Super Bowl Wives

This is Super Bowl Sunday so a lot of people are going to seem a little out of it. But, unlike a segment on Fox News yesterday, I don't view this as a problem needing to be solved. It is just a game that the whole frickin' world goes nuts over -- gorging themselves on statistics and food.

Manly food. Pizza and wings and tortilla chips and those little hot dog thingies that are already baked into some kind of pastry shell and chips and dip and beer -- lots of beer -- and popcorn and hoagies and beer -- did I mention beer? -- and nuts and burgers and fries and . . . and beer!


And chicks, man! The scantily clad cheerleaders, the scantily clad chicks in the ads, the brainiac chicks on the side lines blathering something into a microphone and the chicks that grew up to become Kentucky Fried -- and beer!

I know some of the wives gamely try to get into it and let me say, "That's sweet dear, but stay the fuck away from me during the game, bring food, take away empties and if you aren't too busy, could you do some naked cheerleading for my buddies? That's a nice wifey. Now, shouldn't you be ordering those pizzas . . . and that beer isn't going to bring itself to me. You know what I mean? So get the fuck out and try to show some more skin. O.K.?"

It is nice having a wife who understands. Occasionally a man -- and his friends -- have needs. And Super Bowl Sunday is no exception. I'm not quite sure if most men are living vicariously through the players or if a lot of them even understand the "slope Y, split omega" defence, but it is a chance to feel manly, shout "YES!" five times in twenty minutes and eat twice the weight of their brains in hot wings.

So, before I get too distracted, I just wanted to thank my wife for all the food and beer and for keeping my friends busy while I'm trying to watch the game.

"And, I just wanted you to know that I'll be there for you the next time the women have some sort of super sporting event -- you can count on it!"

Love, Johnny

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