And the Final Score Is . . .
(Boston Globe Photo)
I am not a particularly big football fan. But today was the Super Bowl and I do have a passing interest in the Patriots, probably more because I’m a very big Red Sox fan and a bit of that passion spills over.
More specifically, I’m definitely not a fan of the NFL. I dislike the absurd hype that overwhelms you and I consider the 10-year denial and cover-up of the terrible toll taken on generations of players—brain damage caused by repeated concussions. Go see the feature film “Concussion” and see if it doesn’t turn you off the game at least a little bit.
But I watched the game today . . . sat there through the first half, stunned as the Patriots fell farther and farther behind. It was 28 to 3 at the half. What the hell was happening?
It’s probably a generational thing, but I thought that halftime show was ridiculous—almost a parody of halftime shows—and I turned the game off. What the hell, the Pats were down by 25 and in fifty previous Super Bowls, no team had ever overcome a lead that big. Besides, it wasn’t yet four o’clock here and there were a few chores still needed doing.
Forty-five minutes later, I came back in the house and snapped the TV on again just in time to see time expire with—Holy Crap!!—the score tied 28-28.
I must say, for a lukewarm Patriots fan and no fan at all of the NFL, I stood there watching as Tom Brady and the Pats drove downfield in overtime. Then Brady lofted a pass toward the corner of the end zone. James White and the defender went up for it and. . .
. . . and our power went out.