Every blog is consitutionally mandated to write about the Super Bowl this week, isn't it?

Resident Capogiro sports nerd checking in. We all know this weekend marks the annual celebration of the nation's favorite holiday. (Wait. Am I allowed to say Super Bowl out loud? Will the Ginger Hammer swoop down to defenestrate Capogiro in toto if I don't refer to it as The Big Game? Guess we'll be finding out. Next week in this space: begging for donations to cover legal fees!)

Big plans this weekend? Myself, I tend to roughly alternate big swinging Super Bowl parties one year and staying in the next. Big parties...they're a good time, sure. It's important to shop around among your invites, weigh the pros and cons of each one. Are the hosts known to be legitimately good cooks, or are they going to rely on store-bought seven layer bean dip and chalky hummus? Is it BYO or will there be a fancy keg and fully-stocked bar? How many children (i.e. under 23) will be there? Dog-friendly? What kind of competition for a couch seat do you anticipate? Getting shunted off to a folding seat in a corner between the keg bucket and the pile of dirty dishes is unacceptable. And crucially...what kind of television are we talking about? I'm not saying that an 80-inch plasma with 5.1 surround sound is altogether a necessity. But 27 people crowding around a decrepit 19-inch tube circa 1986? I'm not coming. I don't care if you're making poutine with braised oxtail gravy.

(Obligatory food porn.)



And while an elaborate shindig definitely has its upsides, the harsh reality is that it's nearly impossible to actually pay attention to the game. And this year is likely to be a real-live GAME. No love lost between the Giants and the Patriots. (I'd do a quick breakdown of the game itself, but I know I likely lost half of the audience when they saw "Super Bowl" in the title. And I lost the other half--the vegetarians--at the picture of the poutine. CARRYING ON.) So for my part, I'd like to pay attention to the game itself this time around. I don't care about the commercials, really. I mean, there's the occasional excellent movie preview mixed in, but by and large it's the same lite "beer" ads over and over every year. I miss the Bud Bowl. And Madge can hop around in an LED-lit poodle skirt and french kiss a honey badger wearing a feather boa as far as I'm concerned. She's...not really aging as gracefully as some might suggest.

It's the last football game for months. It's the beginning of the long personal nightmare that is college basketball season (interminable, cynical, and insipid). It's the ugly dregs of winter, those weeks that leave you you with that horrible feeling you get when you take a drink of your coffee only to discover it's the cup you left on your desk yesterday. It seems like baseball season will NEVER start. So this year, I'm going to relish the last game at home. Wallow. Revel. Probably with General Tso's chicken and a cavalcade of crab rangoons. A cavalcade, I said! An excess of fried cream cheese and fake krab meat!

And I'll be asleep by the third quarter kickoff, I'm sure. Enjoy the game, everyone!