Monday, February 4, 2013

Super Bowl

Were you excited for the 49ers return to the Super Bowl?! That was played in one of my most favorite cities, New Orleans?!

I was, and remain, decidedly meh about the whole thing. Mostly local news coverage converging on New Orleans just makes me so so saaaadddd. Then I found out via facebook that my cousin was in New Orleans for the game. So I hooked him up with my college roommate, who is a bartender in New Orleans. And they hung out getting drunk together at the fancy bar where she works for hours. And I hated everything. More than usual.

I want to go to there! I even offered to write a "where to go guide" but my connection for paid writing isn't currently at work so, you're loss SF people who went down there. But frankly: you can't go wrong. Just don't really eat on Bourbon St. That's not a great idea. Oh, and as Matt Ufford won my heart by pointing out: Pat O'Brien's hurricanes are swill. It's a New Orleans thing and you should go there, the bar is pretty awesome but the hurricanes are disgusting. Don't drink them. Get something else. And then go to a real bar and get a real hurricane. Also: if you're old enough to rent a car, you're too old to drink a hand grenade. For future reference.

I'm not a huge 49ers fan, despite family ties that go back to season tickets at Kezar. I'm happy for the city and for the people that are fans and I would never mock their interest in it's not a BCS title game, ya know? My season ended almost a month ago. The Super Bowl being in New Orleans featuring the 49ers was actually a little bittersweet. My maternal grandparents and both my parents met up with my paternal grandmother who lived down there the last time the 49ers were in the Super Bowl. My brother and I got trucked off to a friend's house for a week. Both maternal grandparents have since passed and my parents have been divorced for twenty years. So that's awesome! I texted my dad about the circle of life of it occurring again 20 years later. "Your mom yelled at me for having fun and drinking. In New Orleans." "Funny! She does that to me now!" I replied. "Well, at least she's consistent," he responded. Love you, mom.

I was happy for the 49ers appearance for my fanatical 8 year old cousin because I appreciate just one other person in this family being as crazy about sports as I am.

But frankly, it's hockey season and that's way more exciting. Even if my team sucks. So hard. God they're awful. They're the kind of awful that isn't even fixable. It's not like, "Well, if we had a better blue line..." They're not quite Chicago Cubs bad yet but maybe...Houston Astros bad? This season's New Orleans Saints, but not yet Cleveland Browns. Does that help? It should be temporary losing after a period of being good but still, they're bad. 1-6-1 is their record. It's early. It's turn-around-able. But I'm, shockingly, not optimistic.

Actually, hockey digression: The New York Rangers wrote one of those "lol here's how women should watch hockey because tiny brains!" articles, which uuuugggghh. But then the women over at Stanley Cup of Chowder wrote a really well thought out response that delved into the "can you think players are hot and still respect the sport?" issue. Something I have struggled with personally, of which I thought there was no real answer and so I try to keep my "that player is hot" comments to a minimum.

They pointed out that your eyes can both take in an attractive player as a human being walking this earth with functioning synapses and an open shooting lane AT THE SAME TIME and that doesn't make you any less of a fan than anyone else, male or female and oh by the way, some male fans are idiots too. So thanks to them for that article.

Also, you should read Katie Baker's (women even WRITE about hockey, New York Rangers!) piece on goalie masks. It's really funny. And she validates my feeling that LA Kings should go back to purple and gold and get rid of black and silver.

Okay, sorry, hockey digression. Where was I? Oh right! Super Bowl! Or as I've seen it misspelled on twitter, the Super Bowel. Because AMERICA!

I ended up throwing a party for two for the game, not including the people I live with. I'm an excellent host and that I don't have more real world friends to enjoy my culinary prowess is a shame. Beth and I went out last Tuesday and I asked, hinting, "What are YOU doing for the Super Bowl?" "Nothing! No one has invited me anywhere!" "Me neither!" "I'll come over and watch it with you." "Really? Okay!" And thus, Beth and I came to watch the Super Bowl. (I ended up getting two invites the day of the game. Now, I know I joke about being a spinster and all but I'm a little insulted these people didn't think I would have made other plans mere hours before the game, even if it was just watching at home with a friend. In one case, I got a text to go to THE MARINA 15 minutes before kickoff. Thanks for thinking of me? I guess?)

For my small gathering, for which we determined sweats were proper attire, I made jalapeno popper dip (so good, so bad for you), guacamole, cheeseburgers, and macaroni salad to go with my stadium cake. That's right. Stadium cake. Beth walked in and exclaimed, "Oh my god! I didn't know such a thing existed! How did you do that?" Well with a bundt pan, of course. She also immediately wanted to move into my TV room, with recliner couch and big screen TV. "The surround sound keeps freaking me out."

We watched the game, tweeted excessively, and snarked with each other and had a blast doing so. About ten minutes into the game Beth asked, "So who is the hottest player on the 49ers?" I told her I didn't really know, I don't actually make it a point to watch the 49ers. "Geez, shouldn't you be on top of this?" That's about as girl cliche as it got.

I would instead go on to explain to her the down by contact rule, which came into play twice (that in the NFL, unlike college, you aren't "down" until an opposing player touches you).

Beth got frustrated on a pass interference call. "Wait, why was that a flag?" "Because you can't stop the guy from catching the ball by force." "But they get dragged down by the neck all the time!" "Yeah, after they have the ball." "Well that's just the dumbest!" I don't actually disagree with that assessment of the PI rule.

We, naturally, gossiped about the commercials, which are as big of a deal as the game.

During the Fast and Furious 6 commercial (really, America? Six?) I said, "Oh! Gina Carano is in it! I like her." (Not that I have ANY intention of seeing the movie.)
Beth, "Who the hell is that?"
Me, "She's this MMA fighter who was in a Soderberg film. And now she dates Henry Cavill, which makes me like her, and him more, because he's hot and doesn't only date stick thin chicks." Beth, "Who the hell is Henry Cavill?"
Me, "The new Superman."
Beth, "How do you know more about pop culture than me?!"
Me, "I watch A LOT of TV."

We would later argue over whether Chris Pine or Benedict Cumberbatch was the bigger draw to the new Star Trek film. Okay, so maybe it got a little more girls watch the Super Bowl cliche.

Seriously. If I knew how to turn bad romcom watching and ability to spot hot guys from television/movies into profit, I would be rich. My mom is currently watching last season's Smash, against all better judgment. "Who's the guy in the bar?" "You know him from All My Children. He was Patrick Thornton there." One question and I knew exactly who and what she meant. Good lawd I need hobbies. Which you think watching hockey and football would do but alas.

I do have to say it's nice hanging out with a not well versed in football friend because she thinks I'm a genius. I was explaining the wisdom of how and when to go for a two-point conversion over  a point after touchdown and she said, "You should be a coach! Are there women coaches? At any level?" I guessed that there were a few high school coaches, but that's about it.

When I started panicing, now invested in a game I initially cared nothing about, at the end of the game that leaving 3:30 (I think that's how much) on the clock in the 4th quarter after scoring the inevitable go ahead touchdown was a problem, Beth was in awe of my strategy and said I really should coach. Considering the LSU head coach only said it was "probably" 4th down territory at that point in the game when it was very obviously have to territory had me convinced Beth was maybe on to something. (I don't know nearly enough about actual football schemes for that to ever be a reality, but it was nice to ponder.) It ended up being moot, as the 49ers didn't score that inevitable touchdown and ultimately lost the game after staging a pretty improbable comeback.

Beth and I finally found common ground when the Lombardi trophy was presented to the rather snake oil salesman like owner of the Ravens. "Well, the trophy is made by Tiffany, if that helps," I offered. "See! That's the kind of information I can get behind!" she said.

So I'm sorry, all you tried and true 49er Faithful for the loss, but thanks for giving Beth and I several hours of TV watching entertainment. We'll, hopefully, do it again next year.

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