Yes, Virginia, There Is A Super Bowl

Virginia, your drunk and obnoxious friends are wrong. They have been affected by the excessive hype of an excessive tradition. They do not believe, except they see your food and eat it. They think that nothing can be real unless it is consumable. All tummies, Virginia, of all ages begin small but grow large, with the time-tested tradition of the Super Bowl party.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Super Bowl. It exists as certainly as nachos and bean dip exist, and you know that they abound in supermarket snack sections all across the nation. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Super Bowl. It would be as dreary as if there were no plump-cheeked E*Trade Baby, no Budweiser frogs reciting three-syllable poetry, no dominating romance between Pepsi and Coke to make tolerable this event. We should have no enjoyment from those early Sunday evenings every February, except in forcing down, for its own sake, one salsa-dripping chip after another while watching, in a blurry-eyed stupor, one shallow sitcom followed by another (except The Simpsons, which is pretty damned highbrow).

Not believe in the Super Bowl! You might as well not believe in the inebriating powers of Captain Morgan or Coors Light. You might get your papa to hire men to steal all the TV’s in the world so no one could watch the Super Bowl, but what would that prove? Nobody really watches the game anyway, but that’s no sign there’s no Super Bowl. However, the most real things in the world are those things children and men can eat and drink. Did you ever see a buffalo wing dancing around the henhouse? Of course, because it was part of a live chicken running for its life before it actually became a buffalo wing. Yum!

You may tear apart your TV to see what’s making all that noise inside, but that would be a lot of wasted energy, which could be better served by feeding your face. And, besides, you’d miss all those far more memorable commercials versus actual games. Remember the Clydesdale kicking a lowly point-after? But who the heck was Jim Plunkett?

No Super Bowl! C’mon, Virginia! Just enjoy the food and drink. And no more questions, except perhaps the repetitive “Who’s winning?”.

Who knows? Who cares? Who’s even watching? Is there anymore bean dip?


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