Posts Tagged ‘Super Bowl’

The Super Bowl is almost here.  And you know what that means: lots and lots of gripping talk about the legalization and sociopolitical ramifications of Marijuana in Colorado and Washington State.  And football, too.  So if you’re a Seahawks or a Broncos fan, wipe the Doritos Tacos Locos stains from your fingers, stop Googling “What does XLVIII =?” and get to your printer and crank out the official Super Bowl 47 Drinking Game.

Take One Drink:
-  Anytime you hear the word “Omaha.”  (*Author’s note: I’m just kidding.  I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.)
-  If Peyton Manning gets hit so hard you think that his medically-MacGyver’d neck might just start spinning on its axis like he’s starring in an off-Broadway production of The Exorcist.
-  If you wake up mid-second quarter and realize that you had been rocked to sleep in the sweet, sweet, monotone- python-death-embrace of one Joseph Francis Buck.
-  When you find yourself trying to figure out exactly what race Bruno Mars is.
(*Author’s note: BONUS DRINK if you settle on “alien race.”)
-  When you and everyone around you smart-phone Googles Who the hell is Renee Fleming? as soon as the PA annoucners says, “And now, with the singing of our national anthem, Renee Fleming!”
-  If the lifeless corpse known as Troy Aikman begins to show signs of reanimation and you feel certain that you’re witnessing the start to the zombie apocalypse on live TV.
-  Whenever Fox cuts to a fan in the stands that dropped $6 Grand just to get stage 4 advanced frostbite in his testes.
If you find yourself contemplating cyberbullying Erin Andrews.
If any Fox sports personality claims that a cold weather Super Bowl was a bad idea.
-  If any Fox sports personality claims that “This is the way football was meant to be played.”
-  If you watch Michael Strahan’s teeth, engaged in their unending tug-of-war, as they tectonically shift farther and farther apart and you realize that there should definitely be a Nicolas Cage movie where he somehow is involved in stopping the theft of/stealing Strahan’s tusks to be sold as aphrodisiacs on the black market in Hong Kong.
 
Take Two Drinks:
 -  **CUTAWAY TO THE INTERIOR OF A NEW YORK PIZZA JOINT/DELI ALERT**
When the announcers drop a stunning, top-secret, bombshell on the nation: Russell Wilson was drafted in the 3rd round!  OMG!?!?  He WAS?!?!?!?  Better devote some time to it.
(*Author’s note: BONUS DRINK if they show a graphic with all the players taken over him.)
(*Secondary Author’s note: do a shot if Troy Aiman raps the Eminem lyrics, “Russell Wilson, fallin’ way back. . .”)
-  Anytime you hear the words “Legacy” when the announcers are talking about Peyton Manning.
When you realize that Marshawn Lynch looks like the token black swashbuckler from any of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.
When they show Wes Welker’s brutally painful drop from the Patriots V.S. Giants Super Bowl.
-  When Fox comes back from a billion dollar commercial break to the sounds of Frank Sinatra or Jay-Z and Alicia Keys.
(*Author’s note: side drinking game: before the game officially starts, each person declares that they’re either #TeamSinatra or #TeamHova and then whichever song plays first wins and the other group must chug half a beer. Your welcome, America.)

-  If Peyton Manning takes off his helmet, and you become concerned that his forehead may have been involved in a pre-game car accident.
 -  If Peyton Manning removes his helmet and the blotchy crimson square that is located directly in the middle of his fivehead brings new meaning to the term “Red Zone.”
-  If You find yourself wondering if Peyton Manning is, in fact, wearing a helmet that he bought for a child from the MetLife Stadium gift shop before the game.
(*Author’s note: seriously. Can he loosen up his helmet a little bit? I’m worried that he’s going to get concussed just putting his helmet on.)

 
Take Three Drinks
 -  **UNNECESSARY PIECE DESIGNED TO SHOW US THAT RICHARD SHERMAN ISN’T A “THUG” BUT IS, IN FACT, HIGHLY INTELLIGENT ALERT**
(*Author’s note: BONUS DRINK if you don’t buy that “Hey, he’s smart, so that means that he is utterly incapable of being an arrogant prick” backlash that immediately swept the country like a hyperbole wildfire of counter-opinion.)

(*Secondary Author’s note: As you can tell, I’ll be drinking right along with you.)
-  When Fox gives us a shot of the sidelines and we catch a live glimpse at the epic, perfectly unkempt, stubble-off that has been occurring all year between Eric Decker and Wes Welker.
-  Each time Bruno Mars airhumps the brisk New Jersey night air so erotically that Prince gets embarrassed.
**PEYTON MANNING’S LACKLUSTER POST-SEASON W/L RECORD GRAPHIC ALERT**
 -  If Richard Sherman talks so much that the fog from his hot breath in the cold February air creates its own winter storm front that sweeps across the country.  (*Author’s note: Winter Storm Adderall sounds about right for the name.)
-  If Anyone around you refers to Joe Buck as “Young Buck.”
(*Author’s note: *BONUS DRINK* if someone fires off any terrible Buck puns that sound like you’re dropping an F-Bomb i.e. “Go Buck yourself, Joe.”)

-  If the Seahawks’ secondary puts the PEDal to the metal, making the Broncos look PEDestrian, and the walloPED player finds himself galloPED over like a sick child wishing he was going to visit the PEDiatrician.  (*Author’s note: see what I did there?  If you do, take another drink.)

Chug it. . .Chug it. . .Chug it. . .
If “I really only watch for the commercials” guy takes his ironically mustachioed face off his microbrew IPA, takes a puff on his vapor cigarette before sticking it back into his corduroy pants, and then asks you to keep it down so he can watch this Volkswagen commercial. 
If you catch on fire from staring at Joe Buck’s hair for more than 11 consecutive seconds.
-  If either a Broncos fan or a Seahawks fan brings brownies to your Super Bowl party and you hesitate before taking a bite.
-  If either a Broncos fan or a Seahawks fan brings brownies to your Super Bowl party and you dive right in, hoping they’ll kick in just in time for the third quarter.
-  If you realize the irony of Bruno Mars doing a Pepsi sponsored halftime commercial, even though he’s clearly a coke guy.

FIN

Sure, the Super Bowl was fun and all. But what was the highlight of the night? What breathlessly beautiful, majestic display of sport will forever live on in the collective hearts and minds of the American public? Will it be our deer friend Ray Lewis playing for his legacy until the final horn of the game? Will it be Joseph Vincent Elite Dragon Flacco finally stepping out from the shadow of his almost-same-named counterpart of the silver screen, Shane Falco?

Well, those were nice, too. But how about a washed-up former hot dog eating champion renting himself out to what appears to be a frat keggar and then crushing an entire pizza in under a minute? Enjoy.

This footage started making the internet rounds shortly after the big game. The actual details behind the incident are a little fuzzy. But, yes, that is former competitive eating sensation Takeru Kobayashi. It appears he was rented out for the evening for some $3,250.

What does $3,250 get you?

- A new unofficial world record.
- A chance to tauntingly call Kobayashi “Bro” from the wings.
- A brief moment of internet stardom that immediately goes haywire as people start realizing that there is one girl at your entire party and that you had the cash for a $3,250 guest of honor but that you charged $5 a cup at your keg?

I love how, in the beginning of the video, everyone’s hyper-crunk to watch Kobayashi smash the whole pizza. But, as he gets going the crowd falls mostly silent. (*Author’s note: except for the negative Bro-caller from off camera. I bet that the one girl I saw wasn’t there with him. Just call it a hunch.)

So why did the aforementioned crunkness vanish so quickly to whence it came? Here are my best guesses:

1. It’s probably pretty nasty watching a dude smash a full pizza in 60 seconds. I’ve watched many an eating contest in my day and they’re somehow less glamorous than you’d think. And no one thinks they’re glamorous. Don’t believe me? Pause-face Joey Chestnut at next year’s 4th of July hot dog eating contest. He looks like he’s in almost as much pain as our deerly beloved Ray Lewis was when he was trying to sing along to Alicia Keys’ National Anthem.

2. They were silently hopeful that he was going to turn into Michelangelo, the Ninja Turtle, midway through eating.

3. “Dude, that was totally the last pepperoni pizza, bro. So not cool!”

4. They realized, with a burgeoning terror, ringing in the depths of their tremulous souls like a vile gong-blast, that they may have just opened the Pandora’s box of competitive eating, giving Kobayashi the confidence to rise from the ashes of obscurity like a miniature Japanese Phoenix and once again challenge American eaters with relentless fervor. What have you done, bros? What have you done, all-dude-party? Nooooooooooooooo!

5. They were all too busy getting their Screen Actor’s Guild cards for the ensuing Domino’s Pizza commercial spinoff that will inevitably happen.

FIN

The Super Bowl is almost here.  Which, for most of America, is pretty much a huge national party.  There will be feasting.  There will be cheering.  And there will be beering.  So what do you need to spice up your Super Bowl party?  How about Burnpoetry’s official Super Bowl XLVII Drinking Game?  Get to a printer, get to the liquor store, and get ready.

Take One Drink:

-  Every time someone makes a devastatingly hilarious “Super-Baugh” reference.

-  Any time someone makes the hysterically witty “Har-Bowl” crack.

-  Any time you hear the words “Sibling Rivalry.”

-  Any time you see a closeup of Ray Lewis sobbing like a tween during an un-asked slow dance at the school formal.
(*Author’s note: bonus drink if he does so while “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith is somehow playing in the background)

I could stay awake, just to hear you breathing. . .

I could stay awake, just to hear you breathing. . .

-  If you find yourself mesmerized by the freshest, most chic accessory in the game today: Jim Harbaugh’s marker necklace.

-  Anytime CBS mentions Hurricane Katrina.  They will, too.  If history is any indicator of things to come, make sure you have at least 4 beers devoted to this one challenge alone.

-  **CLOSEUP OF CAJUN FOOD ALERT**

-  Anytime CBS cuts to the booth and you realize that Phil Simms and Jim Nantz might be the two whitest dudes in America.  Seriously.  They make Brent Musburger look like B-Rabbit from 8 Mile.

-  When Jennifer Hudson comes out and destroys “God Bless America”, leaving it in a flaming pile of scorched, musically-awesome, rubble.

-  When someone inevitably makes a lip-synching joke during her performance.

-  If someone makes a Weight Watchers joke while she’s singing.
(*Author’s note: if you’re watching the game with me, just take two drinks and get them out of the way.)

-  Someone mentions Colin Kaepernick’s tattoos.

-  Someone brings up the “Is Joe Flacco an Elite Quarterback” topic that, at this point, is more tired than a narcoleptic watching C-Span after chugging Nyquil.

-  **TORREY SMITH”S BROTHER, NAME-DROP ALERT**

Take Two Drinks:

-  When Vernon Davis makes a catch and someone joyously shouts out “VD!” thereby becoming the first person to ever shout that out with glee.

-  If the announcers mention Joe Flacco’s height.

-  When the announcers show that Joe Flacco has been killing it this postseason, compare his stats to some of the all-time great post-season runs, and he comes out on top.

-  When the announcers mention how he beat both Tom Brady and Peyton Manning.  On the road.

-  When you realize that you’re still not really convinced that you’d want Flacco on your team over any of the other QB’s he’s beaten this year.  Welcome to Eli Manning territory, Flacco.

-  If someone you’re watching the game with claims they “only watch for the commercials.”

-  If someone you’re watching the game claims they’re “only here for Beyonce.”
(*Author’s note: 5 bonus drinks if that person is you.  Pervert.)

-  Anytime you hear the term “pistol offense.”
(*Author’s note: Please designate a driver.)

-  **SUPER-SKANKY GODADDY.COM COMMERCIAL ALERT**

-  The announcers refer to the Aldon Smith/Justin Smith duo as “The Smith Brothers” and a non-football fan watching the game asks, “Are they really brothers?”

-  If Kaepernick keeps the ball on a zone-read, doesn’t look like he’s running that fast, but suddenly is doing 22 MPH down the sidelines for a big gainer.

-  If Anquan Boldin goes over the middle for a nice catch and the announcers fall over themselves talking about his willingness to go over the middle.

Take Three Drinks:

-  Anytime you hear New Orleans-style jazz music, like we’ve stumbled into the credits of Treme.

-  If Flacco throws a cannon-armed deep ball that makes you think he’s worthy of this fake Wikipedia nickname I discovered before they took it down:

-  If Joseph Vincent “Elite Dragon” Flacco throws a pick that is neither elite nor dragon-esque.

-  If Kaepernick hits Randy Moss on a pass.
(*Author’s note: bonus 3 drinks if Moss proceeds to act like he’s mooning the crowd and/or runs over a parking attendant after the game.)

-  If they show any of this interview for your enjoyment:

-  If Jay-Z steps onto the stage with Beyonce during halftime and shuts the whole Super Bowl down for an ill rap break.

-  If you can hear me getting hyper-crunk and screaming, “Awwwwwww, yeaaaaahhhhh.”  Like a crappy hype-man when Jay-Z steps onto the stage.

-  When Beyonce gyrates all over the stage and you realize you might, in fact, not be ready for that jelly.

-  If you try to decipher the Roman Numerals of Super Bowl XLVII and just end up Googling it.

-  Anytime anyone mentions Ray Lewis’ impending retirement/”riding off into the sunset”/emotional leadership/last hurrah.

-  Anytime the the broadcast team mentions the fact that Ray Lewis may or may not be hopped up on more deer antlers than a game of Big Buck Hunter.

-  If, during the course of the game you suddenly realize that Jim Harbaugh’s most famous relative isn’t actually John Harbaugh.  It’s Screech from Saved by the Bell!

Chug It. . .Chug It. . .:

-  If Jim Harbaugh throws his marker necklace into a crowd and a confused New Orleans-ian (*Author’s note: Oreleansite?  Orleanser?  Orlander?) flashes him out of habit.

-  When you realize that you’ve been forever mentally scarred by your 2 month stint as a dishwasher/un-licensed cook/cigarette-and-energy-drink Gofer for a place called Da Cajun Shak and that any images of Cajun food and/or life make you scathingly bitter and furious about all things Louisianan.  Oh, is that just me?  Damn. . .I better get a 30 pack.

-  Anytime they show the 49ers’ top secret, game-changing weapon on the sidelines: this guy.

FIN

That’s it.  You hear that echoing, hollow, fading-like-a-once-struck-gong noise?  That’s the NFL season.  It’s almost gone.

That’s it.  You hear that sonorous, building, timpani-drum-roll that’ll soon be going for thunderous broke?  That’s the Super Bowl.  It’s coming soon.

There’s two teams left standing.  Two coaches from one family with one singular professional goal: winning the big one.  The Game.  But we have two weeks to hype up the super bowl.  Two agonizing, snail on a cold morning’s paced weeks.  So let’s look back at what got us to this point.  Let’s take a look at the championship weekend that was.

San Francisco 49ers V.S. Atlanta Falcons

The 49ers came into this game scorchingly hot.  With Colin Kaepernick setting an NFL record for rushing yards by a quarterback in the previous playoff game against the Green Bay Packers, a fearsome defense with an elite front seven, and a coach who seems to be pushing all the right buttons they were the favorites in this game despite being the road team with a worse regular season record.  The Falcons had pulled off a miraculous comeback in the previous week’s matchup with the Seattle Seahawks but still didn’t seem to engender any confidence, despite being the home team and despite having an offensive air attack loaded with weapons.

After surging out to a quick 17-0 lead, Matt Ryan and Julio Jones had already decimated the 49ers’ secondary.  It was so quick, so bereft of difficulty that I found myself shouting things at the T.V. like, “Who the hell’s covering Julio Jones?  Lennay Kekua?”  and “You had to pick today to deliver your best playoff game, ever, Matty Ice?  You just F-ing had to?!?!”  and “Asgl;shdgflsjkdhlkshgkhdghdgh!”  (*Author’s note: don’t ask me how I spoke a semi-colon.  Just don’t.)  The 49ers were not only on their heels, they were running like they had on heels.

But the 49ers never panicked.  They never screamed semi-colon gibberish or made terrible Lennay Kekua jokes.  They just kept grinding.  They kept running the ball in a pistol offense zone read that reminded me of the first time I saw Kaepernick play in what was one of the best football games I’ve ever seen (*Author’s note: a post that somehow got discovered and became a mini-sensation on a Nevada Wolfpack message board). Little by little.  Play by play.  The 49ers started coming back.

Vernon Davis, long since dormant, suddenly erupted with his biggest game since last postseason.  In his final 6 regular season games, Davis had 6 catches for 61 yards.  Against the Falcons, VD was getting passed like it was spring break in Cancun.  He had 5 catches for 106 yards.  Suddenly the entire state of California was happy to have VD.  49ers fans rejoiced in the glorious return of their old pal, VD.  Should I stop calling him that?

As the 49ers remained composed, they began to wear down the Falcons.  They held the Falcons scoreless in the second half and, thanks to a few costly turnovers by the cold and clammy hands of “Matty Ice” they were able to seize the lead once and for all with 8:23 left in the 4th quarter.  I was ecstatic.

So where was the turning point in the game?  What crucially vital part of the 49ers organization finally roared to life and carried the rest of team with it during its undeniable, primal surge towards victory?  Two words: this guy.

That’s right, people.  Look who’s baaaaaaaacccccckkkkkkkk!!!!!!

The 49ers have one thing that no opponent can counter, no scouting report can cover, and no hours of endless grainy-eyed film study could ever prepare you for.  They have this guy on their side.  He’s a good luck charm and I won’t even entertain the fact that he could possibly be anything else.  Here’s another shot of his majestic, flowing mane of mullet.  Drink it in.  And chase it on down with that delightful ‘stache.

The more of Him that they accidentally showed on the sidelines, the better the 49ers played.  It was scientifically provable.  Hard data.  Kind of.  I’ve detailed this youthful Keith Stone impersonator before on my blog, and even posited a few theories on who he may be or why he’s there, but regardless of the reasoning behind it, the 49ers need to keep him on camera as much as possible.  Hell, make him an assistant coach.  Get him his own red marker and let him hang it on his shirt collar like he’s Harbaugh’s own, mullet-mustachioed personal attendant.  Whenever, however, just get him a promotion and get him some camera time.

New England Patriots V.S. Baltimore Ravens

I admit, in recent years, my hard-line hatred of the Patriots has softened.  Once a nay-sayer zealot of all things Brady and Belichick, since they haven’t been constantly winning, I have grown to admire their ruthless efficiency.  Their consistent innovations and constant reinvention have begun to fascinate me.  However, I am not what I would call a Patriots “fan.”

The Baltimore Ravens are another matter entirely.  For reasons that are too long to explain I’ve grown weary of Ray Lewis’ constant pandering.  His incessant need to whip out a soapbox and catapult onto it to make overly bold, broad-brushingly weird proclamations has gotten tiresome.

(*Author’s note: First off, I apologize about the weird, semi-porno-sounding music that the person added.  Second off, this moment was pretty much the nail in the “oh, man, he’s such a powerful speaker, bro!” coffin for me.  He’s talking here about all the “evil” that will run rampant in the streets if the NFL Lockout occurs.  You live in Baltimore, Ray.  Pretty sure that is going to happen anyway.  Ridiculous.)

The reputation that the Ravens garnered in the early 2000′s, which was well deserved, of a dominant, smash-mouth defense hasn’t gone away even though the Ravens have continued to slip down the rankings in their defensive statistics as their key defenders have grown older.

I did, however, feel that I would rather face Joe Flacco than Tom Brady (*Author’s note: recent statistics be damned.  I don’t care if Flacco has been more clutch than Brady recently, or that his cannon-arm has been hitting its target more often than not this postseason.) in a potential Superbowl so I found myself uneasily rooting halfheartedly for the Ravens, knowing full well that I was potentially selling my soul to the absurdly-obnoxious-hyperbole-ridden-cliche-mania that a Harbaugh V. Harbaugh and Ray Lewis’ last hurrah Superbowl would be.

The Pats jumped out to an early lead and I felt that my own rooting interest might matter little.  Tom Brady was something like 2,000,000,000 and 0 when he had a lead at home and the Patriots held a 13-7 halftime lead.  But in the second half, the Ravens stormed back.  They scored 21 unanswered points behind a balanced offensive attack and an inspired defensive effort.

They had now won 2 straight games against heavily favored, home opponents.  They had just beaten Peyton Manning and Tom Brady in back-to-back weeks and Joe Flacco was looking to send a very clear, very loud F- you to all his haters.  I suddenly wasn’t sure if I wanted to play the Ravens after all.

(*Author’s note: check out this quick bio of Flacco from Wikipedia.  Now, that is a nickname.  Gotta love Wikipedia.)

Best fake-nickname ever?

Best fake-nickname ever?

After the game the cameras followed around Ray Lewis like he was a Lohan, post sentencing.  CBS treated us to an extended closeup of his man-crack as he fell to the turf in a melodramatic explosion of tears.  Enjoy this visual.  CBS sure did.

Ray Lewis' Butt Crack

So now we’re set.  It is Harbaugh V. Harbaugh.  It is an insane, dynamo of a young quarterback (Kaepernick) V.S. a much-maligned, signal caller who is trying to shed the stigma that has (unfairly?) been placed upon him for falling short in the past.  It is Ray Lewis’ final curtain call and the bedlam that will follow him, win or lose.  Hang in there, football fans.  It’s time to turn the over-hype alert to a code orange.

(*Final Author’s note: Are there any good nicknames out there for Colin Kaepernick?  I’m leaning towards calling Kaepernicus.  Nicolaus Copernicus was the guy who developed the theory that our universe was actually centered around the sun.  I figure, Kaepernicus is about to revolutionize the 49ers offense from stagnant, stale and outdated, to something revolutionary and new.  A little academic?  Someone give me something else, if you’ve got it.)

FIN

The Super Bowl is finally here.  After weeks of slow-roasting hype, the game has finally arrived.  As the game gets ready for kickoff I find there are several pertinent questions demanding to be answered, some intriguing storylines to be explored and, most importantly, some shit to be talked.  Whether you’re a New York Giants fan, a member of Tom Brady’s bunch, or just someone who really loves skanky Godaddy commercials exploiting women who can only be described as once-proud, sit back and let’s light up a Bowl (of Super).

Important Questions:

- What is Eli Manning so confused about?

Eli Manning started out this season by declaring himself to be an “elite” quarterback.  He was promptly eviscerated by the media for making such a bold claim.  However, after throwing for 4,900 yards and having something like — as the philosophers known as the Ying Yang Brothers would say — fiftyleven surefire interceptions get dropped, Eli has silenced his critics.  Kind of.

Now, with the Eli critics quieted to a dull, oceanic roar it is finally “Peyton’s brother”s turn to step out of the shadows and into the light.  And, from the looks of things,his eyes are still adjusting.  Eli is squinting.  He’s beady-eyed.

I can’t figure out if he’s perennially confused, has had his head replaced by a muppet face, operated via remote by a crack-team of Jim Henson puppeteers, or whether he was that kid on the Manning family’s block that looked directly at a solar eclipse with a pair of high-powered binoculars.

Maybe he is as confused as he looks.  Maybe he can’t figure out why, even during a week when he’s poised to pass his famous brothers’ Super Bowl win total, everyone seems to be talking about his brother’s surgically repaired neck.  There’s been more neck-talk this past week than at a hangman’s convention in the Middle Ages.

Eli Manning is the Emilio Estevez of the NFL.  Less talented than his brother, less talked about, but with a legitimate chance to get the last laugh.  Now, if only he could find some damn sunglasses, he’d be just fine.

-  Will America Break Up With Kelly Clarkson?

We know a few things in the year 2012.  One is that the “Hardest Working Man” in showbiz title now actually belongs to the Kardashian family attorney and the other is that we’re at the peak of the angry, scorned-lover-songstress movement.  (*Author’s note: Adele currently wears the crown.  But since she’s busy smoking more cigs than a character in a Stieg Larsson novel and is a Brit, we’re getting the silver medalist in scorn-pop.)

Kelly Clarkson, who has apparently been getting dumped since 2005 has only taken a break from her rocky, tumultuous, cliche-ridden love life to sing about how angry/scorned/weirdly revitalized she is by the entire process.

But what will she do without the requisite anguish that she needs to create? Can she even sing without being f-ed over by some dude? I’m not sure. And after the trainwreck that was X-tina Aguilera botching the National Anthem last year, can the Super Bowl really afford to hand over the keys to an ill-prepared, un-recently-heartbroken Clarkson?

I see no other logical solution than what I’m about to suggest. As a nation, we can’t have Clarkson standing in front of the microphone at the 50 and suddenly wondering, “Wait…what’s my motivation?”

She’s forced our hand, here, and we’ve got no other choice: moments before she steps out to rip through the Star Spangled Banner, we have to deport Kelly Clarkson. The United States has to dump Kelly Clarkson to bring out the best in her.

Nick Cannon?!?! Really?!?!

The Super Bowl pre-game show has devolved into a psuedo-celebrity Red Carpet event. No one is clinging to their last deflating-life-raft of fame with a more rigor mortis-ly tight grip than Nick Cannon. (*Author’s note: Cannon is like a tween playing video games before bedtime, desperately pleading with those in charge to give him “Just another 15 minutes…plllleeeeeassse?!?!”)

He has been chosen by the NBC powers that be to host the “Red Carpet” event that kicks off some of the festivities. Thank goodness we get the delicious Super Bowl chaser to wash the Cannon out of our mouths.

Intriguing Storylines

- Tom Brady VS The Giants’ Defensive Line (And Insane Expectations)

The Giants’ pass rush is fierce and fast. But, as dangerous as that speed is rushing off the edge, not even Apollo himself could outrun the echoes of a legacy uncemented. Tom Brady doesn’t need another Super Bowl win. He has 3. But he didn’t need to marry a super-duper-model. He didn’t need to grow out his hair, causing women across the nation to swoon like 8th grade girls watching Taylor Lautner play for the “skins” team in a pickup game of basketball. He doesn’t need to routinely play with a massive wellspring of passion for a game he’s routinely dominated for nearly a decade.

Will his legacy really be incomplete without another Super Bowl? Probably not. But, lest we forget, this is a guy whose legend looms Vince-Wilforkianly large in the minds of current NFL pundits and fans.

If Brady loses the big one again, he’ll still be on top of the mountain. But if he should win? He’ll have his face carved on the side of it.

Gronk’s Ank

The 6’6″ inch Rob Gronkowski has established himself as, with all due respect to Jimmy Graham, the best tight end in the game today.  After spraining his ankle in his last game against the Ravens, the logical question is how crunk will Gronk be able to get?  (*Author’s note: here’s a quick side question.  If you’re Rob Gronkowski, with the chance to potentially make or break a Superbowl for you team but you have an ankle that’s killing you, what wouldn’t you do to get on the field?  You have to think that, as one of the Patriots’ only legitimate offensive weapons, Bill Belichick will call Gronkowski into a side office somewhere in the bowels of Lucas Oil Stadium and will sit him down at a desk and lay out a syringe full of racing-horse steroids, a mirror with a Tony Montana-sized pile of blow on it, and a handgun.  He’ll give him the option, “One, two, or all three?”  Yes, I may just have portrayed Bill Belichick as Satan incarnate.  No, I don’t respect him less as a coach, even if he is.)

A New Prince Could be Crowned

I’ll have my eye on Amukamara, a former Nebraska Cornhusker, even though he isn’t usually a vital part of the game.  He has a Kid and Play worthy flat-top and a solid game.  (*Author’s note: and here’s the main reason why I wanted to bring this up. . .) If Amukamara wins, it will cap off what has been a great year for Princes.

Amukamara got paid, Harry got laid, Simba got re-released, and “The Artist Formerly Known As” allegedly hated on Glee‘s attempt to cover one of his songs, which moves him up another notch in my book.

And, Finally, a Random Burnpoetry Prop Bet:

- Madonna attempts to cougar-pounce on Rob Gronkowski, mauling him with her botulismic face: 4-1

FIN

The Super Bowl is on its way.  That much you clearly already know.  In fact, everyone on the planet probably knows.  Although the Egyptians have been kind of busy lately.  That, however, is another story altogether.

The Oscars are also rapidly approaching.  The building hype for one of my favorite entertainment nights along with one of the best sports nights has led me to wonder: how can I combine the two?

Here are some Oscar-themed plot-lines to keep your eyes on during tomorrow’s big game.

Ben Roethlisberger: The “Black Swan”, Except Hairier

Roethlisberger is a good QB.  That much is clear, based on his previous two super bowl rings and his numerous accolades as a player.  He seems to be a leader, more-or-less respected by his teammates, and steps up big time during the clutch moments of the game when many other QB’s wither.  He’s basically the white swan.  He’s Natalie Portman plus about 150 pounds and a serious beard.

Off the field, however, he’s turned into the black swan.  He’s this creepy, perv-job of a man who rides motorcycles without helmets, rolls with an entourage that makes the actual characters of “Entourage” seem tame, and did some pretty dirty stuff in a pretty dirty place.  Put on enough eye-black and Big Ben bears an uncanny resemblance to the bizarro-Portman of cinematic fame.

Will Big Ben play like the white swan, gracefully pirouetting away from tacklers and saying all the right things in both victory and defeat?  Or will he play like the black swan, binge drinking with his o-lineman in a piano bar and trying to do too much on the field?

Will Mike Tomlin Continue to be the Mark Zuckerberg ( “Social Network”s Main Character) of Coaching?

In “The Social Network,” we are shown the creation of a revolutionary, insanely fast-moving man whose innovation and creativity have led him quickly to a life atop the heap of internet stardom.  While Tomlin is not nearly as caustic and abrasive as Zuckerberg’s character, he is also immensely talented and successful at an early age.

While Zuckerberg would probably crap his pants at the intensity of such a dignified and bad-ass like Tomlin, the two share their precociousness and singular drive and focus that has granted them both so much in their chosen fields.

Will Aaron Rodgers Display “True Grit” in Leading His Team?

Rodgers, who has been knocked by many as not being a “winner” in the past has a chance to show his mettle in the upcoming Super Bowl.  While the Steelers’ Bret Keisel has the beard that most closely resembles that of “True Grit”s lead character Rooster Cogburn, it will be on Rodgers to try to match his intensity.

In “True Grit” a young, relatively unproven young girl seeks vengeance on the man who murdered her father.  Despite her relative inexperience in the ways of the wild west she helps inspire the veterans around her with courage and passion that belies her lack of years.  Rodgers will have to do the same.

Favre is that old gunslinger that shot the Packers in cold blood and then headed for the border.  Rodgers will be pursuing vengeance and looking to leave his own mark on society.  I know, it’s not that flattering on paper to compare any 20-something athlete in he prime of his career to a young girl but if you’ve seen the movie you get it.

Packers’ Offense Against the Steelers’ Vaunted Defense: “Inception.”

The Packers have an explosive, mind-bending spread offense attack.  With more talented wide receivers than most offensive coordinators could dream of, even a legend like Dick LeBeau might feel as though Leo DiCaprio and Co. broke into his dreams and gave him nightmarish visions of Greg Jennings going deep.

However, the Steelers’ violent, smashmouth defense may leave the Packers’ offensive staff with their heads spinning like one of those weird little tops that somehow help DiCaprio and his crew sneak into your minds.

It will be a great matchup of two teams at the height of their prowesses and could be enough to have people feel like their world is rapidly being folded in on itself like a collapsing dream.  Intense, right?

The Halftime Show Will Feel Like it Lasts “127 Hours.”

I’d rather saw my arm off with a rusty pen-knife than watch the Black Eyed Peas dance around stage in ridiculous costumes that look like they were designed to be a part of “Rue Paul’s Drag Race” and give the entire rap genre a bad name.

FIN

It’s that time of year.  Everyone is starting to get the hype machine rolling once more for the upcoming battle that will be Super Bowl XLV.

However, before we get to the Super Bowl we are now subjected to the Sub-Par bowl, which is popularly referred to as The Pro Bowl.  Although to be honest, most of the time it’s not referred to at all.  And it’s hardly popular.

The Pro Bowl – long-suffering in the ratings game, is the NFL’s version of the show “Joey” that bombed so stupendously in the mid-2000′s, has gotten none of the usual rave-reviews and high ratings that the NFL is used to.  So they changed things around.  Placing the Pro Bowl in the week prior to the Super Bowl the NFL hoped it would revitalize a particularly tired all-star game.  They were wrong.  It still sucks.

Now that I’ve gotten all that griping out of the way, here are 10 ways the Pro Bowl could be improved:

#1.  Have it Announced by Homeless Guy from Cleveland

And not the good homeless dude from Cleveland, either.  I mean just a random homeless dude from Cleveland.  Get him a fifth of cheap-as-dirt vodka, a microphone and stick Joe Buck into the booth with him.  Hell, he couldn’t be much worse than working with Tony Siragusa as a sideline reporter.

I can only imagine the look on Buck’s spray-tanned face when his color commentator attempts to pronounce Ndamukong Suh’s name with a mouthful of Barton’s.

#2.  Make a Backup QB play with a strained MCL

There has been a great deal of debate about Jay Cutler’s knee injury in the NFC championship game.  Was it a serious problem?  Or was it an “injury?”

While Cutler stewed on the bench, looking like a frat boy who had just found out his keg was tapped, his toughness was questioned repeatedly by former and current players.

So let’s settle it.  Let’s give a massive stipend to a lame duck QB and let him take a hammer to the knee and step onto the field and see what he’s got.

I personally volunteer Chase Daniels.  And, yes, I also volunteer myself and my hammer.

#3.  Let Players Tweet During the Game

And I don’t just mean let them tweet from the sidelines.  I mean literally let the players tweet while in the game.  Let Philip Rivers tweet from the huddle: @Dwaynebowe go deep man. Bout 2 gt in da ndzone son.  :)  ttyl.

#4.  Make Deion Sanders Wear a Normal Suit While Covering it for NFL Network

Deion normally dresses like a mixture of Craig Sager & Bozo the clown.  Prime Time looks more like he stepped on a land-mine full of ’70s pimp-clothes shrapnel and he was gored by lime, teal, and other citric disasters.

I can only imagine how uncomfortable such a flamboyant d-bag would feel being forced to wear normal clothing.  It would be like making a skateboarder change out of pants that show off his package’s silhouette and into something that has a shred of dignity.

Deion is such a flashy, prima donna that he might simply spontaneously combust in HD.  Now that is something I’d tune in for.

#5.  Dunk Contest on Goalposts

Every year it seems like there’s some current NFL player that is a former basketball player and has taken their freakish size and hops to a whole new level.  I say, let’s take this idea and morph it into a slam dunk contest on the goalposts.

Can’t you just see Julius Peppers getting back to his roots as a North Carolina player and throwing down thunderous jams that nearly tear the goalposts from the ground?  It would be the only time anyone’s cared enough about the Pro Bowl to tear down the goalposts, that much is for sure.

#6.  60 meter dash

It seems that there’s constantly a debate on who the fastest player is in the NFL.  I know that we can look at 40 times, game footage, and in some cases even times run on the track.  But I think that what we need is some closure.

Is Chris Johnson as fast as he looks?  I’d love to watch him sprinting through the night air, dreads flashing like a combination of Lil Wayne and The Predator monster from the movies and having an all-out showdown against Devin Hester, Mike Wallace, and Jamaal Charles.

#7.  4×60 Meter Fat Man Relay

In the same vein as the above-mentioned 60, few things are funnier than watching a fat dude haul ass.  B.J. Raji proved that and more this past weekend as he rumbled into the endzone and onto the richter scale on his way to a touchdown.

I think that what we need is a relay, pitting these goliaths of girth against one another in a short sprint.  Cullen Jenkins, Haloti Ngata, Raji, and Pat Williams would be a great start.

#8.  Have Dog The Bounty Hunter Play 4 Downs as Middle Linebacker

Dog the Bounty hunter is synonymous with Hawaii.  Which sucks for Hawaii, but I think that the least the NFL could do would be to let his old, decrepit ass get out on the field and try to transfer some of that tough guy mentality to the turf.

While the uniforms are usually pretty cool looking, Dog would only play in his patented pleather vest and MP3-equipped sunglasses.  (*Author’s note: Beth could play O-line, potentially, if she wouldn’t be too worried about ruining her 17-inch nails.)

#9.  Have Brett Favre & Jenn Sterger Work Together as a Sideline Reporting Duo

In a game like this, the NFL is inevitably tasked with keeping the watchers interested in their broadcast in other ways.  The football usually isn’t good enough.  So why not pair up the NFL’s latest “odd couple” and turn them into the funniest “odd (due to pending legal investigations into sexting allegations) couple?”

If Favre can’t make it, plan B would definitely be his wife, Deanna Favre, pairing up with Sterger to shatter the on-air record for stony silences and death-lazer-stare-downs.

#10.  Have Shane Lechler Walk to the 50-yard Line. . .

And punt “Papa” John Schnatter square in the jewels.  He deserves to be punished for his horrible ads that we, who watch hours of NFL coverage, are constantly subjected to and this moment alone would triple the watchability of the Pro Bowl.

FIN

There’s a problem in this country.  I’m not talking about the bloated, carcass of an economy or the growing political rift between rich white guys and. . .well, rich white guys.  No, no, no.  I’m not “phunking with you heart.”  This is serious.  As serious as a woman who calls herself “the Duchess” urinating all over herself while gyrating about onstage.

With un-clever names like Fergie, Taboo, apl.de.ap, and will.i.am there is no doubt that this group s.uck.s.  With more punctuation in their group than lyrical ability, the Black Eyed Peas have gone from a socially conscious, mildly respected hip-hop group to an international sensation.

And I hate them.

And they’re now going to do their damnedest to sully one of the best events our great country has to offer.  That’s right.  The Black Eyed Peas are going to be bringing their vegetable-loving asses to the Super Bowl halftime show.

They’ll be bringing their “Pac-Man” soundtrack-on-steroids-sounding music, pumping audio-feces out into a crowd of 80,000.  They’ll be spitting their hot lyrics, which sound like something that they dug out of Dr. Seuss’ “rejection” pile.  Oh, and don’t forget that they’ll be bringing their 88 different wardrobe changes that make them look more like The Village People than a legitimate rap group.

Now, I’m not saying that the Super Bowl Halftime show is some sacred, holier-than-thou kind of event.  They have to find groups that appeal to a mass audience.  And let’s be perfectly clear: they’re the Ryan Howard of entertainment; they strike out about as much as they hit home runs.

In recent memory the shows have been good-not-great, and to be honest I don’t remember them all.  I don’t watch the game for the spectacle — I watch for the football — but I’m also not one of those purists who can’t have a little fun with all the hype and glamor that is the Superbowl. 

You may be saying to yourself at this point, “But wait, the Black Eyed Peas wouldn’t be the worst halftime show ever.  Would they?”

While I still wake up with cold chills running through my veins and uncontrollable spasms brought on by being forced to endure the closeups of Mick Jagger, shaking his old, heroin-scarred arms wildly in the night air, dancing around in a child-medium-sized tee and showing more mid-riff than a girl on “Maury: My Tween Is Out Of Control” I firmly believe that the Black Eyed Peas’ show might be worse than that.

will.i.am, while a talented producer, needs to head back to the booth.  Or the library to grab a thesaurus.  Immediately.  Apl.de.ap, who most people don’t even remember as being in the group, is much better at getting new-age afro-hawks that look like bootleg versions of Mr. T’s barber’s handiwork than holding an audience of millions in his hands.  Fergie, the star with the aforementioned bladder control issues, is a terrific singer but lacks the rapping skills to legitimately claim to be an MC.

Which leaves me with Taboo.  Yeah, there actually is one more member of the group.  He’s the one that blends into the background like a human version of the “Predator.”  This group member is only fascinating because of two things: 1.  He’s R.U. (racially unidentifiable) and 2.  Oh, wait. . .that was it.  He usually comes out and dances around, whipping his long mane of hair around like Willow Smith, hits a few backup vocals and goes chameleon, fading out into the set.

I know that the Black Eyed Peas are a big deal to a lot of people.  What I’m saying is, they shouldn’t be.  Their hooks are simple, paint-by-number affairs, that any honky in a karaoke bar could rap along to with equal skill, they get overplayed so much that I find myself longing for some Katy Perry.  Almost.

I’m ready for the Black Eyed Peas to get put back underground; buried like their name sake in 6 feet of dirt.  Looks like the only way the halftime show at the Superbowl will be tolerable is if we all get super-drunk.  Someone pass me a 4Loko.

FIN