The blush has gone off my Super Bowl Rose ever since Madonna departed in a blast of smoke after her record-breaking half-time show in 2012. Even last year’s effort by Beyonce couldn’t come close to the show-stopping spectacle that Madonna put on back then. This year Bruno Mars is the biggest name they could produce for the break in football, and since the Patriots aren’t in it, I have no vested interest or reason to watch. (I was never big on commercials, Super Bowl Sunday or otherwise – though I hear Tim Tebow’s is uncannily decent. And there has been that tease that David Beckham will go naked, but who can count on something that miraculous to happen?) Luckily, there is one great benefit to the Super Bowl being on: counter-programming. Of course that constitutes ‘Downton Abbey’ later this evening, but prior to that there will likely be a litany of Lifetime-like movies, romantic comedies, and other fluff that most football fans avoid at all costs. Perfect for a stereotypically-gay guy like myself, who would rather watch an entire weekend of ‘The Golden Girls’ over one single minute of pigskin flying through the air.
Still, it’s fun to recall that Madonna-fueled football-mania of 2012, when I Tebowed and squeezed into a jock strap and cheered on Tom Brady for naught. Maybe I’ll do it again next year, but for now, the quieter ringing of the ‘Downtown Abbey’ is all I want to hear. Wake me when it’s baseball jockstrap season.
Back to Blog
