I love Super Bowl Sunday.
I thought it was to be played last Sunday as I was writing this column because I’d heard so much hype about it, but then in checking discovered it will be played this upcoming weekend, Feb. 1, in Arizona.
I didn’t know who was playing until I looked it up a few minutes ago. I still don’t know if these are college teams or professionals. I heard all the talk about under-inflated footballs. Frankly, the few times I did throw a football the less air it had the better. I couldn’t hold the ball in one hand to throw it when it was fully inflated. I actually preferred a completely flat football because then you could throw it like a Frisbee.
All that doesn’t matter. I won’t be watching. In fact, I have a perfect 49-year record of never watching a Super Bowl game. Actually, I’ve never watched a football game on television.
It’s all my parents’ fault.
My dad wasn’t a sports fan. I never, never heard him mention anything about sports or witnessed him listening to sports on the radio or reading the sports pages of the local newspaper. Even with television, which came into our home when I was in high school, and up to his final days, never did he follow sports.
My mother gave birth to a very small child (me), who remained small all through school and was never chosen for either side at recess. When I did get picked, say, for baseball, they’d put me in the outfield where I prayed fervently that nobody would hit a ball my way because I knew I’d drop it, if I even got close enough to it.
It isn’t easy being a non-sports buff. Many times I have nothing to talk about when I am around men my age. I never have an adequate answer to someone who comes up and wanting only to make friendly small talk asks, “Hey, how about those Patriots last Sunday?”
But here is why I love Super Bowl Sunday, whenever it comes.
For about five hours on a Sunday afternoon there is never anyone out and about.
I remember going out to the dump a few years ago on a Sunday afternoon. I was the only vehicle unloading my trash. I learned later that the Super Bowl was on.
I love going to the supermarket on the day of the big game. The place is practically deserted and kind of quiet.
I know, I miss all those commercials for which corporate America pays close to 4 million bucks a minute each to air. That I consider a blessing. Besides, those commercials eventually slip into the lineup of “regular” television, and I catch them watching Pawn Stars.