Prickly Pear Wine

“Football would be more interesting if every game were played to the Benny Hill theme song.”
(borrowed from the comments over at Pharygula)

Superbowl Sunday here at Casa de Kirby is met with the usual ambivalence. My beloved, manly-man–he who can actually use the tools in the garage in build things–has no interest in spending good daylight sitting on the couch, expanding his ass and raising his cholesterol via seven-layer dip and swilling cheap beer. Not that there’s anything wrong with the swilling of beer, by his estimations. But life is too short to drink piss Budweiser or Coors. Justin’s ideal beer environ and time is evening, in front of his 90-inch screen, watching an action flick with the surround sound threatening the structural integrity of the house.

Me, I don’t do team sports. Don’t play ‘em; don’t watch. Not much for loyalty to a tribe, er, team. As previous employers have noted, “I’m not a team player.” (Which, in employer speak, means I wouldn’t pick up the ball when some overpaid middle manager dropped it. I have the outrageous expectation that coworkers should do their jobs, and if not, “It’s Not My Fucking Problem.”)

It does seem, this year, that interest in the game may be a little lower due to the teams in question. Most of the sports fanatics I know tend to worship at the alter of the Cowboys, Packers, Broncos, or Raiders. The Pats / Giants match-up seems more like a regional grudge match.

My favorite bastion of American over-consumption, Costco, didn’t seem to be trying all that hard this Saturday. Last year a hot dog vendor was frying up free samples under a little tent and a smiling granny was paying for her prescription medications by offering samples of the seven-layer dip. This year, the dip was sitting, unheralded, in bland display, and the supply of hot dogs and sausages was pitiful. (Justin was looking for spicy chicken sausages for use in red beans and rice.) The armies of sports fans with flatbed carts filled with ten cases of beer; several bottles of expensive booze; and pop (for the kiddies), were largely absent.

Well, yeah, there was the one guy buying five large coolers. But, for all I know he needed them for an organ donor program. At any rate, shoppers at Costco just didn’t seem to be showing the SuperBowl lurve.

My uber-manly man will probably spend part of the game installing a custom stair rail in a customer’s home. If I remember, I may turn on the TV to watch the commercials. Maybe.

As for the half-time show, honestly, unless there’s another wardrobe malfunction, what’s the point?

P.K.