"Winning is a wonderful deodorant"

I've wanted to use that line since the end of the playoffs, when an NFL announcer dropped that gem in reference to the Seahawks. He finished with some breath-taking punchline like "...and it's smelling strong around here," but I'm afraid my recylced joke is no longer applicable, what with the Seahawks, ahem, losing the Superbowl and all.

We watched the game with my dad and step-mom (both die-hard Steelers fans, previously mentioned in an earlier entry, Who gives a crap about football?), with the idea that a little competition might liven things up a bit. After all, what fun is watching the Superbowl when everybody in the room is rooting for the same team?

I should've known, though. I should have realized that my feeble allegience to the Seahawks (the average duration of my NFL enthusiasm is roughly 7.65 minutes per year) is nothing compared to Karen's life-long devotion to her hometown team. This did not quite sink in, however, until the moment we walked into my parents' kitchen and beheld the dining room table, draped as it was with Steelers T-shirts and jerseys and Terrible Towels. The focal point of this black-and-gold display was a chocolate cake, complete with hand-frosted Steelers logo, beside a Virgin Mary votive candle.

Oh boy, I thought. Oh, boy.

As far as I could tell, though, in the moments that I glanced up from my book, it sure did seem like the Seahawks played a good game. But I must say this: "retirement." For the love of God, somebody please pass the message along to the Rolling Stones.


bugorama said...

the seahawks played an AWESOME game.

and amen to the rolling stones. i couldn't watch because i was sure one of them was going to have an incident that would rival janet's exposed breast in disturbing-ness. it was most depressing. (how much cocaine do you think it took to get them that energetic?)

Thea said...

I was growing increasingly concerned as, at the end of each song, Mick took of a coat, then a button down shirt...til he was left with only his little black T (which my brother likened to the sort of shirt worn by seventh grade girls). I sincerely hoped that we wouldn't be subjected to a striptease. Mercifully, we viewers were spared.