But that certainly did not stop us from eating.
Superbowl Sunday, now I remember why I have avoided you for so many years. You are boring. You make ordering Korean chicken wings nearly impossible (2.5 hour wait, seriously?) You make me feel sick from gorging on grease, carbs and sweets. You make me pass out from food coma. You rewarded a liar and a cheat with a victory. And to top it all off, your commercials sucked.
The few redeeming factors included hanging out with friends and family (hey guys: whatever happened to our plan for Sunday Suppers), yelling at the tv screen (my personal favorite), throwing chicken bones into the fire (good one, MM), sipping on Don Julio 1942, and Max eating the leftover red velvet whoopie pies while we were sleeping.
It was the most boring and embarrassing game to watch. At one point we wondered what would have been more noble: actually making a field goal so that the Broncos would at least not be shut out, or the Broncos taking a knee every possession. I was kind of in favor of the latter because at least that would have been entertaining.