A Super Bowl day in the life of yours truly
ROGER CARLSON
Sometimes I feel like I’m a resident of Mars or something, because
nobody seems to realize the basics like I do.
You don’t have to take it. You can take control, it’s your game,
not theirs.
What I’m getting to is the flap over the Janet Jackson and Justin
Somebody scene at halftime of Super Bowl XXXVIII.
Hey! What a game!
I must admit I fell asleep from the time Carolina punted for the
second time until about 5:00 remained in the first half, but the rest
of the contest was very much a classic duel with a great finish.
Clearly, one of the best in the series which includes about eight to
remember and 30 bummers.
As for the halftime stunt, I didn’t see it, except in the
repetitive news items. Nor did I see such imaginative scenarios as
Dick Enberg tip-toeing around in a tutu or Terry Bradshaw blowing
kisses to a group of old linebackers, or anything else dreamed up by
the CBS broadcasting entourage.
Nor did I hear much from the sidelines, or for that matter, much
in terms of opinions from the game’s analyst, former quarterback Phil
Simms, whose drone-line voice and instant analysis of what the
ball-carrier is thinking as he takes the handoff and darts to the
right, rather than the left, simply serves to irritate me.
The trick here, is all in the thumb, or fingers, sort of like
playing Pac Man.
You’ve got to be quick to get it all, and sometimes my wife
wonders out loud if my wrist is beginning to feel overused, but I
quell that argument quickly by explaining the need for exercise in
these times of retirement.
So, without further ado, I’d like to explain how I saw Super Bowl
XXXVIII my way, which is without a doubt better than anyone else,
assuming I’m the only one from Mars.
First, and this was really important leading up to the 3:30 p.m.
kickoff, another channel had a 90-minute broadcast of poker from 1:30
p.m. to 3 p.m., featuring a “Texas Hold ‘em” style of seven-card stud
with money all over the place at stake.
It was very entertaining and ate away 90 minutes leading up to the
kickoff, which I might otherwise have been irritated listening and
watching CBS with the usual plate of pregame garbage.
A break for a snack at 3 ate away another 15 minutes, so at 3:15 I
was up and ready for the 3:25 kickoff.
It wouldn’t be long before my early-game nap, which caused me to
miss some of the commercials, but I was back and in the mix for the
last 3:00 of the second quarter as things broke loose.
As the clock ticked off the final second before halftime, and with
the halftime show amply advertised, I deftly flipped channels and
found a rerun of Jeopardy with the game devoted to the NFL and the
Super Bowl.
I admit, I did see a portion of the halftime show, about a
one-second blip when I checked back to see if the second half was
ready to start, but that was it. The stage resembled a snake pit and
I gave the channel hopper another of my deft moves. I must have
missed the big moment by seconds.
Another try and I was right on as the kickoff sailed through the
air. There’s a talent, you know, in terms of timing.
As the clock ticked off its final seconds and the final result was
obvious history, I moved to my ultimate weapon, my DVDs, but, without
the powers of ESP, failed to pop in Casablanca.
“I’m shocked,” blurted out Claude Rains, would not be brought into
focus. Instead, I settled for one of my Poirot mysteries before
calling it a night.
I was, of course, shocked when I turned on the television the
following morning and learned of the various outrages over Janet and
this guy, Justin, whom I did not know existed.
Now, of course, I see Janet and the blur on a daily basis, along
with “shocked” comments.
Me? I’m not shocked at all by the scene. Considering the
one-second blip of the “snake pit,” I’m only surprised the whole
bunch of them didn’t follow suit, and then move to the next level.
My outrage came long ago when the NFL decided that the game was
second to halftime, second to the “announcers,” second to
commercials, second to the pregame blitz and second to whatever
sub-culture was prevalent among the 14-year-old set.
The blame game’s on, but first in line is the NFL for selling the
game out on a consistent basis for years.
The only thing that would have shocked me was if halftime would
have consisted of three or four songs from Neil Diamond or an
appearance by someone else in the mainstream of America.
So take it from me, and this goes way past simply a Super Bowl.
Keep your channel hopper at the ready and your fingers nimble.
And, buy some DVDs.
Hey! See you next Sunday!
* ROGER CARLSON is the former sports editor for the Daily Pilot.
His column appears on Sundays. He can be reached by e-mail at
rogeranddorothea@msn.com.
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