There’s something for everybody when it comes to the Superbowl.
For the diehard football fan, it’s the biggest day of the year. For those with an eye for tactical analysis, every single down is dissected.
For the casual fan, it’s an opportunity to tell everyone you watched the most-watched show on earth. And for those with no interest whatsoever, there’s always the half-time show.
Yes, nobody does sport quite like America with the Superbowl itself reaching peak levels of Americanism with its hyperbole and razzmatazz.
You only think the All-Ireland final is a celebration of one’s patriotism. That is until your eyes get pecked out by a bald eagle wrapped in the star-spangled banner on Superbowl Sunday. Could you imagine Brolly on FOX Sports with Terry Bradshaw, wouldn’t that be television gold?
Anyway, back to Sunday’s game
What staying up late on Sunday showed me is that there’s no nation like America to make you think you’re smelling roses when really all it stinks of is shit.
The Kansas City Chiefs won their first championship for 50 years on Sunday. In any other sport that would have sparked scenes of a joyous nature, much like the what we saw when Limerick broke a 43-year famine in 2018 or when Darby stopped the drive-for-five in ’82.
You want to see that outpouring of emotion at the end.
Instead, we had to watch on as the hero of the hour, Patrick Mahomes, was swamped by hoards of people, media, security, sponsors, each looking for their own personal gain.
At one point there was a guy tugging at the back of his jersey, keeping one hand on him at all times, making sure he didn’t stray too far and actually start celebrating as he’d just won the Superbowl.
It was akin to a sticky corner-back in a Junior B final.
Next came the official presentation of the Vince Lombardi trophy, one of the most painfully awkward encounters ever witnessed.
It began with Roger Goddell paying homage to the Hunt family on their achievement of winning the Superbowl. He then proceeds to award said family, the owners, with the trophy.
After all, they did sacrifice blood, sweat and tears in pursuit of such glory didn’t they? Thank God for the Hunt family and their ability to claw back a double-digit deficit in each of their playoff games this season.
It’s painfully difficult watching on as a billionaire family get presented with a trophy they didn’t really win. Before you start, I have done my research, I’m well aware of the Hunt family’s ties to the NFL and the significance of this win. Still, doesn’t sit right with me. It’s all a bit sickening really.
When Liverpool end their 30-year wait for a league title what if John Henry decides he wants to be the one lifting the trophy?
How would history define Nelson Mandela had he said: ‘Take a step back Francois, I got this’ and collected Webb Ellis himself in 1996?
What if Dublin do the half-dozen in September and John Costello decides it’s his turn to climb the steps of the Hogan Stand?
These are hypothetical situations that in truth would never, ever happen because… well, because it’s absolutely mental that they should happen in the first place.
My point is that the Superbowl as a spectacle both on and off the field lives up to all the hype. The pre-game chatter is on another level of punditry, how the game is broken down for casual fans is exemplary and the half-time show provides the entertainment that makes it such a pop-cultural phenomenon.
However, all of this is tainted come the end as hoards of hungry pigs fight for a hold of the main-man while the much-maligned president of the organisation pays tribute to a billionaire family before even mentioning the coaches, the players or the fans.
All in all, great game and a great spectacle but give me the All-Ireland final any day.
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