Watching the Super Bowl for girls is like watching the WNBA … for anyone. We hate it, we really do. But we’d never tell you that. In fact, we spend our entire Super Bowl Sunday attempting to show you how much we like totes magotes know about football. This is the one day a year that guys can get their revenge for girls constantly dragging them to rom-coms (sometimes even minus the com) and ballets, and how do we thank them? By overly pretending to care about football … but ya know, in that cute, slutty, endearing way.
Because we’re not about to drop $50 on a jersey, we shamelessly pull out any football attire we have, of any size, and wear it … as a dress. The next thing you know we’re buying squares and cheering at all of the wrong times. We are committed as hell to impressing you, but it always backfires. The casual comments we think make us look super smart and engaged actually are incredibly wrong.
“I’m rooting for Peyton Manning. For sure. He’s my fave. Tom Brady is so sexy, and he just doesn’t ever get helmet hair somehow, but he’s married to Gisele, and I hear she’s a bitch.”
Well, with you on the Tom Brady thing, but it’s Eli Manning. Read a book about the Manning family, my friend. Read. A. Book.
The girls are only in it for the halftime show, really. And to take a keg stand or two (don’t try to be a hero), so that we can casually stick around for three hours after the game ends. Hey, that keg won’t finish itself. Of course, when the halftime show actually comes, every guy immediately bolts out the door (brbsnappa!) … which allows the girls to finally have their moment and eat a Buffalo wing in peace without having to worry about looking like a primitive savage. And let’s be honest, all this show did was remind me how much Madonna sucks. Then throw in the wild card of Cee Lo coming out wearing a jazzed-up rain tarp … just why? I would have gladly jumped up there and lip-synced to “Vogue.” Too bad Madonna’s 53 and somehow manages to look younger than me. Luckily, the real halftime show coincided with the kitty halftime show of the Puppy Bowl, which was far more enjoyable.
The one and only time I perked up was when they actually did cut to Gisele in the audience. Because let’s be real, if I wanted to watch a bunch of fat men running around in tights, I’d just go to an American Apparel in Houston. But of course I had to do my duty and cheer on Tom Brady, because the chances of me being able to name any other guy out on that field are about as close to the chances of me giving up alcohol for Lent. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Speaking of alcohol, the Super Bowl turns classy ladies into self-proclaimed frat stars. Keg stands? Gargoyles? Shotgunning? Bring it. By the end of the first half I’m pretty sure I was opening bottles with my forearm. God no, that was a boldfaced lie. Could you imagine? But thanks to midday mass alcoholic consumption, it was kind of difficult to get on board with looking sexy when the Super Bowl ended. “No, no, my eyes always look like this, I’m not even that drunk. Not even that drunk.”
The one good thing about the Super Bowl is that everyone can bond over the commercials. Except for when Adriana Lima came on for the Victoria’s Secret Valentine’s Day commercial and every guy in the room had to maneuver their seating arrangement to conceal a half-master. Same result anywhere you go after that commercial comes on. The girls in the room start debating whether or not her boobs are real, and the guys are sitting there in awe, shaking their heads, saying, “Doesn’t matter. Does not matter.”
Well, to be real, the Super Bowl wasn’t all that bad. The last 10 minutes were intense. I’m talking in tents. It almost made me want to learn the rules of the game. When the Giants finally sealed their win, it all of a sudden was déjà vu back to New Year’s. Screaming, yelling, bottles opening. It was out of control. Giants couples everywhere were most likely making out euphorically, and Patriot pair-ups were consoling each other with love. The Super Bowl can really bring people together, and look at that, just in time for V-Day. Regardless of if your team won, or however much money you painfully lost, there was still plenty of room to come out of the day with a W. Well, maybe not entirely … now, I need to go donate all of my New England Patriots 2012 Champions gear to the nearest Goodwill …
Daily Nexus sex columnist Elizabeth Brooks doesn’t mean to generalize. Not all girls hate watching the Super Bowl. However, all of them would prefer to be doing The Titanic.