Equus Vs. Ursus, or: Barnyard Love

There’s a football game tomorrow. I can’t tell you what it’s called, because the proper name that the game goes by is heavily trademarked by the owners, and they sue the living shit out of you if you use it without their permission in an unapproved manner. It’s kind of like Scientology, only with fifty dollar replica team jerseys and without having to risk Tom Cruise giving you a medicinal dose of Vitamin Chloroform and then “reading” you with his five-and-a-half inch E-Meter. So since we need to call it something, I will refer to the game as “Battlefield Earth“.

Battlefield Earth Sunday is sacred to many people, as it is to me, albeit for different reasons than most. For most people, it’s an excuse to drink a six-pack of beer and stay up until 10:30 on a school night, then come in to work hung over, and nobody casts any aspersions on them. Which makes it sacred to me, because it means I can amp my normal Sunday behavior up to drinking a case of beer and staying up until 2 a.m. (Or whenever I can get my girl to deliver the bail), and I’ll have an office full of crippled lightweights running groaning, yawning, runny-boweled interference for me. Thank you, rubes!

Unlike how it is for many people, Battlefield Earth Sunday is not sacred for me because of the commercials. Because all the commercials are for beer. I don’t need to be sold beer, because by the time those ads air, I am already hopelessly shitfaced on that product. The breweries would be better served taking measures to make me forget their product, because by the time the first Battlefield Earth commercial break airs, I am normally drunk enough to be actively planning activities that could cause me to wake up in the ICU. And the last thing you want is me waking up with an advertising-reinforced ability to remember the name of your beer. Because I will remember the phrase “product liability lawsuit”.

Of course, there is the game itself… which I don’t give a fuck about at all. It’s the Bears versus the Colts, which would only interesting to me if it was a literal battle between Bears and Colts, say, as the undercard to a cockfight.

The last player I knew on the Bears went by “The Fridge” (Although to be fair, I don’t know his real name, nor whatever alias he currently uses to sign for his government cheese), so I don’t give a hoot in hell about what they do. And as for the Colts, all I know is that “Peyton Manning” is a pseudonym that could be given to any fresh-faced implanted porno chick without anyone batting any eye.

However, with that image in mind, I just realized the odds that I could hear John Madden say, “Peyton Manning choked under three-man pressure, and then took it right in the back!”

Maybe I will watch…

[tags]Super Bowl XLI, Big Game, Miami, Chicago Bears, Indianapolis Colts, Peyton Manning, football, NFL, National Football League, commercials, dark humor[/tags]