Say, what are you doing Sunday, February 1 at 2300 GMT? If you are like most red-blooded Americans, you’ll be watching the Super Bowl.
So will we. The only difference is that we actually live in Greenwich Mean Time, which means that our personal Super Bowl party begins at approximately 8 p.m., counting down to broadcast time at 11 p.m. HOORAY and you are invited.
I am excited though, sleepytime interruption and lack of Super Bowl commercials (boo!) notwithstanding, for two reasons:
1. For approximately the first/only time ever, I will actually know more about the sport than all of the men present (with possible [okay, definite] exception of Stephan).
B. Although I’m not technically a Cardinals fan, I have great affection for Chike Okeafor from when he played for Seattle and had an awesome name. So much so that a few years back when I had a cat named Jack, I rechristened him Chike Okeafor Okeafor-Schwartz, Jr., Westcott Valdivia, Jr.
Catchy, no?
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I sincerely wish I could be there.
Also, your use of “1” and “B” to differentiate your two reasons makes me smile.
Oh, and speaking of Chike Okeafor Okeafor-Schwartz, Jr., Westcott Valdivia, Jr., did I tell you? He does this thing now, every now and then, where instead of pulling his food pieces out one by one to eat them, he opens his mouth as wide as he can and then proceeds to bury his face into his food, pick up as much as his little mouth will hold, and swallow it. It’s kinda like watching a cartoon.
You may or may not have enjoyed the 1 a.m. nachos that came in a kit inside a box emblazoned with the American flag.
And while we’re tangentially and tenuously attached to the topic WHERE, may I ask, was Chike Okeafor’s game-saving interception?