Of course, the media went into apocalyptic fits about it, because they are always ravenous for something, anything, to talk about. But for all the radio hours, all the reams of newsprint and all the squinting at screens, there is only one column to read on the issue.
It comes from an ED-209-esque out-of-control Steve-SerbyBot T2000. From today's Post: (Note, two lines are not from today's column)
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Babe Ruth happened here.
Twenty-seven Yankee championships happened here.
Sinatra happened here.
Chesley Sullenberger happened here.
The ball drop on New Year's Eve happens here.
Trump happens here.
Letterman happens here.
Me dipping my balls in a Chinatown whore's unwanting mouth happens here.
Everything big happens here.
Finally, the Super Bowl happens here, Super Bowl XLVIII in 2014, and you can't spell justice without the i the c and the e....
We never really cared weather or not the wimpy killjoys and fear-monger naysayers favored the idea of a Supe BRRR Bowl. They have officially been frozen out of the conversation...
Showtime. Or Snowtime. Our time.
Brett Favre. Jet Favre. Broadway Brett. Super Brett?
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3 comments:
Best thing about that All-Star Game (which I didn't watch, natch) was that drawstring bag. I use that joint all the time.
Eggs-actly. They could play the Super Bowl on the Moon for all we care. They should.
If memory serves, the hilarious "Sugar Buzz" team in Madden 2003 for PS2 played in a gigantic cereal bowl.
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