It’s no surprise that I didn’t watch the Super Bowl

Anyone who knows me, knows I’m not much of a sports guy. Annually, I might watch two games: Michigan State University (my alma mater) vs. University of Michigan, and the Super Bowl. This year, I watched neither.

In high school, I was very anti-sports. I was a whoa-is-me, selfish adolescent who wasn’t comfortable in his own skin, so I took it out unfairly on the jocks. Despite that, I somehow managed to date one of our school’s cheerleaders (for about four years). She helped tame a lot of my cynicism (and taught me how to dress with dignity), for which I’ve been forever grateful.

In college, I went to one MSU football game. I ditched the girl who invited me — a girl I had a crush on — and left after the first quarter so I could get back outside to the tennis courts, to keep tailgating. I sacrificed a potentially memorable experience with a really cute, fun girl for a Saturday afternoon of day drinking that I have no recollection of. I had a lot of those Saturdays.

Football fan or not, the Super Bowl is an undeniable holiday in American culture. It’s so iconic that it actually tricks everyone into watching commercials — those 30- or 60-second interruptions that we pay good money to fast-forward through. The best part of the Super Bowl? The parties, of course.

I turned down invites to two last night. It might’ve been the first Super Bowl in ten years that I didn’t watch a second of. Not one second. Katherine and I canceled cable when we sold our house last summer, so I would’ve had to go out of my way last night to watch something I’m not a fan of in the first place. I chose to stay in at home instead. I read a little, wrote a little, worked on rebuilding my website, and had a beer and a margarita.

Don’t get me wrong — I would’ve had a great time at either party, and I know I missed hanging out with some good people, and eating all the yummy things that aren’t good for me. Please send me your leftover chicken wings, crockpot meatballs, Buffalo chicken dip, and bacon-wrapped anythings.

Still, it feels good to know that I skipped out on watching the game not to hustle back to shotgunning cans of cheap beer, but to tackle some personal priorities that needed my attention instead.

Katherine was up at 4:30a this morning to go to the gym, and I was up at 5a — neither of which would’ve happened if we went out last night. When she got back, she said it was pretty empty, which didn’t surprise me. And, c’mon, it felt pretty good to not hate life when my alarm went off.

Who watched the game? Who was up early? Who’s on the struggle bus today? Who wants to help me eat this “snackadium”?

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