Let’s be honest: I love the Super Bowl. We were at Kim and Peter’s place with a bunch of other people and dogs, yukked it up and stuffed ourselves, were happy. And the football game in the background forced itself into the foreground a couple of times, too.
Small Dogs · Peter and Kim have a Papillon and Diane has two Pugs, so the scene featured small hurtling dogs, and our toddler-girl in among the chaos. She won a tug-of-war with the Papillon (twenty-plus pounds to seven, but the dog is way more co-ordinated) to the accompaniment of wild applause.
Food · To eat, there were crackers and crab dip and blue-cheese dip and cheddar and baguettes and chicken-chili-on-a-bun and stuffed jalapeños and buffalo thighs (like wings) and Lauren’s banana/chocolate-chip coffeecake.
There was some spillage, but the dogs took care of that.
Music · Look, I like Tom Petty. But that was pretty lame. I say give Prince a five-year contract for the Super Bowl gig, with full creative control, and see what he makes of it.
Football · I toured the blogs and thought the deepest remark was “The Giants’ defense limited Tom Brady to one touchdown pass.” And that fourth-quarter Manning-to-Tyee scramble is gonna be on best-of reels for decades. I counted at least eleven hands grabbing the back of Eli’s jersey, and the time between him getting loose and throwing that astounding pass had to be under a second.
The game tasted like one of Sophocles’ better tragedies; divine gifts made too much of, then hubris brought low. That’s coming it a bit high... but a few of those football plays managed to wrench the audience’s attention away from good company and doggie antics and really outstanding food. Which is all Sophocles ever asked of his plays, I bet.