I'm officially over the Super Bowl.
There was a point earlier this week when I actually entertained the thought of becoming the first heterosexual American male to attend a Broadway show in lieu of the Super Bowl. ("Spring Awakening;" I hear that its scandalous!) Regardless, the event has gotten completely out of hand. Such a tumorous proliferation is not without precedent in American culture, one needn't look farther than Christmas, the Super Bowl of human sentiment and consumerism, to see how a once contained religious holiday has metastasized to nearly all other realms of life. Today, Christmas rivals only the NBA playoffs in the magnitude of its temporal distension--though sans a Chuck Barkley figure to provide us with perspective that can only be gleaned from a night of high stakes blackjack and a half-dozen whiskey sours...
But whereas Christmas invariably redeems itself with a parade of romanticized nostalgic moments; hot cocoa by the fireplace, presents wrapped in intricately tied lace bows, etc--the Super Bowl annually falls victim to the avalanche of hype that precedes it. (Take note President-elect Obama. Publicity and anticipation do not guarantee results or adoration--how'd things turn out for the 2008 Detroit Tigers, "Chinese Democracy" or the Star Wars prequels?). Every year, "the "big" game" is more or less the same; we're guaranteed oodles of sports cliches, post-game Berman-isms, Budweiser Clydesdales, competitive imbalance and a halftime show about as enjoyable as receiving a prostate exam from a homunculus. This is, of course, in addition to the requisite patriotic pregame ceremony that the brilliantly twisted Lewis Black confessed left him "sick of freedom...[pining] to be enslaved." FUCK FOX SPORTS, I can't take it any more!
That is, unless I'm given the assurance that Prince will play at every single halftime, in which case all bets are off. For those of you who may have missed it, here's the link: (like sex for your cochlea). All Along the Watchtower, Purple Rain; the man put on a clinic that even the inexplicable marching band accompaniment (?) was incapable of fucking up. Awesome, I say. Let's do it again--and again--and again! It may be the last hope the color purple has to ever again grace the Super Bowl playing field.
***As an avid Prince fan, I realize this request is
unlikely to be met...the demand for his services will soon be far too
great. In that vein, I've prepared
a list of acceptable surrogates should [the artist formerly know as, 'the
artist formerly known as-' Prince] be unavailable for any reason:
Beck
Pros: Equally likely to play set in a business suit, or in
a flannel cardigan with assless chaps.
Cons: May play set in flannel cardigan with assless chaps.
George Clinton and Parliament Funkadelic
Pros: Saves money on smoke machines, as fans will create
thick, sticky cloud above the stage all by themselves.
Cons: Court order bans George Clinton from entering
thirteen states.
OutKast
Pros: Approximately half of American Mink population will
die in the fashioning of Big Boi's outfit. Mink are vermin.
Cons: While Big Boi will certainly deliver the
Southernplayalisticcadillac[awesome]musik, the possibility exists that Andre
3000 will refuse to rap, and instead croon Charles Brown covers between
impromptu saxophone solos (albeit in a lime-green jumpsuit). Which wouldn't actually be all that
bad...just profoundly strange.
The Flaming Lips
Pros: Wayne Coyne enters field by careening down the
sidelines in a gigantic gopher ball (seriously).
Cons: Inevitable MTV-style "mash-up" with T-Pain and Jason
Mraz tickles Wayne's sense of irony, prompting him to hang himself from the
uprights.
Johnny Cash
Pros: Seems like a natural progression from Petty ('08,
age 57) and Springsteen ('09, age 59).
Cons: Died in 2003.
(Potential proxy?
Joaquin Phoenix, who portrayed Cash in "Walk the Line," has
[allegedly] retired from acting to pursue a rap career. Admittedly, giving this man creative
license on the world's biggest stage is a roll of the dice, but who'd be able
to look away?)
Coldplay
Pros: May get to hear Chris Martin yell "Hello Superbowl!"
thus constituting the closest he'll ever get to British rock immortality
(apologies to Paul McCartney for even inviting comparison; need we compare "NYPD
Blue" to "Cop Rock").
Cons: Music.
Creed
Pros: Yes Creed sucks some serious Jesus cock, so this one's
really a stretch. Still, imagine
Tim Tebow, third-string tight end for the 2012 Baltimore Ravens, bum-rushing
the stage during a rendition of "Heaven," tearing off his uniform and
inflicting the wounds of Christ upon himself with a cleat wrench. Would that be enough to get him
reprimanded for psychiatric care?
Or at least to keep him away from children?
Cons: Even God hates Christian Rock.
(Interestingly enough, Prince is a Seventh-day Adventist,
aka a Jehovah's Witness, yet he still makes frequent love to his [symbol]
guitar, the most prominent American phallic symbol without its own reflecting
pool. Take that, Bible
thumpers! Premarital sex is here
to stay; Prince may not like it, but he's also not about to compromise a
thirty-year creative/sexual conquest so that C.S. Lewis followers can feel
better about not getting laid before their forty-third birthdays. Somewhere,
Kurt Warner is cookin' up a mean stomach ulcer...)
"I love you baby, but not like I love my
guitar." Rock my Super Bowl
Prince Rogers Nelson--The Boss blows.
