Let me start by saying, I don’t care. As a Florida allegator hunter might put it, I don’t have a dog in that hunt. The game pits two teams for which it’s hard to conjure any enthusiasm. The Bengals are from Ohio and the Rams have never been, for me, an object of affection. So, what will I do . . . if you’re even interested? I’ll record the thing to zip out all the hype, including the unbearable half-time show. I’ll get the result and later see how it ended that way. In other words, I’ll view the spectacle in my old role of a coach analyzing game tape.
My only interest, and it’s a slight one, is in the underdog (LA is favored) and maybe watching the next Tom Brady in the making: Joe Burrow. After that, meh! My appetite has been ruined. The NFL, like the rest of the big-metro blue bubbles, has shown itself to be duly immersed in the cloistered zeitgeist of the fashionable neo-Marxist critical theory, pushing radical BLM slogans throughout the season. A game not about politics came to be about politics. It’s hard to get up for the America sellout (the NFL).
How appropriate for the game to be played in a lefty metropolitan funhouse in the leftward most governed state on the furthest leftward edge of the continent. I pity the athletes for they will pay the greatest pound of flesh for playing a game in the highest taxed state outside of North Korea. But what does it matter if you earn a million and have to turn over a couple hundred thousand to subsidize a fiscal and cultural nightmare?
Once again, meh.
RogerG