Super Bowl Sunday came and went and with it so did tons of chips and salsa, chicken wings, nachos and any semblance of a proper diet. My team wasn’t in the game (forever a Dallas Cowboys fan, get over it) and I don’t like the New England Patriots (does anyone?) so the only reason to watch it was an excuse to eat, and drink beer.
Well that and root for the Eagles.
Things started on the right foot during the first half. I served up a nice plate of spinach and vegetable salad. I nibbled on a few dill pickle spears and drank water. During the second quarter, as the game intensified and the score remained close, I chomped on chips and salsa. As the game progressed I steadily found myself yelling at the TV more often.
“Curse you Tom Brady,” I’d yell and then grab a Dorito. “Someone tackle him please.”
Watching Brady drop a pass after a trick play, actually had me laughing out loud. I celebrated with a spicy chicken wing and a beer.
As much as I like Justin Timberlake, I wasn’t impressed by the half time show. So I walked to the cooler, grabbed another beer and picked up a hot dog. I topped it with chili and sour cream and down it went.
The Patriots started a bit of a comeback in the third, as usual, and I had to walk away from the living room. I turned on the TV in the bedroom and watched Worst Cooks in America (Food Network, of course). The contestants had to try and make a pizza from scratch. One guy made a pretty decent looking cheese burger pizza. Yep, back to the kitchen I went and snacked on pizza rolls.
I could barely peel my eyes away from the game during the fourth. When New England scored, I graduated from beer to rum and Coke and was yelling so loud at the TV my dogs ran to hide in the bedroom.
I stacked a pile of chips and salsa topped with melted cheese and diced hot peppers on a plate, added avocado and a squeeze of lime and those nachos went down before the next TV commercial aired.
Is it me or was attorney Jamie Casino wearing too much eyeliner? And was I seeing things or did Eli Manning really dirty dance?
Maybe it was the rum and Cokes (plural by now).
The dogs stayed in my room as my yelling and cheering got louder and louder. The cats didn’t know where to hide and appeared annoyed as I ran around the coffee table, cheering for the Eagles, cursing Tom Brady, grabbing another chicken wing, making another drink and eating another hot dog.
With just seconds left, Tom Brady gets sacked, the Eagles secure the win and I jumped for joy.
“Woohoo,” I yelled, with yet another chicken wing in hand. “They finally lost. Go Eagles.” I looked around the room. There were paper plates EVERYWHERE. The place looked like a food bomb had exploded and no one was spared. The Bacardi bottle was half empty and all that remained was one hot dog.
“What a mess,” I thought as I grabbed the last wiener. “Good thing no one else was here to witness this fiasco.”