Super Bowl Sunday and Will the Taco Bell Commercial Influence My Life

The Super Bowl. Every Sunday since August has led up to this climax. No Chicago Bears on the field, butstill a major party day. It's early AM and I'm having coffee, having finished reading the papers and all of their predictions.

I ask my Sports Guy, "Why does this game have to start so late?" I am somewhat frustrated by today's drawn out timeline.

"Maybe it's because of the West Coast," he offers.

"Who cares about the West Coast?" I comment out loud. "Those California health nuts can fit in their jogging and Jamba juicing way before noon. So what are we going to do all day?"

No reply. He is obviously immersed in on-line football updates.

Fine. I settle down and do what everyone else is doing - check out the Pre-Game TV coverage that actually started two weeks ago.

The problem is that I really don't care about either team, and soon I am realizing that I will need a case of Red Bull to get through a whole day of this football blah blah.

Switching channels, Bill Gates is on a Sunday News show and I realize that he has a comb-over. Not quite Trump-like yet, but it's a slippery slope to hair hell. Melissa needs to intervene. Zillionaires with bad hair, can't look at it. Back to the endless game coverage that will have to suck up the remaining time to kill.

Finally, it's time, and we are out the door. Having had several options and invites, we had debated on where to watch the game this year. We decided to go to a bar in Lakeview where my friend Chuck has hosted a Super Bowl party for years. On the way to the Red Line, we stop at a new Chicken Wing place. (It's a pot luck party.) They were out of chicken wings. Thirty minute wait. An incompetent fast food place will not cause us to miss the kickoff. Popeye's provided back up.

On the train, we observed game day rituals. All of the 20 and 30 somethings are carrying their 12 packs of beer. This was reassuring, because we knew that if the train broke down, we could swap chicken for beer while picking up play by play action on our cell phones. We'd be fine.

We get to the bar - perfect setting. An old time Chicago tavern with mooseheads on the wall, Christmas decorations still up, pool table, darts, several dogs lying around, Schlitz in cans on special for $2.75. Cash only. No foo foo martini sipping yuppies here. (Not that I don't enjoy a good martini - but you know what I mean.) The food tables are setting up and people are dropping off pots of chili and cupcakes. Old friends connecting. Perfect.

Chuckie, our esteemed host periodically blows a whistle and yells at people (kinda "Ditka-like") to buy squares in the
game pool.

The game is on, and as you know...

First Half: One sided. Looked like a runaway.

Half Time: Beyonce

Second Half: Lights out and 34 minutes of drama. Major comeback by SF. The Harbough brothers neck and neck to the end.

Fourth Quarter: One team wins and one team loses, but a good time was had by all.

Bonus: My guy wins in the pool and walks away with enough cash to pay for all the Schlitz and more.

Commentary on my personal pick for Best Commercial:

It depicted "Geezers Gone Wild", sneaking out of the "home" and proceeding to go crazy - partying, pranking, clubbing, even making out. And then, ending up eating tacos at Taco Bell on their car hood. I thought this was hysterical.
SEE IT HERE. Being on the cusp of my Geezette years, I decided then and there that this will be the model for my upcoming good ones left. No rocking chairs and bingo for me.

Back at home, sadly, the season is over. My Sports Guy neatly folds up his Bears shirt - retired until next year. He actually asks me to kiss it for future good luck. I give him a Look and blow the shirt a kiss instead.

Then, I turned to him and announced, "Honey, I have a question." He's not paying attention, but I continue. "If I get a hot leather outfit like Beyonce's, will you take me clubbing, and then we can go out for tacos? That would be a blast." He doesn't reply.

Continued to be inspired by the Taco Bell commercial, I add, "Do you think I should get a tattoo?"

I know he hasn't heard a word. He looks up and mumbles something about Marc Testerman, and then I knew...
The NFL Pre-Season has begun.

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