Sidelines Kalani Simpson

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It’s all in the game’s name

THE Super Bowl is different. It's ... super. You know that. Everybody knows that. They put it right in there, in the name.

They even changed the name of the day of the game. The whole day. It's not just Sunday. It's Super Sunday.

I love that.

In fact, I love most everything about the Super Bowl, other than the fact that "Sting" manages to somehow weasel his way into the telecast festivities each year. (Luckily -- and I endorse this wholeheartedly -- this year, it's "Prince." I feel very strongly that all Super Bowl halftime performers must be American.)

Think about it. People actually buy new televisions for Super Bowl Sunday. They don't do this for any other event. Would you buy a brand-new TV for the start of the NCAA basketball tournament? No, of course not. You'd feel ridiculous. Super Bowl? Let me look at that $1,000 50-inch!

Think back to that sitcom episode in which "Raymond" (yes, we're using quotation marks now) records over his wedding video so he can tape the Super Bowl. Why was this funny? Because it was perfectly plausible! Why, you, yourself, might have done this! (Well, maybe not you. But me!)

Now, would someone tape over his wedding video with the World Series? No, of course not, that would just be silly. No one would believe that could ever happen. That episode would never have aired. No one would have laughed.

But the Super Bowl ...

Yes. Super Bowl.

I myself plan on watching all 47,000 hours of continuous pregame coverage.

It's a holiday. It's a holy day.

Which brings me to my own "Raymond" episode. My wife, suddenly deciding, sometime between Terry Bradshaw's halftime analysis and an Adam Vinatieri kick, that we absolutely needed to go out and buy a new vacuum cleaner. Right now. It was life-and-death urgent. We have to do it this very minute. Let's go!

What?

"Super Bowl!" I kept saying. "Super Bowl!"

It is a really good vacuum cleaner, though. One of those really powerful "bagless" models.

Which brings me to an e-mail I got this week, an author wanting me to write a column about her book series. It begins, "Are you tired of chocolates and flowers for Valentine's Day?" As if this, a book series which explains sports rules and terms to women, is "an original gift for girls who are not as familiar with sports as their guys," and is the way to go instead. The secret to romantic bliss!

Sure. Go for it, guys. That kind Valentine's Day gift wouldn't get you punched in the face ...

Still, maybe I should call her. It sounds like I've got a story for the next edition of her book.