Ah, the Super Bowl. Everything that need be said about this bloated corpse of a one-day miniseries is baked into the name itself: an adjective that no one but sales reps and preteens use without irony, and understated punctuation with Roman numerals. Former Dallas running back Duane Thomas was asked about playing in the ultimate game back in 1972, and more than 40 years later his summation has not been matched: "If it's the ultimate game, how come they're playing it again next year?"
You'll handle Sunday as you please, but if you tune in for any of the XLVIII pregame, including the national anthem by soprano Renée Fleming, you're doing it wrong. The game's official starting time is published pretty much everywhere, including here (5:25 p.m.). You're well advised to wait until then, give it 15-20 extra minutes to miss the coin toss and military flyover, and then finally fire up the TV.
Because I suspect that roughly half of Fox's 17-hour telecast will focus on the damn Mannings, America's first family of football and the most tiresome passel of Louisianans outside Duck Dynasty. In other words, pace yourself. This is the fifth Super Bowl in eight years for Peyton or Eli, and while neither guy is inherently offensive, enough is enough.
Their dad, Archie, gets more airtime now than he ever did as quarterback of the Saints. Their mom is Olivia; would it surprise you to know she still gets nervous before her boys' games? Peyton and Eli's older brother is named Cooper, who once nurtured dreams of pro ball himself before a spinal condition ended his playing career. Why the hell do I know who Cooper Manning is?
Ranting aside, this will probably be a good game; most recent Super Bowls have been, against all odds. Seattle wins on a last-second field goal. Take that, Peyton.
