the world doesn't suck!

[author's note: the following post was composed after losing the buzz from a night of moderate drinking ... hence the cheesy, melancholy-but-hopeful tone]

ah, the superbowl. what was once billed as the single greatest game in american sports has been reduced to an advertisement orgy with anheuser-busch at the helm. sure, i love hackneyed video blurbs starring cedric the entertainer just as much as the next guy, but the game that once so vehemently tugged on american heart-strings is dying, willing away its record-breaking viewers to the nation's collegiate c-students, a.k.a. marketing majors.

so the game itself is overshadowed by the commercials, and the commercials are getting worse, so what is the allure of the superbowl? has it simply become an excuse for twenty-somethings to drive to the neighboring county, the one that does sell beer on sundays, just to pickup a couple of malt-liquors to partake in the age-old classic of "edward forty-hands"? what else is left?

years ago, someone who accepted the above premises could argue that the superbowl halftime show was the true reason for the season. enter janet jackson's tit. to avoid all unoriginality, i'll avoid that subject, because everyone can agree that never has a poor horse been beaten to death in a more sadistic fashion--suffice to say this: love it or hate it, that boob single-handedly destroyed all credibility ever warranted by the halftime spectacle.

but that credibility has been restored. our knight in shining armour: sir paul mccartney. at a time when we needed it the most, one fourth of the fab four banded together the capacity crowd, as they all joined in a symphony of "na-na na nah's", a celebration of all that is good and right and just in today's world. despite the bastardization of sir paul's british heritage by the patriotic brainwashing required at any upscale sporting event (reference to the american flag obsession), the rendition of "hey jude" left me with a smile on my face that has yet to fade, thinking in my head that maybe, just maybe, all could be right with the world, if we could just pack ourselves into a stadium within earshot of such an epic feel-good tune.

bless you, sir paul, for being so goddamn charismatic that you could force an entire nation to forget about jugs for five minutes, and just sing along. indeed, the world doesn't suck after all.