Who dat say dey gon’ beat dem Saints? Well a third grade grammar book and some pretty bad rain. But NOT the Indianapolis Colts, and that’s so good it ranks up there with the dark haired girls winning in a nude wrestling match against the blonds. I may sound like a broken record here, but Peyton Manning is not clutch. He’s proven it time and time before, and despite his trophy, the rest of his team won him the last Super Bowl, and his MVP status was purely a customary tug job. This time he couldn’t even pull out a close game against a team he had every reason to expect to dismantle and sell for parts. I think this legally qualifies management to take him out back and put him down because now he’s just sitting around, eating the food, smellin’ up the joint, and doing Oreo commercials, and the neighbors are starting to complain.

Oh, and congratulations aging The Who holdout fan, your boys managed to beat the momentum of the night over the head with an aluminum walker. Who are you [uh-hah], people that halftime show was directed at? Are you real people, or is the marketing director over at the NFL the Grim Reaper? The nursing home entertainment shuffled around wearing dementia like a checkered fedora through an uninspired, overly indulgent medley of the tunes their record company assured them were hits, when honestly I have never met anybody that enjoys any of those songs save a drunk Anthony Zuiker. At least Prince had the grace to wonder why the fuck he was there, and played a Foo Fighters song in honor of the band that should have been playing the halftime show. You know what I flicked to, after literally 4 seconds of The Who’s garbage rambling? The fucking “Puppy Bowl” on Animal Planet featuring 8 week old canines and hamsters in a fake blimp with more of a concept of entertainment value than Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend combined. Puppeeee TOUCHDOWN! You know what makes for badass, timeless rock? A kid who can play pinball and a seriously loose reference to “my generation,” that somehow still dates itself despite its vagaries because most people of that generation had the decency to die.

Which brings me to a much larger point: when did the Super Bowl stop being about football? Was it necessary that I sit through the talentless Queen Latifah singing “America the Beautiful” with a chorus of bored children before I watched Underwood butcher the national anthem (albeit in the sexiest way someone can butcher something without their tits out)? Exactly how many hours of New Orleans footage did you have to show to justify dragging all those cameras down there, and is that number inversely proportional to how many gold teeth the randos you interviewed were sporting so stylishly? Was it necessary to have that chick interview the three Saints defensive heroes with dumbfuck questions like, “If you had a time machine, what period would visit.” Although in her defense one of them said The Dark Ages because we know what happened before and after but the Dark Ages are dark to us. Anyone dumb enough to make a statement like that should immediately be given the plague and forced to sit through an Everyman play. Mayhap if you asked him about football, we would have heard something half intelligent, and I wouldn’t be left wishing a slow, humiliating death on whoever’s call it was to let women journalists anywhere near a football field. We’ve gotten so up our own asses trying to make the Super Bowl a family event, with something to appeal to all audiences, that we’ve left actual football fans behind like Richard Dawkins on apocalypse day.

Speaking of football, some was played in between commercials yesterday. The Saints didn’t come out swinging, but they finished strong and clean. Drew Brees and his crew have been exciting to watch all year, and I admit to being one of those Saints-philes that would tongue metaphorical dingleberries from their metaphorical cracks if they got itchy. This is all not to mention that there is no greater pleasure in the entirety of the NFL than watching Peyton Manning straight up eat it, and that was reason enough to get out of bed at all yesterday. Man were we stirred up into a panic by what Tim Tebow’s mom might say, and beside that fact that airing it at all was an unethical statement condoning bigotry and intolerance, it was really kind of harmless in and of itself. People are rip shit that it aired at all, but then people need to get a job or a woman that shaves her legs or something. How do you get mad about something that can’t be changed? Well, Peyton Manning can’t change that he’s a wussy little bitch, and I’m alright with him being angry about that. He should bring his mom in for an ad where she wishes she’d had that abortion.