Super Sunday

I'd like to extend a belated congratulations to the Green Bay Packers for winning the Super Bowl and finally, perhaps, getting that enormous, insufferable monkey called Brett Favre off their backs.

Most rational Packer fans realized long, long ago how much better off they were with Aaron Rodgers, who yesterday firmly chiseled his face in the Mt. Rushmore of current QBs you would want in a Super Bowl, next to Brees, Brady, and Manning.

But every now and then you find the screaming lunatics who just can't let go of Captain No-Pants. They're like those family members who keep asking you, year after year, about how you should get back with the insane and preening drama queen you finally managed to dump long ago, even though you've been with a solid 9 for the past few years who 28 of your 31 friends would kill to trade up for.

Hopefully, crazy people, you have now quietly returned to your caves. May we never hear from you again.

In other news, last night's event also featured what has charitably been called "The Worst Half Time Show Ever." Prudence would dictate that I refrain from giving an opinion on the matter, since I refused to watch it and instead retired to the kitchen in an effort to preserve my tenuous fate in humanity.

But I could still occasionally listen to snippets of the Black Eyed Peas, and I can say with no trace of hyperbole that listening to mating hyenas on 11 would be more appealing. And I've caught glimpses of the space combat suits they wore for the spectacle and some things just cannnot be unseen.

So normally I'd call out the criminals who green lit this debacle and wish a highly elaborate death involving acid, sharks, and thousands of shards of red-hot bamboo on them. But I imagine that they saw the show, which is a worse fate than the most awful, blood-thirsty, inhuman punishment that Dr. Mengele could come up with if he had ever paired up with the Spanish Inquisition. Even God may not have mercy on their souls.

As for the commercials, I was afraid for a couple of hours there that all American Corporations got into a massive war and only Doritos, Bud Light and Pepsi Max were left standing. But then, eventually, commercials for other commodities made their appearance. And it was worth it. Big props to the outstanding Tiny Darth Vader ad, the effectively stirring Chrysler commercial, and --although I may be biased, the Bridgestone reply all commercial. After all, who hasn't accidentally sent off one of those and then wanted to run screaming from the room to destroy all email-receiving technology in the tri-state area.

Big props for the "Do Not Attempt" disclaimer.