fine whine

Another year passes and I fall prey to the ritual I've yet to miss for at least a decade: watching the Superbowl. I didn't even know which teams were playing until two weeks ago, but was able to pick up enough snippets and tidbits (from a conversation in which I was but a silent observer) then to survive simple exchanges now about the game. I wanted to root for Philadelphia primarily because they're the underdogs, and because I don't know offhand of anybody who's a die hard fan of either team to goad or prop up.

Jessica and I ended up watching it by ourselves. 'Twas a big change from past years of big, gala parties thrown by friends, but this year neither of us got around to finding a party to attend nor planned one of our own. Which really isn't that big of a deal anyway, as it wasn't that great of a game to watch, with lackluster commercials and an adequate but not spectacular halftime show. Then again the really good parties have little at all to do with watching the game and mostly with just hanging out. After all, I didn't find out until long after it'd happened about the whole wardrobe malfunction thing, despite being in a house with three TVs showing the game.

Our single TV was tuned into the game over the airwaves, and Fox made sure to tell us every twelve minutes that they were simulcasting it in HDTV, as though we would otherwise let our expensive HDTV tuner and massively wide-screen TV go to waste showing the low-definition, poor people version. Oh wait, we don't have HDTV or a big screen, poor us.

Except that the game wasn't worth it. It was obvious enough even with fuzzy reception that McNabb and company just weren't playing together well, and that the Patriots were all a bit overconfident and lazy. Nobody even got around to trying to score in the first quarter, after all, which lasted several hours and allowed Fox to reveal the real stars: the commercials.

Ford had one for their upcoming Mustang convertible that was vaguely amusing once, but they made sure to play it at least six times. This is, mind you, for a car that you can't even buy for a number of months. Boy, am I hyped or what!

The Pepsi folks got lazy too, re-showing the same P. Diddy in a Diet Pepsi truck one three times, twice in a shorter, worse version.

Jessica laughed at the careerbuilder monkeys (of the YEKNOM office). Overall it seemed that they were just phoning in the commercials. When Fox pointed out that they lost $24 million bucks to plug their show 24 I was dumbstruck that the price had fallen so, and yet was so high. Most companies got more attention by releasing their rejected or 'banned' ads on the web in the weeks leading to today, and they paid a lot less for the eyeballs.

And what was with the countertop/bathtub people? I would have given them some slack if they'd joined Nationwide and the snack food company in using M.C. Hammer, but instead they gave us a bathing Dennis Rodman. Next, please?

Fedex went all out with a self-referential piece on the ten components of a successful Superbowl ad, and for the most part they nailed it. Burt Reynolds probably made more money in those twenty odd seconds than he did with Cannonball Run 2. Oddly enough nobody else really followed their formula too closely, except for the odd Budweiser commercial and its ilk.

All in all, disappointing. Every Mustang repeat was another cringe as much as every time Donny McNabb lobbed a pass into the defense's hands. Also tedious was the glass-breaking sound effects used every twelve seconds by Fox to indicate that a number or letter had changed at the top of the screen. Some twelve-year-old must've thought that was really, really cool.

And why the hell don't they put the down and the yards to go on the stupid status bar? This year they occasionally superimposed it with an arrow (in case it wasn't obvious which way the offense meant to go) on the field, but this wasn't enough and at the same time too much. Just put it up top, dammit.

At last, the game ended and was followed by another eternity of the post-game show which was obvious analysis, stealth advertising, and back-patting. I sat through it only because I wanted to see the pilot of American Dad, and frankly, I shouldn't have wasted the time.

The Simpsons episode before it was underwhelming. I think it may be due in part to my habit of watching shows without commercials, but a general response of apathy grew in me more and more as the show dragged on. It wasn't funny and Groenig and company are capable of far, far better.

Seth McFarlane, on the other hand, is running low on ideas. Though to my knowledge there has never been a sitcom about a family boarding an alien and a talking goldfish, headed up by a government agent, but the whole thing seemed blatantly derivative. American Dad is no, and cannot be, Family Guy, but I think it loses a lot in the efforts made to distance the two shows. Most of which is lost seems to be the offbeat humor and biting satire.

That said, it's entirely possible that such is deliberate, that this is the new That's my Bush! and the whole cliche feel to the show is a witty jab at the very conventions it seems to dumbly flaunt. If so, well, let me know in advance next time, okay?

Next year, I think I'll just download or stream all the interesting bits at my leisure afterwards, and reclaim the evening for something more useful than sitting around watching stuff I don't really want to see. Alas, another year.