Superbowl Sunday!

My boys, chowin' down during kickoff. The photos are awful, I was too engaged to try and get better shots. What a game! Despite the boring half hour of black out and the fact that we're not wed to either team, the Superbowl is inevitably a drama and battle of epic proportions. Like spartans all over again. But I'm going to explain a little later on how we also feel bad about watching. But I'm also first going to explain why it was so awesome.

We made what a friend called "gourmet junk food", but when it's that bad for you I think it doesn't deserve the gourmet appellation. But it does deserve the label "sinfully delicious". I made double-fried korean chicken wings and asian cole slaw, Paul made double-fried tostones (plantains) salted to high heaven (or hell?), and shockingly August ate it all. Well, not the cole slaw. We gave him pickles to make sure he had his incredibly unhealthy salt quota required for the Superbowl.

We sat down at our little tables and pigged out and kept August engaged by yelling, "Look! He's throwing the ball! Oh, look, he caught it! Oh nooooo, he fell down!". August seemed a little dubious of our play-by-play, but happily joined in since his parents were yelling which meant he could yell too.

Now the explication of guilt.

Paul, being a Texan and general All-American Boy, was always a football fan. Not the kind who has to wear a lucky jersey anytime his favorite team played, and in fact he didn't have a favorite team, but the kind to still shout with joy at any exciting play. But in recent years there has been exposé after exposé showing the nigh-inevitable brain damage caused by football, from high school onwards. And the lack of care given to ex-pros, abandoned by the NFL and any thought of health insurance. There is horror in the sight of what happens so many ex-players. It's a little, just a little, like seeing war veterans abandoned by their army.

But oh, even I can't escape the guilty pleasure of the Superbowl. The pageantry, the war-like athleticism, the emotions, the coaches who always look like they're going to have an aneurysm mid-game. And the COMMERCIALS and their unbelievable production values! And good grief was Beyoncé hot last night.

I hope one day that the hysteria over the World Cup takes over the United States at some point, with just as many traditions of fried food and high-production value commercials and hot ladies singing at halftime. Or it doesn't have to be a sports event—let's make mid-term elections an event! Bust out the deep fryer for the traditional korean fried chicken wings!

Because I just can't give up the Superbowl. Man, it's like being addicted to war movies.