Okay, right off the bat, I don’t watch football. It’s not that I hate football or anything, I just can’t sit down and watch a whole game of it. But in this house, Boomer is addicted to football, which is why we got her in the first place. When we were looking for a breed of dog, we got a book called Choosing a Dog For Life by Andrew de Prisco and James B. Johnson. And here is the line about Welsh Corgis that decided us: “They love swimming, hiking, and any sport and television too (especially during football season.)”
So every Sunday I’ll wander in while the dog sits glued to the football game, ask her who’s winning, and then go play online, or do a wash, or take a bath.
But everybody watches the Super Bowl, including me. The Super Bowl is an American Tradition, right up there with fireworks on the Fourth of July and Groundhog Day. I didn’t have a dog in this particular football fight; I didn’t care who won. I did watch part of a pre-game show that featured Drew Brees and decided on the basis of that, that I would root for the Saints. That, and the Saints wear a Fleur de Lis on their helmets, which is so much classier than a horseshoe, or godforbid those stupid Tony the Tiger hats the Bengals wear, blech. Because I totally and completely judge a football team on their uniforms. I love those Vikings simply because that royal purple makes me swoon.
But like most people who don’t really care about the football, I do care about the ads, and sometimes the halftime show, just because of the possibility of a wardrobe malfunction.
But this year the ads were horrific. Everybody in them seemed to think they were hilarious, while I just sat there stupified at the innanity. The Betty White one was good, and I saw somebody I know in real life in the Punxatawny crowd scene (Hi Suzanne!), but even my E-Trade babies disappointed.
And The WHO? OMG. No. That was pathetic. I kept looking for the EMTs off-stage who would come in with the defibrillators and rescue them from the heart attacks that were sure to ensue. Old guys still trying to do what they did when they were young guys is painful to watch. All the arm windmilling? Oh god. No. I sat there peeking through my fingers.
But my dip rocked!
So onto the food. Super Bowl food is deliberately awful. Chicken wings. Pizza. Chile. Chips. Beer. Beer. Beer. And did I mention beer?
But I am only a week off the cleanse and didn’t want to go there, so I made a dip recipe from my UltraMetabolism Cookbook called “Super Bowl Sunday Dip. It was gluten-free, dairy-free, quick and vegetarian. And delicious! It had 7 layers!
I drank one Stella, too, just to be American. And had a small slice of the Vegan Chocolate Cake that G made the other day.
The Saints won, and the game was crazy and more interesting than I remember Super Bowls usually being. Most of the time they are one sided massacres and I don’t make it much past half-time. But I watched the whole thing this year. Yay team me!
But Boomer fell asleep.