No commentary on today’s brutal loss, other than to say the feelings of Bills fans everywhere are best summed up by the following image:
Click the Busch to browse the gallery.
We’ll hire a dog to burn down a hospital
Not much to write home about on this one, folks. FAVRAH and the Jets beat the Bills at home, the second week in a row a division opponent has exposed a suspect Bills defense, while the offense didn’t do much to help. Thankfully, the Pats lost on Sunday Night Football, so we’re all square for the divison lead (tiebreakers aside). Big showdown next week in New England. Check out the gallery below while I go try to recover from eight beers too many.
What a day at the Ralph. Beers, dogs, friends, football and power outages on a day the Bills turned the lights out on the San Diego Chargers. I’ve kept mum on the Bills so far this season (this site’s downtime notwithstanding), having learned the hard way it’s best to keep expectations at a manageable level for our Buffalo sports teams. The Bills and Sabres are making that a bit difficult these days, with both off to blistering starts. No matter, though, my frequently cynical outlook on life (get it? the title of my site is The Wayward CYNIC! omg!) will undoubtedly temper the enthusiasm generated by today’s win once the effects of 18 beers, three hot dogs, one plate of nachos and God knows what else I had wear off.
Ignore the title and pretend the game hasn’t happened yet, so you can enjoy my Super Bowl Running Diary; a post idea blatantly stolen from ESPN.com writer Bill Simmons (who thought the Pats would blow the Giants out in this game)! All times are Eastern, as this site fully endorses the East Coast Bias™ inherent in all professional sports coverage.
Peyton Manning, he of the famous “Peyton Manning face,” finally found the validation he so desperately wanted by winning a Super Bowl. His Hall of Fame legacy now cemented, he can ride off into the sunset to do 68 more commercials about cutting meat and cheering on his accountant while wearing fake porn mustaches and drinking Gatorade.
Well, Super Bowl XL turned out to be a real bomb. Thinking back to last night, and I’d be hard-pressed to come up with more than one or two postives about the whole broadcast. The pizza I ate was pretty good, though.
I didn’t catch too much of the pregame, but what I saw of the ceremony honoring all of the past Super Bowl MVP’s was pretty cool. Conspicuously absent were Terry Bradshaw and Joe Montana, the MVP quarterbacks of the Steelers and 49ers, respectively. I come to find out, today, that they both declined to be part of the ceremony because they wouldn’t be paid enough. Montana wanted at least $100,000. What a joke. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a bad thing about Montana, so this is stunning to me. It’s further evidence of the old adage that all athletes care about is money. It doesn’t matter who you are, or what status you hold in the sporting landscape, money is the primary motivator.
Regardless of that, the ceremony was nice. That was then followed by a Dr. Seuss introduction, featuring Harrison Ford, clearly in the middle of an acid trip. Who thinks of this stuff? How did the meeting where this was formulated go? Was everyone actually on drugs, and thought it was a good idea to have a commercial with Harrison Ford on drugs, introducing the Super Bowl? Come to think of it, maybe that guy with the goatee, wild eyes, and earring wasn’t Ford at all; maybe it was Timothy Leary.
The National Anthem was a little iffy as well. All I could think of while Aaron Neville was moaning was Horatio Sanz’ portrayal of him during Saturday Night Live, and his obsession with cocoa butter. Aretha Franklin is fat.
On to the game itself, then. Finally, something to cut through all the endless hype and interminable build-up and rampant commercialism (I like adjectives). And the game sucked. Both teams were basically begging for the other to go ahead and take charge, and neither did until Pittsburgh pulled out a trick play in which their quarterback-turned-wide receiver Antwaan Randle El threw a bomb to WR Hines Ward for the touchdown. It’s probably a bad sign when a wide receiver has a better night at QB than your starting QB (Ben Roethlisberger), who had a 22.9 QB rating. But despite his horrid performance, he got plenty of help from the refs and a bumbling Seahawks team (see the end of the first half for the height of time-management incompetency), and now has a Super Bowl ring.
Big Ben shares his underarm odor in an effort
to describe his Super Bowl performance
The other highlight of any Super Bowl broadcast is usually the commercials, though I think they’ve been pretty lame the past several years. This year was no exception. How do these ad execs have jobs? These companies spend over $2 million dollars so we can watch a bunch of idiots dressed up like lettuce and tomatoes jump on each other? Other high/lowlights:
The rest of my night was spent playing some darts and watching some TV doctors talk very seriously about a “code black” on Grey’s Anatomy. I’m still not sure what a “code black” is, but I think it had something to do with bad, melodramatic overacting, as that seemed to be prevalent in the situation.
All in all, a Super night.
Okay, that last line was really lame, but I was attempting to tie it into the whole Super Bowl theme. Wait a minute, I just called the last line “lame.” The title of this post is “Xtra LAME!” YEAH! I’M AWESOME!!