Superbowl

I sure have a different attitude about this year’s Superbowl than last year’s. Today, the big game is merely background entertainment; the 2006 edition, by contrast, was a matter of—if not quite life and death—at least longer life and near-death.

Props to the Bears and Colts, and especially their coaches, but it doesn’t really matter who wins; without the Steelers involvement (or even, to a far lesser extent, the Seahawks), it’s just a silly game played by oversized men in colored tights.

I guess I’m rooting for da Bears; Chicago is a real football team and Indianapolis still doesn’t deserve to claim the Colts from Baltimore. And while I like former Steelers coach Tony Dungy on the sidelines, I can’t stand bigtime Bush-donor and corporate shill, Payton Manning. I think his legacy will be much more interesting if it remains “can’t win the big one.”

Of course I’ll tune into the game; if nothing else, I don’t want to miss the commercials. But I’m not going out of my way to set up all my superstitious good-luck charms or to make faux-Primanti Brothers sandwiches using oven-fries and store-bought cole slaw.

By this time last year, I had already cleaned the house top-to-bottom and was getting ready to crack the first Rolling Rock of the day; this year, I’ve barely finished a few cups of coffee and worked my way through the Sunday papers.

And while I do wish the Steelers (or at least, the Seahawks) were playing today, there remains part of me that’s a bit relieved. From the vantage point of a casual fan, I can see clearly how ridiculous all the hype and hysteria is. I’m reminded that there are far more important things to do than plop down in front of the TV and scream for the figures onscreen to behave the way you want them to.

At least today there are; next year, when the Steelers are back, it’ll be different.