Return To The Super Bowl Part III

As the announcers have pointed out, this was the longest play in Super Bowl history. The Steeler’s, Barack Obama’s favorite, have managed to turn this whole thing around.

Obama supports the Steelers because he begged and pleaded and begged Pennsylvanians to stop being so darn nonpartisan and sell their blood and sweat to the better candidate among the two major parties, for whatever that’s worth.

Nice touchdown, gotta say. Those fellows from the Cardinals proceeded to utterly slaughter him. Don’t get me wrong; he had to earn it.

Ugh, looking at the player’s neck in the replay. That’s fugly.

James Harrison, the player’s name. Officials are speaking with him, trying to ascertain – no doubt – his condition. A 100 yard return truly brought to fruition. It’s still beautiful, even from an outsider’s view.

And now for the field goal. It’s good.

I am seeing the Trailer for Aliens vs. Monsters, which appears from its animation style to be Pixar-Disney, especially given the appearance of the faces.

Charles, to Michael’s disagreement, is claiming that everything that has come out since Aladdin from Disney “sucked.” Michael defends Lion King, Hercules, Toy Story, Meet The Robinsons, whatev.

NBC is beginning to air 3D programs, because everyone realized that everything is for free online. That’ll add to the old live, group viewing experience that advertisers crave. You see, when you watch something and then discuss it, it really drives home the entire concept that you need to own and use something in order to drive out some sort of utility, some sort of self-image that needs to be reinforced through purchase.

Now, I watch the bloated men with little hair reminisce about plays past. Meanwhile, statistics breeze across the bottom of the screen. This is reality. This is Sparta.

The half time show is about to start with Bruce Springsteen. These are the most expensive ads. Hayden Panitierre is tied up in the center of a football field, and magical football players are like superheroes swoop down and save the day. Oh my idol, materialism, the graphics are so slick.

The Boss feels comfortable enough to throw a guitar worth several thousand dollars to his aide. Maybe it’s just that he “wants you to step back from the Guacamole Dip” and get all angry and stuff. He’s a man in middle age on his knees. He must really care. “Is anybody alive out there?”

This strikes me as an opportunity for Prince’s appearance last year to really shin in contrast, call me crazy. But we’ll give him a chance.

Springsteen has decided to let the sycophantic fans crawl all over him, and to let his own hands run among them. Somehow, given the amount of energy he’s expending, I suspect this is a lip sync. But maybe I’m just lame and disillusioned from the likes of performance artists past. I hear that Springsteen tends to give two-tenths of a blarney stone about his act.

I witness the security guys getting personally crushed by the large crowd before Springsteen is pushed to jump into the crowd. He then slides across the stage, smiling all the way. I guess I feel less complacent now, and just as amazed as their real live talent.

So Bruce is playing a Telecaster. Super believable.

Springsteen plays it with so much emotion, but it’s also clear, given his schedule, that there is probably a point in his brain dedicated to replay of these old songs. There’s only so much I can add regarding that. It must be fun to act so rock star with fireworks. What a beautiful night it must be there.

Says Michael to you all, “I love you too Tyler I want to be a naval aviator to fly jets faster than anyone has ever done before harder than ever before

“I want to be in Australia and fuck all the woman on the island. They have the second highest percentage of woman who would have a one night stand with a dude. Sweden has the highest.”

Charles speaks kindly about Australian women, but I hear that they banned Fallout 3, an instant way to get on my bad side.

And there’s Bruce Springsteen jiggling that guitar around his chest and closing the halftime show. Okay, now here are some of the most expensive ads of the whole experience. These are dedicated to proving that the automobiles won’t blow up and leave you covered with flaming gasoline and, permanently, the scarring from second degree burns so commonly associated with drunken driving.

Speaking of boozers, here is a Mr. Boozer, a basketball player, informing you that “bling bling” are percentages off at the magical place forever. Universal Studios is reporting itself to be entertaining. NBC is telling me its shows are funny and that I should surrender larger portions of my adult life in the interest of observing them.

The commentators for NBC look exhausted, jolly, or even slightly full of beer. And then there is Matt Lauer talking to Barack Obama on NBC. Ah, the media blitz continues.

“Don’t fight with me, bitch,” – says Charles — “I will destroy you . . . I find myself calling people ‘bitch’ a lot.”

Acura is trying to push its muscle cars on you, baby. This is such mainlined pop culture. They tend to aiming for the homeowner crowd, at least by self-description. I saw an ad earlier for the multi-purpose scissor purchaser audience that was being sold at some huge homeowner store.

And now we revisit Al Michaels calling the 100 yard return an epic play, but I suppose nothing to shake a stick at considering how much pressure is involved here. “A key play,” NBC has labeled it all. The Steelers’ was a football players who could take serious personal abuse. And thus comes the money.

Now, the audience at the Super Bowl is listening to Black Sabbath’s crazy train as I watch the NBC computer graphics twist across the Madden-Michaels set like spider webs or the characters of the zodiac delivering all to meaning.