Super Girly

This year’s Super Bowl must have been a blast for most people. I’ve heard a lot of NFL fans boasting about the game’s exciting finish.

I usually gather with my fellow man in front of somebody else’s big screen TV. This year, a number of circumstances left me at home with my wife and kid, staring blankly at my 19 inch box set.

I wasn’t too concerned about it until my wife started bawling only four seconds into Jennifer Hudson’s national anthem.

“I didn’t know you were such a patriot,” I asked.

“Shut up, jerk! She just went through a terrible tragedy!”

My heart isn’t completely made of stone. I decided it was an acceptable reason to cry and didn’t think of it any further. I kicked back to enjoy the game.

“That’s so stupid! Why does he run right into all those big guys?” she asks only minutes into the game.

After a sigh of frustration, I said, “It’s about keeping the other team honest.”

“Wouldn’t it be smarter to run around them?” she insisted.

A few more minutes of football passed before my young boy unexpectedly dove at me, stabbing my crotch with his bony knees.

“What the hell!” I screamed

“Sorry, Daddy,” he says, while farting on my leg.

As the first half was winding down my wife made a startling discovery.

“You know what’s weird?” she asked, “Kurt Warner’s hair still looks really good.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked

“Well, he’s been wearing a helmet, like…the whole time, but his hair is still really nice and spiky,” she said while pointing to him on the sidelines.

The first half continued on and the wife’s silly questions made it borderline painful to sit through. I didn’t feel all that entertained until halftime, when they kept showing that top-heavy girl bouncing around to The Boss.

As the second half approached, I came back to the living room to find my wife misty-eyed again.

“You have to watch this commercial!”

“No! I just want to watch the game,” I insisted.

I barely listened as she went on to explain the commercial…something about a horse making his way to the circus in search of his soul mate. I wasn’t interested. I was hoping for good football and silence.

I got my wish for a while, and was quite pleased as the pace of the game picked up. Larry Fitzgerald, one of the great stars of the game, finally started making some plays.

“He’s got a great body!” my wife announced.

“Well, yeah,” I agreed, “He’s a great athlete…he’s ripped.”

“No…like, I mean for a woman…he’s got a great body.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked

“He’s got a really nice shape to him. He’s got curvy hips and a tiny waste…even the way he walks, he looks like a woman.”

“That’s disgusting!” I steamed, “He’s one of the best players in the league!”

“See! Look at him!” she blurted while pointing to the screen.

They showed him from behind as he walked back to the huddle, his long hair flowing from his helmet. I was suddenly overcome by internal confusion. I shook my head slowly in defiance as my animal instinct leaned toward agreeing with her.

After Larry scored his first touchdown, the cameras flashed to him on the sidelines with his helmet off, his face full of scruff and eye black.

“If he shaved and put on some make-up, he would be really pretty.”

I ignored her, and was grateful when she quickly changed the subject.

“Ooh, who’s that?” she asked as the cameras panned the sidelines.

“That’s Matt Leinart, he’s the backup quarterback.”

“He looks good,” she responded.

Forgetting briefly my company, I quickly replied, “Not really. He really sucked it up as a starter…he has happy feet in the pocket and his…”

“No! I mean he’s hot!” she interrupted, “He’s so good looking I bet he’s gay.”

“Pftt,” I snickered, “he ain’t gay.”

“How do you know? Just because he plays football he can’t be gay?”

Those words launched a mind-numbing discussion that ran deep into the fourth quarter. Somehow we got talking about mermaids. She demanded that I agree the existence of mermaids is possible. I refused.

We both turned our eyes toward the television as Al Michaels’ voice got excited. Larry Fitzgerald was running free to the end zone for the go-ahead touchdown.

“You go girl!” the wife giggled.

Sensing my annoyance, the wife finally quieted down so I could watch the Steelers drive down for the winning score. I turned to my wife excitedly after Santonio Holmes’ amazing catch.

“Wasn’t that drive awesome!”

“Yeah, it was nice,” she said, “Do you want some of this cucumber lotion, your hands look really dry.”