Super Sunday
Pretty good Super Bowl.
Chili dogs for lunch. Then “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” was on. I half-watched it and finished the rest of The New York Times. Next up was “Father of the Bride,” but I fell asleep for a half-hour. When I woke up, it was three and I switched to the game.
Aaron Neville and Aretha Franklin did a great version of the National Anthem. Usually the Anthem resists all the gimmicky arrangements, but this one flew.
The takeoff on Dr. Seuss’s “Oh, the Places You’ll Go” was truly inspired and one of the most original (original? football? pre-game show?) two minutes I have ever seen on television. It may have had the Budweiser demographic scratching their heads, which made it better.
The game started. My prediction was Pittsburgh 31, Seattle 30. But they played the first quarter like teams asked to play championship football in the first week of February after two weeks off. I hoped it would get better.
I had the French doors, which face west, open to the weather. There was a breeze, and a background overcast, and then a cool fog settled in. I pulled on a sweatshirt and snuggled in with a bowl of popcorn, in football weather in my living room, and watched the second quarter. (Roethlisberger definitely scored.)
At the half I went to check email and when I came back the Stones were just starting it up. I hoped the third quarter wasn’t going to look like two football teams asked to play championship football in February after two weeks off and a 45-minute halftime. But then I didn’t care, because the Stones were really good. When I was at Stanford in the 1960s, the band went out on strike (don’t ask), leaving the Saturday game without a halftime performance. Somebody arranged for Vince Guaraldi (“Cast Your Fate to the Wind”) to give an on-the-field halftime concert. It was the first halftime I didn’t want to end. Yesterday’s was the second.
I missed most of the second half. Karen (she had been watching Oprah DVDs in the back) and I went outside for a little glider time that stretched into an hour. When we came back, two minutes were left and Pittsburgh was leading, 21-10. The game ended, there was a quick post-game show, and ABC, as if it couldn’t wait for the game to end, cut to “Grey’s Anatomy,” which it had been teasing every 90 seconds since the kickoff. I hope the “Code Black” thing worked out. We were having dinner and watching “She Done Him Wrong,” with Mae West and an adolescent Cary Grant. Then we went to bed. Pretty good Super Bowl.
Chili dogs for lunch. Then “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” was on. I half-watched it and finished the rest of The New York Times. Next up was “Father of the Bride,” but I fell asleep for a half-hour. When I woke up, it was three and I switched to the game.
Aaron Neville and Aretha Franklin did a great version of the National Anthem. Usually the Anthem resists all the gimmicky arrangements, but this one flew.
The takeoff on Dr. Seuss’s “Oh, the Places You’ll Go” was truly inspired and one of the most original (original? football? pre-game show?) two minutes I have ever seen on television. It may have had the Budweiser demographic scratching their heads, which made it better.
The game started. My prediction was Pittsburgh 31, Seattle 30. But they played the first quarter like teams asked to play championship football in the first week of February after two weeks off. I hoped it would get better.
I had the French doors, which face west, open to the weather. There was a breeze, and a background overcast, and then a cool fog settled in. I pulled on a sweatshirt and snuggled in with a bowl of popcorn, in football weather in my living room, and watched the second quarter. (Roethlisberger definitely scored.)
At the half I went to check email and when I came back the Stones were just starting it up. I hoped the third quarter wasn’t going to look like two football teams asked to play championship football in February after two weeks off and a 45-minute halftime. But then I didn’t care, because the Stones were really good. When I was at Stanford in the 1960s, the band went out on strike (don’t ask), leaving the Saturday game without a halftime performance. Somebody arranged for Vince Guaraldi (“Cast Your Fate to the Wind”) to give an on-the-field halftime concert. It was the first halftime I didn’t want to end. Yesterday’s was the second.
I missed most of the second half. Karen (she had been watching Oprah DVDs in the back) and I went outside for a little glider time that stretched into an hour. When we came back, two minutes were left and Pittsburgh was leading, 21-10. The game ended, there was a quick post-game show, and ABC, as if it couldn’t wait for the game to end, cut to “Grey’s Anatomy,” which it had been teasing every 90 seconds since the kickoff. I hope the “Code Black” thing worked out. We were having dinner and watching “She Done Him Wrong,” with Mae West and an adolescent Cary Grant. Then we went to bed. Pretty good Super Bowl.
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