Hey, I did one after the Grey Cup, so I’ll gravy train another title contest for a post.

The Game – Goddamn was that a good one. Sloppy at times, sure. But when it’s 31-25 and the losing team has the ball one last time inside the last 2 minutes, that’s a good goddamn game. Absolutely erased from existence was the old standby that you have to run the ball to win. I think I saw Aaron Rodgers jump a few times when he turned around and saw James Starks standing there : “WOAH! Who the fuck are…oh…oh, it’s you, James. Sorry dude, I kinda forgot you were there.” The Packers didn’t even pretend to try running the ball and still won the game. Starks shouldn’t even receive a game cheque, seeing as his on field performance consisted of standing around and occasionally clapping.

The Production – As usual from a league with a greater annual revenue than pretty much every nation in Southeast Asia combined, through the roof. Cameras everywhere. Swinging from suspension cables above the field, on the sidelines, embedded in the skulls of the referees…EVERYWHERE. I half expected Spiderman to come swinging through the stadium to deliver shots from the “Official Spidey-Cam, brought to us by the good folks at Met Life.” I think there was a bit of analysis at one point comparing the from-the-sideline colonoscopies of the starting quarterbacks and how the results might affect the outcome of the game.

And of course there was the annual Bataan Death March of pregame coverage featuring every goddamn Fox pseudo celeb awkwardly mingling with pro athletes. You know that you are an absolute fucking degenerate if you subject yourself to the never ending spew of ‘wacky’ pregame hijinx vomited all over your screen by NFL broadcast networks. Personally, I have better things to do. However, I actually really wish that CBS had been broadcasting the game this year. Sure, it would have meant listening to the retarded meanderings of Phil Simms for the game, but Charlie fucking Sheen would have been involved in the pregame festivities and that would have equalled immediate entertainment. Nothing would have been more epic than a segment covering some lame ass mini golf outing with Jon Cryer and the punters of the respective teams being crashed by a stumbling Charlie shouting about how he doesn’t have a problem, accompanied by Bree Olson, a case of vodka and half a key of the finest Bolivian nose candy money can buy. THAT’S must see TV! 

As for the legendary Super Bowl ads, who the fuck knows? I live in the dark and frighteningly foreign backwater of Canada, so we don’t get to see them. Actually, that’s the fault of goddamn CanCon rules that apparently mean I have to suffer through those bizarre promos CTV keeps running with android football players running past sitcom vignettes and 87,000 airings of that goddamn Boston Pizza commercial. Hey asshats, it’s FEBRUARY! Nobody is still stuck eating turkey leftovers! Your commercial stopped being relevant a month ago! Move on!

The Half Time Extravaganza – What in the fuck did we do to deserve this? It’s like Santa woke up and decided to take a big shit in the collective stocking of North America because Mrs. Claus is on the rag and not putting out right now.

The Black Eyed Peas rappelled down to the stage, and thus ended the cool part of the entire half time experience. Sadly, nobody missed the rope like that poor bastard in Black Hawk Down. I would have happily accepted some sort of Owen Hart-esque technical glitch, but no.

So, you’re dressed like rejected extras from the new Tron movie, and your weird zoo of backup dancers light up. Yeah, Daft Punk already exists guys…that niche is filled.

My personal favourite was  that vaguely Indian looking guy whose role in the group seems to be ‘stand around…look creepy’ over on the right there. Hmmm…clothing adorned with a bunch of bulbs that light up…this seems familiar. Where have I seen a get up like that before? Oh yeah! I remember…

Yes indeed, nothing quite as awesome as walking out on stage resembling everyone’s favourite fat fuck from The Running Man. If only the Black Eyed Peas had gone out with as much dignity as being electrocuted by a nobody…

Oh boy, nothing beats 4 people standing still and shouting in to microphones for pure compelling entertainment! They could have thrown 4 random residents of a geriatric care facility up on the stage and gotten something more lively out of them than we saw from these idiots as they cut from one 30 second snippet of a song that sounds sorta kinda familiar to another. While some of the lighting effects strapped to their legion of backup dancers like fun versions of suicide bombs (I wished I had a suicide bomb by about the ten minute mark) were neat, the group themselves DID ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

Then out comes Slash FOR NO EXPLICABLE REASON! I’m not even sure he was awake as he played the refrain from Sweet Child o’ Mine for the 7 billionth time FOR NO EXPLICABLE REASON as Fergie warbled along in a vaguely familiar manner. That was certainly better than her performance for the rest of the show, shouting in to the microphone with enough force to rip varnish off of wood. Seriously, Hitler showed more grace and subtlety while delivering fiery speeches at the Reichstag . The only good part about this is that you know Axl Rose is having a conniption and planning a lawsuit.

And now out comes Usher to…dance. Yep, he’s dancing in a horribly choreographed manner with a small collection of backup dancers, one of whom looks so much like him that I kept getting confused about their identities. Certainly glad that he was involved as such a big part of the show. Why in the Hell were these people there?!

While the CFL half time show was an over the hill embarrassment, at least those guys have a middling clue how to fucking perform a song. This performance was like watching a shit I had just taken come to horrible life and put on a show. I have never been happier for the occasional tech glitch that briefly gave our collective ears a respite from the toneless warbling of these has been fuck bags.

Perhaps the one good thing that will come out of a 2011 NFL season likely lost to labour strife and partisan bickering in the media is that in a year’s time I won’t be complaining about a half time performance by another collection of bland garbage. Probably Taylor Swift.