I may have been blind drunk, but I still managed to watch the Super Bowl. Trust me, it wasn’t for lack of trying. After realizing that every household in I.V. would have the game blasting, I felt doomed to a fate of mediocre football without even the redemption of a whoreish halftime performer.
However, while getting some pre-game cholo ball in, I found my out. While casually javelining a tiki torch at my hosts, I accidentally chucked the son of a bitch through their window. Needless to say, chaos ensued, but my mind kept working through the haze, and the answer hit me like a ton of Mad Dogs. If I wanted to avoid watching the Bowl, I was going to have to get Gray Davis on a bitch. I picked up that almighty wooden projectile, and I threw it with the might of Jim Abbott straight at a Trigo power transformer. Yes, I am the one that killed power in I.V. Too bad Edison pounced on that problem like a Tijuana hooker on a drunk virgin with a fistful of dollars.
At least I thought I power boxed the whole town. Turns out I had smoked a few too many super bowls. Whatever. At least one thing I said turned out to be true: That was the worst game in ages. Sure, ESPN’s drones will have you believing that the Giants pulled a miracle upset and that we should all be giving them hand jobs of praise. I call bullshit. The Patriots looked like garbage, and the Giants looked like, well, the Giants.
Thanks to HD close-ups, it was very apparent that Tom Brady was about as hung over as a man who had two weeks off, a seven-figure checking account and an entire harem of supermodels should be. Mark my words: In a few weeks, half of Phoenix’s babe population will find out they are pregnant.
I will say that Eli Manning did, for the first time this season, look like a professional and not a junior high all-star that got Kwame Browned up into the league way, way before his prime. I’m sure it was just the fear of what Archie Manning would do to him if he lost. At least older brother Payton showed up for support. Well, I’m not going to say “support,” exactly. Payton was there, but that fool looked shit-housed. Did anyone else notice the girl in his skybox go for the high five with him when the Giants scored the winning touchdown? Payton was so pissed off, he totally left the broad hanging. Major bro pas, dude.
Speaking of girls in skyboxes, Jeremy Shockey looked like was giving old boy Manning a run for his money in the high-profile drunk category. If I was a star player on a team that got hurt and was forced to miss the Super Bowl, I’d probably at least be kicking it on the side line in a ridiculously expensive suit, looking saucy and enjoying the game. Shockey, however, managed to get on TV looking like he was about to be booked into the Betty Ford Center. Say you’re the owner of the Giants, and you’re all bummed out because one of your most expensive players is missing the biggest game of the year. Then you see on the big screen Shockey quadruple-fisting drinks. That’s got to be more embarrassing than the time Najeh Davenport took a shit in his ex-girlfriend’s closet on Valentine’s Day. At least Najeh did it in the offseason.
I will say that the Giant’s winning-drive was pretty rad to watch, even though Eli tried at least five times to throw an interception. I’m a big fan of Plaxico Burress, and I’m sure he’s having a grand time in the Castro right now after winning the big game with an ankle-breaking move.
Still, the major story from the weekend has nothing to with the NFL. I’m still pissed at how biased the officiating was in the Puppy Bowl. The damn black and white mutt got hassled by the refs more than my man Sheed. Getting flagged for “splashing in the water bowl” too much? I can’t believe the Puppy Bowl commissioner hasn’t opened an inquiry into the hiring of such breedist refs. I won’t stand for bias toward the non-purebred competitors; the little bastards are cute, and it’s downright un-American to say otherwise. Damn you, Puppy Bowl ref, for polluting the good name of such a patriotic institution. I’m calling the FBI – the dude has to be a terrorist.