It was like Christmas carols in the background on December 24th.
The sun came out as the morning wore on, and the rest of America will have a chance to see why we love the desert Southwest. It's been pouring all week, and Arizonans have been grumbly. We are used to our sunny skies, and feel out of sorts when there are clouds.
To prove the point, for the first time this season, University of Phoenix Stadium opened the retractable roof. TBG opened our back door in solidarity.
Deflate-gate has been less of a topic than I'd expected; perhaps everything that can be said has been said.
NBC wanted to show the NFL's pressure certification procedures, but the league denied them the privilege.
Maybe that's the new operating plan: deny, deflect, defer.
Al Michaels and Cris Collinsworth are the game's announcers. After spending the basketball season listening to Bill Walton's stream of consciousness drivel, it's a pleasure to listen to men who can create a grammatically correct, complex sentence which also is relevant to the game.
Blue Apron sent me the ingredients and I created spicy drumsticks and cleriac-apple-celery salad and toasted tortilla chips.
I'm proud of the fact that the left over Christmas napkins match the left over football plates.
We're enjoying the Chevy Colorado ads. "You know you want a truck," is the tagline. On some weird level it speaks to me.... and as I type these words I hear my children groaning as they remember my oft repeated desire to build a road, to drive one of those wonderfully huge and powerful bright yellow back-hoe-front-loaders.... and even though I am obviously not the demographic Chevy has in mind, I'm intrigued.
"Intercepted at the goal line" ... five very exciting words!
After the commercial break, we saw the interceptor being escorted off the field with his arm in an air cast. It's a violent game, played by large human beings, and sometimes they get hurt. Still, it's an odd job where broken bones are not uncommon.
In a player bio earlier in the day, a mother described her playing-in-the-game-son as always mean and violent. There was no affect in her voice; it was terrifying.
I often wonder how far we've really come from the Roman Coliseum.
No score after the first quarter. It's a good thing the Budweiser puppy and Clydesdale commercial and the #MakeItHappy Coke commercial and the Mexican avocado commercial kept me interested.
Then, again, it's only right that they should. According to the Wall Street Journal a 30 second spot in the 2015 Super Bowl cost $.5 million.
17 seconds left in the half, Seahawks at the 20, Russell Wilson throws a touchdown pass into the end zone, Pete Carroll eschewing a sure three points with a field goal by having confidence in his quarterback and his 6'4" receiver.
This game hasn't been thrilling, but it has had its moments.
Katy Perry atop a shiny mechanical animal, wearing flames. Shiny chess pieces dancing on a checkerboard. Lenny Kravitz couldn't afford pants without holes for the Super Bowl, according to TBG, who was bemused by the dancing sharks and surfboards which followed. It looked like a zumba class, but it was colorful and fun. Missy Elliott rocked the house and then Katy Perry sparkled on a flying comet above the crowd, with fireworks and a light show and her big, happy voice filling the stadium. And then half time was over.
It wasn't Bruce Springsteen or the Rolling Stones, that's for sure.
It was a curiously chaste show, more Disney than Vegas.
It was something I'd feel comfortable watching with a little girl or boy by my side. Coupled with Always' #LikeAGirl campaign, and Nissan's lessons in fatherhood, and Nationwide's overflowing bathtub warning parents about childhood accidents, and the Charger's paean to the wisdom acquired with old age, the Super Bowl seems to be remaking itself into a family friendly event.
The commercials are bordering on preachy, dangling on the edge of maudlin. It's a succession of 60 second Nicholas Sparks stories, set to Woody Guthrie.
If that's what it takes to get through to some people, I'm all for it. In the meantime, I'll enjoy the fact that Big Cuter called his dad "after that commercial to tell you I love you!"
Another interception, and Tom Brady is not smiling. His Patriots are down by three points, and he just threw the ball away. Russell Wilson is so big and so fast that he "couldn't be caught in flag football," according to TBG, "let alone get tackled" as they pound down the field so that Wilson can casually toss a touchdown pass to a veteran receiver.
I am paying attention to the game, as well as the commercials. I promise.
Tom Brady threw a touchdown and now three points separate the two teams.
I'm missing Daddooooo and our nickel bets right now. With the score tightening, one or the other of us would be on the phone, razzing the other, with G'ma in the background admonishing him to "Be Nice, Herbert!"
And then there was a touchdown and a turnover and suddenly the Patriots were up by 4 and taking a winner's knee as Tom Brady won his 4th Super Bowl. The boys are arguing over the play call at the end and bemoaning the fisticuffs as I smile to myself.
Football is over.