Today is the Super Bowl. I’m honestly surprised I know that, but I also don’t live under a rock, just under a self-imposed exile from watching The Game. But I will say, I thought “Super Bowl” was one word, but apparently it isn’t. I’m surprised America, in its pork skin passion, hasn’t made that a word yet.
My Twitter feed has been littered for days with tweets about who’s boycotting who because of an ad (who’s the snowflake now?), what Tom Brady hasn’t said, and maps of who is supporting the New England Patriots (hint: it’s only one state).
I feel like the New England Patriots are always at the Super Bowl. Does anyone else feel this way? Like, if the Super Bowl were a movie, it would be starring Tom Brady and costarring…whatever other team is playing.
This year it’s the Falcons. They’re from Atlanta. I’m curious about the geographic distribution of falcons. I didn’t know falcons lived in Atlanta. (It’s hard to figure out the biological habitat of the falcon via Google these days. When I search, “Do falcons live in Atlanta?,” I am greeted with results about Falcon fans. Not what I was asking.)
Anyway. If you can’t tell from this post, I am not here to discuss the glories of football or Super Bowl Sunday or even the ads. I have not watched a Super Bowl since youth group in high school. I have not even attended a Super Bowl party in ten years, which is surprising because even if you don’t like football, you’re supposed to go to those. But I just remember being in youth group watching the game (or, rather, staring at the carpet and the store-bought chocolate chip cookies on my paper plate) and wondering if there was more three-bean cheese dip in the kitchen and would people notice if I got up for the fourth time to refill my plate.
You would think I must hate this day then. What do I do on a day that is filled with football, capitalistic spam, and excess calories? But I don’t hate today. Because while the world all but shuts down as the rest of America tunes in to a leather ball being tossed on an arbitrary point system (why seven points?!), opportunities abound.
The gym is empty.
Forgot to work out today? Slept in? Trying to avoid 10,000mg of sodium in three hours? Go to the gym.
The Elliptical is available, no wait required. The bench press beckons you. Only issue, there are no spotters. Better yet, there’s no anyone! The gym is barren (except for the attendants who are watching the Bowl be screened on the muted TVs).
Soak it up! Sweat it out!
The grocery store is empty.
Sunday nights are notorious for suburbanite crowds besieging the self-checkout, stocking up for the week, buying up all the good Greek yogurt flavors, clearing out the produce aisle, and taking all the baskets (how am I supposed to carry everything?).
Need to meal prep? Out of milk? Go to Kroger, Fresh Market, Target, what have you. They’re all also empty. Go after the gym. There will be no line for the checkout. There will be no fight for the ice cream. There might even be discounts on hot food – because everyone settled into their couch at 5 pm.
No reservations required at that hot spot restaurant.
Not a planner? Been dying to go to that latest rooftop bar? Well, tonight is your night.
First, check to make sure that hot spot restaurant isn’t hosting a Super Bowl party. If they are, you don’t want to be there.
Otherwise, go. Get in your car and drive. No need to call ahead. No need to download some dumb app to make a reservation. Just show up.
Instead of asking, “How can I help you?” (which always kills me, because what else am I about to ask for other than a table if I’m standing at the front of a restaurant? The bathroom?), the hostess will say, “Table for one?” Because you’re probably alone if you’re not at a Super Bowl party, let’s be honest. Or you’re in a relationship. And what better night to celebrate Valentine’s Day other than nine days early?
Then post it on Instagram. Show everyone you’re trendy. You went to that cool, new place. Touch you!!
Do your laundry!
Odds are, your roommate(s) might actually enjoy football and/or the capitalistic machine that churns out the Oscars of commercials. They’re probably out at some friend’s viewing party.
(I’m super sorry if they decided to host the Super Bowl party at your place. I don’t know what to tell you about that.)
So, since they’re out, the washing machine is free. So is the oven. So is the TV. Spread your legs! Celebrate! Do what you want. Wash your sheets, wash your towels, dry clean your suit. Bake a cake, then some muffins, put four pots on top of the stove. Do whatever you want. You have about five hours to live like you live alone.
(I’d say get naked, but they’re probably coming home at the end of the night. So maybe not. Also, unless you just showered, it’s sorta weird to be naked on a Sunday night. It’s February.)
Go to bed early.
Maybe none of these ideas excite you? That probably means you need rest. You should go to bed.
While the rest of the world will be hungover and/or sleep-deprived come dawn, you can thwart them. You could even set your alarm and wake up early enough to find out who won the Super Bowl, watch some YouTube clips of the half-time show, and pretend to be culturally relevant over coffee in the morning. And have gotten eight hours of sleep!
So, don’t despair that it’s Super Bowl Sunday. Embrace life! Live like you’re the only one not watching the Super Bowl!
Because you probably are.