Why Americans Fail at New Year's Resolutions

In a word: football. How am I supposed to quit smoking, cut back on drinking, ease up on the fatty snacks and grease-soaked goodness when there's a game on this weekend? All those things are as much a part of football as spoiled quarterbacks soliciting unwilling young women for sexual favors. The playoffs are in full swing as the new year begins and you expect me to abandon my season-long tradition of downing a shot of tequila when my team scores? You expect me not to go outside and light a cigarette in frustration when my team does something stupid? Or not go outside and light a cigarette in celebration of my team doing something awesome? Or not crack open a beer to get the taste of tequila out of my mouth? Or not have a cigarette with that beer. And there's half a beer left here; be a shame to drink it without some wings, pizza or nachos. Oh crap, there's more nachos here and my beer's gone; better open another.

Whoever invented the New Year's resolution could not have envisioned a nation whose vices went hand in hand with its national sport. We blame "the Holidays," for our ruined diets and excesses, but our real Holiday doesn't come until early February, when we can unite as a nation around one game. We aren't Christians, Jews, Muslims or atheists during the Super Bowl; we are Babylonian drunkards and gluttons, gathered at the arena's vomitorium so that we might purge ourselves and make room for more wings and beer.

So if you've already failed in your attempts to become a better you, don't blame yourselves, Americans. You belong to a unique place that worships a spectacle the rest of the world will never understand, try though they do. You're a football fan, even if you don't understand the game. The Holiday calendar still applies. Drink like a Greek God. Eat like a Roman Senator. Monday is the start of a New Year.

Your Refuge From Super Bowl Ad Analysis

Bigness

This is that time of year when our colleagues in Europe, South America, Asia and everywhere else say to each other, "Fucking Americans. They think the Super Bowl stops the world and is the end-all showcase of good stuff. I don't know about you guys, but I got work to do." The more indignant of the group say, "We must resist the strident dogma and imperialistic designs of the American advertising culture! Rise up, brothers! Fight!"

It's now beyond stupid. Sean Hannity was previewing Super Bowl ads on his show and telling us which ones are good.

There is more than enough Super Bowl ad review, tweeting and blogging going on without me weighing in as well to give you one more OPINION on what worked and what didn't. Or what will work, since many of the ads are now pre-screening at your favorite ad blog right now.

I will watch the game. I will watch the commercials. I will not update my Facebook status with "Coke ad very funny!" nor will I be live-blogging the spots. I won't join in the pointless debate about who made best use of their $300 zillion 30-second buy.

Who cares? And what do any of us know? I'm just going to enjoy the show, the spectacle, the joke that is now the battle for the Vince Lombardi Trophy. I will also attempt to stomach the halftime show, with God's gift to songwriting weighing in on how to fix America. We sit at your feet, Bruce Almighty, awaiting your instructions. What? Love one another? You are such a genius! (That's just my opinion.)

If you are not the Super Bowl watching type and want to get away to see a movie in a likely-empty theater, I suggest Gran Torino. Saw it yesterday afternoon. It's Eastwood as we like him: Badass. Even at 78, the guy is cool. I know the movie got ripped by many critics who thought it was "ham-fisted" and telegraphed, but those are just opinions from critics. You'll like it or you won't. Just like Super Bowl ads. In this instant-analysis social media era, we're all nothing more than a smörgåsbord of critics and pundits. You've got your followers and you've got the ones you follow.

But it's a damned ugly car...if you ask me.

Line Up The Endorsements for Eli

My Dad was riding his bike in the woods yesterday and saw a panther. Seriously. Up around Ormond Beach. The giant cat was lounging in the middle of the trail 50 yards ahead of him. Dad wisely made a U-turn. There are only supposed to be 80 to 100 panthers left in Florida, so that was sort of cool. Speaking of panthers, they’re from North Carolina. I mean the football Panthers of the NFL. Speaking of the NFL, there was a game last night. It was not all it was advertised to be. It was supposed to be the crowning of a dynasty. We were supposed to be worshipping today at the altar of the Best Team To Ever Walk Onto A Field In The History Of The Universe – Starring Tom Brady As The Messiah King Of Kings, With A Special Appearance By The Creator Of All That Is And Will Ever Be, Bill Belichick.

Nobody likes a dynasty and everybody likes a Cinderella story. Well over 75% of football fans were rooting for exactly what happened*. And if anyone saw the post game interview with New England coach Bill Belichick, you saw a man who fully bought all the hype and praise the media had heaped on him and his team. And he didn’t know how to handle a loss. He couldn’t even say, “The Giants played a great game.”

As for the commercials…what can be said that isn't being said elsewhere and beyond? I suspect aliens on other planets are talking about those commercials by now. Some were great (talking baby for eTrade), some striving way too hard (heart jumping from woman’s chest for CareerBuilder) and some just flat-out stoopid with a capital WTF (Chinese stereotyped pandas for Sales Genie).

I've never been much of a Giants fan. Until last night. I’m thinking maybe this game was a foreshadowing of the fall of another prematurely crowned dynasty.

*Unsubstantiated percentage based on this author's personal dislike of the Patriots.

New York Giants

No SuperBowl Spots Reviewed Here

Let's just call it the SuperBlow from now on. The hype is never worth the delivery. Nor are the ensuing analyses worth much either.

AdRants has already posted enough spot reviews to make up for EVERYONE. (Geez, Steve, do you even let Angela sleep? 35 posts (and counting) yesterday is a little insane. One might even call it shark-jumping, if that term can apply to blogs. But I guess ad reviews are your job...so good job. But Angela's review of Prince's performance has awakened the Prince Army.)

Then again, in Steve's defense, at least he didn't set up a whole site devoted to critiquing Super Bowl spots.

Stuart Elliott, desperate for a new and "literary" angle, goes way off the deep end in his New York Times analysis: "No commercial that appeared last night during Super Bowl XLI directly addressed Iraq...but the ongoing war seemed to linger just below the surface of many of this year’s commercials." Stuart thought the commercials were too violent and attributes that to the Iraq war. Quite a stretch, Stu.

Hopefully, we can all move on now.


Henry Winkler as Arthur Fonzarelli, giving birth to the term "jumped the shark."