a blog launched to laugh at my own expense

Sarah vs the Super Bowl

Confessions of a Fake Football Fan
(i.e. I don't even drink beer)



When my Twitter news feed, (my only reliable source of information) informed me the upcoming Puppy Bowl, I knew the Super Bowl must be in toe.  

My first Super Bowl XLIX decision was pinpointing a viewing location. I understand that most people's default Super Bowl decision is choosing a team but many of my game time decisions (like guest list, wardrobe, menu) hinge upon the location. I checked my bank account, I grimaced,  I decided I couldn't afford to watch the game anywhere else besides with my father. I called J and the conversation went like this, "Sure! I will pick you up Sunday.... Yes, the refrigerator is stocked...."And then I think he said something else along the lines of  "You owe me three months of cell phone reimbursement payments" but luckily the phone cut out so I can't be sure. And I made sure to forget my wallet.


With my viewing location nailed down, my second next step was the guest list. I invited my best friend Patrick but he immediately declined once he drew upon previous Sarah vs the Super Bowl experiences. I believe he remembered that watching the Super Bowl with me did not actually involve watching the Super Bowl at all. But I couldn't be mad at Patrick because our twenty year friendship has been a very healthy balanced of me talk/talk/talking and him listening/listening/bringing me ice cream/ listening. Textbook definition of a 'dream friendship'. As seen here at our annual Christmas Eve dinner. 




With the guest list reverted to the original crew (Me, J, Dog #1, Dog #2), step three was choosing an outfit. True Fans may have chosen a team before an outfit, but since non-sporters are not expected to own jerseys, I was left to my own devices. Fine by me because I believe the world jersey is best suited when describing the fabric of my bed linens. I defaulted to my staple Sunday uniform of a maternity sweater (though technically labeled a 'maternity sweater,' I prefer the description 'vintage oversized') and on the bottom I defaulted to the most emotionally supportive spandex leggings to ever come out of an Indonesian sweatshop. And, in the name of the game, I russelled up an athletic cap. 






 Step Four. Pick a favorite player. Unable to fully embrace the neon trends of Seattle, I looked to New England's navy for a heartthrob hunk.  Moments later. I was in love. Vince Wilkfork. Vince's 325lbs is the full package in my bearded, bellied, family man dream world. 


Step Five. Pick a favorite commercial. This year's conclusive winner was  Kim Kardashian, which even had J laughing as he chuckled, "Who knew She had a sense of humor!" Runner up in the best commercial category was Mindy Kaling . Regardless of content, I was biased towards Mindy because I wholeheartedly believe she is my soul animal.

Step Six. Eat. Who doesn't love lasagna (or any Italian dish) fresh from the Frederick Famous Kitchen of Carol Guaccero?


My final step of feigned football interest was waiting for the Katy Perry Concert. If I didn't know better, I would have complained about all the football prefacing my favorite part of Super Bowl Sunday. Leading up to Katy's show, I entertained myself by playing fashion police. I felt like Joan River, my vision poisoned by the referee's thick, solid, black horizontal striped uniform... which I easily considered to be the second least unflattering look in existence. (Most unflattering look is reserved for a sheer crop on a muffin top). When the ref's rancid uniform choices finally took a halftime break, I was beyond  excited for the main event; Katy Perry. I love Katy. She gives hope to us average, impressionable girls, proving to us that you don't have to be a good dancer to be a great pop star. 

And with Katy Perry's half time show concluded and my favorite commercials selected, the game played on but my attention turned elsewhere. Like brainstorming a change in referee's wardrobe or conjuring scenarios that would have the the Dallas Cowboy's Cheerleaders play in next year's Puppy Bowl. 


xo
B




No comments