarah, because neither of them watch football, and I hadn’t yet caught the hang of the game. So we were there for the commercials. We also enjoyed the Matrix-Cam that the SuperBowl was sporting that year. We had a good time chatting and discussing our favorite commercials (this was the year of Bob Dole’s Pepsi commercial about his “little blue friend”).

At halftime, our host got up, turned off the TV, and said, “I thought we could just have a few minutes of prayer during halftime.” Cue the dead silence and stunned faces. Now, it wasn’t that I particularly cared about seeing Britney Spears (and her thong) and Aerosmith, I just . . . it’s the halftime show. I know it’s hardly ever good. But I sat through the game, and I’d like to see the show. To his credit, he didn’t push it much past, “You guys really want to see the show?” before he turned the TV back on. But . . . it was very strange to me. I like praying, I do. I just thought, you know, SuperBowl. There’s no way to spin this without looking like a big pagan for not wanting to pray, is there? hehe. Because of that, every year at that special time we call the SuperBowl halftime show, I force Mike to sit through this story. Since he didn’t let me tell it last night, I’m sharing it with you, my readers.

Anyway, at last night’s party, there was no praying. We watched the halftime show, we ate lots of food, we dissected commercials, and we had a grand old time. And the best part about not having a SuperBowl party at your own house . . . no cleanup!

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