Predictable Outcomes

I guess it's becoming obvious. I have officially passed that boundary beyond which a person becomes an agitator and a crank.

During the interminable pregame ceremonial horseshit that happens before the Stupor Bowl I was asked at least once if there was something wrong with me. Once by my own daughter. It wasn't that I was looking like I was sick or had some kind of obvious physical problem or something. If I was really sick no one would say a word. But I guess I'd been rather vocal about what a crock the interminable pregame ceremonial horseshit was. I guess I was vocal to the point of moaning about all the sickly religious God bless our great shit because our shit's the best shit on Earth stuff that they foist on people, who are just happily waiting for two groups of guys in goofy get-ups to start running into each other with malintent at ridiculously high speeds.

I suppose I was rather vocal in my assessment of the proceedings. I guess my comments could be seen as inflammatory. But I should probably also be ashamed of my own predictability.

I was just observing and expressing those observations. I mean right after my family's obligatory race jokes (which are usually centered around the predisposition of some genetic stock to have big lips) everyone sat in reverent amazement at the beauty of our great land when the great blond sang the greatest national anthem in history. They were probably too mesmerized by the fact that "see," "hail," and "brave" had now been expanded to seventeen syllable words. Everyone was so quiet and respectful in their chairs I thought somebody was going to cry. But nobody noticed she sang "reaming" instead of "gleaming," and the person in the kitchen (who was compelled to laugh at all the commercials - even the ones that weren't funny - because this is where the laugh track has to come in) just loves that singer, whoever she was.

I said something in a faux-announcer's voice along the lines of "and now to honor America we proudly present Up With People who will perform the song 'America The Beautiful is Gonna Kick Your Little Commie Ass' from the hit Broadway musical 'Coons And Chinks' in four part harmony accompanied by the WWJB - Who Would Jesus Bomb - Marching Band from Puff Bluff Arkansas."

I don't think that went over too well.

I think my sarcasm was too obvious. That's what tipped it off. I put my hand on my heart and cocked my head as if I was moved in a God Isn't That Great double take when somebody mentioned that we have some representative of our armed forces in 137 countries. I'm sitting there going "WTF are we doing in 137 countries" and everybody else is like "That's so cool, we're in 137 countries." Military personnel in 137 countries protecting our shores. Our great shores next to our great oceans and our fields and valleys. Our great cities. Our tasty water. My land. My air. My waste treatment plants and my public schools with our metal detectors to keep my holy guns out so great American ten year olds don't start happily murdering each other when they pull their great guns out of their great iCarly lunchboxes.

So I kind of put a sock in it once the commercials started. I didn't want to get in the way of what most of the women were watching TV for. Except I didn't really think what people were laughing at was all that funny and every once in a while there was a nervous laugh that didn't even belong there because the commercial wasn't even trying to be funny. What the hell?

Football is very much a product of our great country, somebody said once and I'm paraphrasing now because I can't remember who. We have these strategy meetings punctuated by brief moments of extreme violence, and then we sell stuff.

Now don't get me wrong I do enjoy football. I never miss my Bears and have been a lifelong fan of theirs so that you could say I do bleed blue and orange. But if I ever get to the point where I think it's this shiny American thing that is so amazing we can justify giving neanderthals who can't speak in complete sentences millions upon untold millions of dollars because they can run and jump and throw... just shoot me, okay? If you don't have or can't find a gun just go down to the nearest elementary school. I'm sure you could borrow one of the ones they'd confiscated.

We're the greatest country on Earth. Full of people we can't stand. It was a nightmarish horror when hijacked planes killed 3,000 innocent people whose only crime was they went to work one morning. But you have to know that somewhere someone - in the back of their mind - said "well, that's 3,000 potential bad drivers I don't have to contend with."

It's predictable.