The Superbowl aptly showcases, as they say, American football. It is unapologetically violent – life threateningly, and life ruiningly. It is incandescent with money on a stage that we call obscene. It sees the loudest displays of egoism available in this galaxy. It is macho male to a degree that is as revolting as the violence. It is longer and more self-centred than a Wagner opera – and that is a huge statement at each end – and people who watch it live even once increase their prospects of succumbing to alcohol. Above all, it is the most structured , segmented, guarded, and hierarchical affair you can get outside the Roman Catholic Church, and its premise also is that every player out there, bar one, is a moron who is incapable of doing more than one thing at once, like chewing gum and walking – and that one person is therefore almost never black. I doubt whether any of those over-paid egomaniacal brain-dead brickheads could get a run for the Melbourne Storm thirds. That is why one dude is being ensainted for catching a ball thrown to him at the distance of a cricket pitch. No wonder they do not know what to do with one of our players who can kick, pass, tackle, withstand assault, and sprint – and think.
And the winners were Patriots.