Did I forget to rant last year? It’s possible. I didn’t even know which teams were involved this year until the game was well underway. The giveaway Facebook remark evolved into a discussion of the relative strengths of two natural enemies, the bronco and the panther, with a leading authority attesting that panthers would be dispatched by healthy adult broncos, but enfeebled broncos could be catfood.
The cacophonous halftime show drew the ire of a former NYC mayor, who called a costuming nod to a 1960’s black rights group an “insult to the police”. Thanks Rudy, for going worldwide with your nonsense and luring me into watching the benignly trashy Beyonce act.
It was only at the diner on Tuesday that I heard reference made to the Superbowl singing of the national anthem. Frank had had a bunion carved from his foot on Friday, and Tuesday was his first day out of the house. He dismissed questions about his plastic bag wrapped left foot and got straight to his main concern.
“Did you hear that bitch sing the national anthem on Sunday?”
Alice, who had, said she approved of the singing, others demurred, and I vowed to watch it and report an opinion. My report of approval on Wednesday was rebutted with “Somebody should have shot the bitch.”
I’m gonna give Gaga an “oh hell no” on the hairstyle and an “oh shit yes” for the rest. An interesting piece of timing, I understand the Blue Angels had her performance on headset, along with instructions from a flight coordinator. A couple seconds off? Go to coda.
GAGA BRINGS IT HOME