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Sunday Scrimmage Tradition

I don’t prep for the big game like most I guess.

But I do prep.

I hoard a bunch of magazines for a month to read while the two teams play. This year I’ve got the free fashion mags I received from some points program I’m in with my car insurance carrier. Several issues from what’s-her-name from that home renovation program - you know, the gal that walks into an antique store filled with barn doors and old toilet paper roll holders and installs said pieces in the house her husband “built” and it looks classy? And the old mainstay, Entertainment Weekly, which I’ve already read online, as is my lunchtime ritual most days.

As I skim through these, I look up occasionally to be entertained by galloping horses hauling beer, or actors we haven’t seen in ages being weird onscreen, or it’s some car/food/freedom-themed ad. In recent years, I feel advertisers have lost their spark. Maybe everything’s been done to death and they’re all out of ideas. And, I’m sorry, but it seems to me most of the ads lately have already been leaked or are already in rotation. Kinda takes all the spark out of “watching” the game.

I do give my undivided attention to, and am usually disappointed in, the halftime show. Part of it is the spectacle - a mini-concert that is staged like a full-blown show, thrown together during commercial breaks/sportscasters talking about what we just watched. The other part is my love of music runs so deep, they could pretty much have anyone perform and I’d be there for it. As I said, most times, I’m disappointed. Whether it’s the sound - which is always awful - or the artist’s song selections - which are usually obvious - there are only three halftime shows in the last two decades that have really impressed me. In no particular order: Prince (2007), Lady Gaga (2017), The Who (2010). That’s just my opinion, and maybe The Who’s contribution wasn’t that great but most people don’t know I freakin’ love The Who.

Then there’s the spread of food - ah, who am I kidding. It’s me punching in the number to the local pizza joint, the place we order from so often I ended up putting it in my favorites alongside my sister and husband. Because if you find my phone and can’t reach either of them, go ahead and order yourself some spaghetti and call it a day. I used to spend more time thinking about making snacks, but this year, it’s just me and the hubby and the fur kids, so we’ll probably eat leftovers from the week or I’ll bust out the taco kit I purchased at Mariano’s an hour ago.

Side bar: I’ve seen lots of posts about the crowds at the store today, and it was pretty accurate. I don’t think I saw this many people stocking up when we went into pandemic lockdown. But this time, their carts were more wings, chips, and beer, and less toilet paper, canned soups, and well, there was beer then too. It’s like everyone woke up this morning and realized they had nothing in the house, let alone nothing for the big game.

I’m almost melancholy about the fact that this is the first year we’ll be alone to watch the game. In many, many, upon oh so many years past, we’d host my dad and when the hubby’s dad was in town, well he’d be living in our house so his invite was an automatic gimme. I’d usually pack my dad up after the halftime show and send him to bed, then actually watch the final minutes of the game (as I’d be out of magazines by then) and call it a night.

I hope whatever team you’re rooting for wins, or whatever square you bought in the office pool brings you big money. If anyone needs me, I’ll be reading about what shows we should be binging, what purse I should be carrying that I can’t afford, and where to get used crap that looks classy.