A SPLENDID GAME

As you might expect, what with being a foreign commie and all that, snobbishly superior and European, the Super Bowl has no meaning in my world. I am, in fact, reclining gracefully upon my settee, eating lotus petals. Oh, the sadness, languor, ennui. It is profound.
While sneering in my usual fashion about beer-swilling Yanks.
Most of whom are middle-class men.
Sportsfans.

Howling sweaty jobbies fondly clutching their balls while mutant freaks pound each other into the astroturf down in Florida. Which I did NOT express in any way on the internet, merely remarking that the game was on.


John O, who lives in Georgia and has religion, wrote:
"To those who want to badmouth football or the Super Bowl, fine. Do so elsewhere. If you use broadcast TV you have at least 4 other choices. Cable? You have at least 80 or more. Streaming services? It'll take you the length of the game to make a choice. Live in a town with a library? Own a DVD player? How many TVs are in your house? Do I bitch and cajole when you watch those damn romances? (Oops, sorry. I have marriage PTSD.)"

My response: "The Piano is probably the best movie ever. Way better than Gone With The Wind."


I'm not really passionate about Foot Ball.
It's a very stupid game.



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