Muscles were flexed. Chests were thumped. A winner was declared. It was another triumph for man.
I love football. I've been a fan since I was a child. Memories of watching Super Bowls surrounded by family are cemented in my mind like a cracked sidewalk. I love the camaraderie, the feeling of having so many people focused on the same outcome, the way sport brings communities together. I love the drama, the intensity, the highs and lows of watching machines perform at their highest level.
Last night was the first Super Bowl I watched in disgust.
Every time the commentators referred to Big Ben, I wanted to throw up. Because, unlike the commentators, I remembered when the season started and Big Ben was suspended for six games, which was reduced to four. Why? Good behavior? Doubtful. Quarterbacks make NFL owners money. Lots of money. And when a high profile quarter back like Ben Roethlisberger is on the bench, it affects the marketability and profitability of the team, in sales and team wins.
When a professional athlete like Big Ben can rape two women--yes, I think he's guilty--and still get to play in the biggest game, under the brightest lights, with a payday bonus, I am incensed. Add to that fire that not a single commentator mentioned it and I want to destroy highways with my bare hands.
I'm sure the NFL wanted to keep the idea of the Super Bowl and everyone involved squeaky clean. Ever since Nipplegate, the Super Bowl has been under a microscope. A commentator mentioning how far Big Ben had come during the season, after all his turmoil, would have only reminded the audience that the NFL protects its own. Besides, the beginning of the season was such a long time ago. And Big Ben made amends by leading his team to another Super Bowl.
Fuck it and fuck him! And fuck Favre too.
Happy as I am, it provides little comfort that Big Ben sucked. Choked. Lost. Now I worry he'll take his frustration out on another women.
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