It’s Super Bowl week. Time to start feigning interest in football. It seems no matter how many times my husband and sons have explained the game to me (usually once annually, on Super Bowl Sunday), I just can’t get into it.
I recently realized why: There is basically no tangible relationship between the pigskin and the guy carrying it. Sure there’s motive to bring it to the end zone and score your team a ring. The lure of jewelry, I totally get.
But where’s the back story that draws me in and compels me to keep watching? The witty repartee laced with sexual tension? The protagonist’s inner demons that need to be battled? It coincidentally does not take place in a circa 1960s advertising agency where everyone broods, drinks and wears fabulous clothes. This alone could be a major contributor to the problem.
Yes, I know it’s insane to think the Super Bowl could play like an episode of a TV drama like Mad Men. I mean, hello. …. It’s obviously got much more of a romantic comedy vibe. After all, the agony on the players’ faces must have a cause. Who’s to say it’s not unrequited love? And have you seen what these guys wear and how ridiculous grown men look all piled up on top of one another? Comedic gold.
The viewing experience would be vastly improved by simply illustrating the relationship between man and football. These proposed tweaks would make me actually want to see what happens next during the game…Are you listening, CBS?
Picture this: A quarterback and a football leave college to drive all night, bickering and bantering their way from Chicago to New Yor — er, I mean, New Orleans. The quarterback points out how he and the football can never truly be friends because their underlying attraction for each other will get in the way, a fact that will be driven home when the football fakes an orgasm at a roadside diner near the 50-yard line. The two part ways to head into separate locker rooms, and I’m glued to the edge of my seat because I just know they’re meant to be together.
Close to midnight on Super Bowl Eve, the quarterback finally admits he’s been in love with the football all along. He swoops her up and carries her an unstoppable 90 yards to the end zone, pushing all others out of his way — because when he realized he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, he wanted the rest of his life to start as soon as possible. The marching band plays “Auld Lang Syne” as they score the winning touchdown together. Afterwards, the quarterback says he’d like a coconut Vince Lombardi Trophy cake, with the chocolate sauce on the side.
All right, I’ll admit part of that just isn’t plausible. I mean, when do marching bands ever play “Auld Lang Syne” during the Super Bowl, right? Maybe Madonna was busy. Work with me here.
How about this? The football and the wide receiver have been fighting their attraction for a long time due to his emotional immaturity. When the quarterback throws the pass, the wide receiver leaps high into the air to catch the football. As the two tumble to the ground together, the football says, “You complete me.” Later, in front of all the cheerleaders, the wide receiver explains the football simply had him at “hello.”
C’mon, that could be the first Super Bowl in history where you’d need tissues. Hear that, Kleenex? Potential sponsor opportunities! You’re welcome.
Still not convinced of the Super Bowl’s romantic comedy potential?
Okay, final suggestion: A linebacker feels hurt and abandoned by his beloved football. Enraged, he charges the other team, being careful to avoid the quicksand, fire swamp and Rodents of Unusual Size (R.O.U.S.). He tackles the six-fingered quarterback, and as the football rolls down the synthetic turf, the linebacker hears her cry out “….as…you…wish….” The linebacker realizes the football never really stopped loving him and had merely been forced to play a scrimmage with the Dread Pirate Roberts.
Tell me you wouldn’t turn in for such blockbuster Super Bowl plots as these proven winners. I can’t believe Hollywood has yet to call upon me for my screenwriting skills.
But something tells me the networks won’t go for it. I’ve heard those R.O.U.S. are ruthless when it comes to salary negotiations, and the Super Bowl is certainly no place to throw billions of dollars around.
Guess I’ll just have to resign myself that the only declaration of undying love during this Super Bowl Sunday is going to be mine — for the nacho platter.
Actual Length of Super Bowl: 4 hours…give or take eleventy-billion hours of pre/post-game commentary
Real Feel: 36 hours
Real Feel If Super Bowl Were a Romantic Comedy: 30 minutes, tops
Chance They Will Change It into a Romantic Comedy: There’s always 2014
HOW ABOUT YOU? Which do you prefer? The Super Bowl or a romantic comedy?
— Christie Storms
Christie Storms has written stories since she was old enough to use a stapler. While she did not write with said stapler, it was vital in binding pages together to begin presenting her parents with a multitude of unsolicited manuscripts. Professionally, Christie has written numerous articles for local publications over the past decade and additionally blogs material she has been told is humorous by somewhere between 3 and 3,000,000 people.