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Super Bowl Gorging

February 3, 2010

Coming from an advertising background the Super Bowl has a special place in my heart.  Part of my enjoyment on game day comes from keeping a running tally of the ads, complete with the break it ran in and the position that it held.  For example, if Doritos ran their giant mouse ad, and if it were the first commercial of the third commercial break, it would be coded as 3A.  I have mentioned before that I’m a bit of a numbers geek.

This list gets long.  And more importantly it gets messy.  By the end of the game, my papers are splattered with buffalo sauce, blue cheese, and pizza grease.  Sometimes there may be a bit of ketchup or barbecue sauce.  Also after four quarters of washing down spicy and fatty food with beer, my penmanship slips awfully close to illegibility.

You may get the picture that it’s not just my list that is a mess.

Every year I say this is the last time I’m going to do this.  I say, “I’m getting older and my body just can’t handle it anymore.”  When the game is over, there is the Profussor, stuck on the couch.  The belt has long since been loosened.  The button has been opened.  Going to sleep would be nice, but I’m much too full and bloated to sleep.

The truth is that the game had a special place in my heart even before I was in the business.  And it has always been about the food.

“Sure,” you may say, “That’s understandable, but does it really need to be a gorgefest?”

Yes, it really does.  I like to view the Super Bowl as a major holiday.  And much like I’ll go to temple on Rosh Hashanah or fast on Yom Kippur, I gorge myself silly while the game is on TV.  I engage in behaviors that aren’t part of my normal routine for the sake of a larger collective observance of a significant cultural event.

What I’m always struck by, year in and year out, is that there are people who do this every weekend during football season.  Gentlemen, I salute you.

As a child these observances had to do with hot dogs.  The Super Bowl was all about hot dogs when I was a kid.  My family didn’t eat a lot of them otherwise, but on the day of the big game, I would eat as many as I could stand, and get to eat them in front of the television.  That never happened the rest of the year.

These days it is largely about Buffalo wings.  Well, really all things Buffaloed.  It’s the traditional Frank’s Red Hot and butter sauce that really gets me going.  The wings are merely a choice substrate to carry the sauce into the mouth.  But Tater Tots® also do the job nicely, as do thick potato wedges.

Although last year was all about barbecue.

Sunday promises to be a bit of an anomaly.  I am actually leaving my house and my tight knit circle of close friends to consume the game with some of Mrs. Fussy’s colleagues.

This should be interesting.

Also, did I mention that I get loud when I get excited?  And little gets me more excited than cheering for a football team on Super Bowl Sunday.  Just in case you were curious, I’ll be pulling for the team from the best food city.  Naturally.

3 Comments leave one →
  1. Mr. Sunshine permalink
    February 3, 2010 12:30 pm

    Were it Jets vs. Vikings, as God intended, I’d be watching. As it is, I may try to see The Who at halftime but that’s it.

  2. February 3, 2010 12:55 pm

    For some reason I’ve always liked the monster 3 or 6 foot sandwiches that show up at super bowl parties. I’m not sure why. There are plenty of bad 6 foot subs, but there’s something about a big, good, communal sandwich that I like.

  3. Sarah M. permalink
    February 3, 2010 4:22 pm

    Fritos! Fritos! Fritos! Fritos with cheese! Fritos with beans! Fritos with salsa! Fritos with chili! Fritos with ice cream! The one day a year I can publicly indulge my basest urge.

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