You know ladies and gentlemen, there comes a time in all of our lives when we just need to sit down and write about a whole bunch of things at once, knowing full well that there’s no real cohesive theme tying those elements together.

According to the timestamp on the OneNote page I’ve created in which to compose my next dispatch of verbal brilliance to an otherwise dull internet, it’s Sunday the 20th at 6:37 pm central time. 

The L.A. / St. Louis / L.A. Rams just upset the New Orleans Saints less than an hour ago and earned themselves an all-expenses paid trip to Atlanta to see Maroon 5 in a few weeks.  The show promises to be yet another installment in yet a whole series of really crappy half-time shows designed to check off every intersectional box the NFL targets as their audience for the big game at the end of the season.

Not that I’ve ever griped, bitched, or moaned all Oxford comma-style about a half-time show before.

Sadly, I wasn’t at home to see the final moments of the game.  Instead, I was inbound from a pizza joint over on the southside of town where I was conscripted to deliver a birthday cake.  It wasn’t just any cake, mind you,

It was a unicorn cake that weighed just enough to keep the back of the SUV from fish-tailing in the event we encountered any black ice or wet roads on our trek from the northwest side of town all the way to the southside.

All for a dadburn unicorn cake.

While we were there, we managed to watch the Rams tie it up in the final moments of regulation play.  When what’s-his-face kicked the ball, every father in the pizza joint who couldn’t believe they weren’t home or in a bar watching the NFC Championship game emoted audibly as the pigskin split the uprights.

Oh, look at that.  New England just scored again.

That’s right people, I’m now watching the AFC Championship game between the Chiefs and the Patriots. 

It’s half-time.

I’m sitting here watching the game and listening to music.

I’m drinking a cherry lime favored beverage which is more kid friendly than it is adult.

I’m eating frozen miniature peanut butter cups.

Speaking of which, one of the last times I had a significant supply of miniature peanut butter cups, they were delivered to me as part of a Christmas present in a hideous bowl designed to look like Jabba the Hutt with a gaping maw of a mouth.  The bowl now houses my financial management system (wallet, money clip, several dollars of loose change, and a soon to be used Fandango gift card) when said system isn’t…… Chiefs just scored.

None the less, I’ve found in recent years that I’ve become the beneficiary *cough* of indiscriminately purchased Stars Wars themed bantha fodder that I wouldn’t normally buy for myself.  I’m still trying to figure out what to do with the Pez dispensers and the Threepio shaped box that had suckers in it.

Did I mention I was watching football?

If you’ve paid attention in recent years, that fact probably baffles you to no end.  Last year I generally boycotted the whole gosh darned thing.  In the process, I managed to void any emotional investment I had in the sport in all of those years leading up to what was probably Peyton Manning’s last year.

It’s not that Peyton’s retirement caused me to lose interest though.  That was just coincidental to the point where the NFL succumbed to the demands to get woke.  At that point, I became inspired to consider other activities for my Sunday afternoons, because I’m not turning to sports for political discussion.

Now I find that the only time I’ve even been faintly interested was when I turned on the NFC game around half-time today and noticed it was turning into a good game.

Will I watch the big game in a few weeks?

I don’t know.

I didn’t watch it last year.

I’ll have to reserve judgement until the time comes.

There’s one more thing I’ve noticed about watching these games that I’m not sure I noticed before.

Good Lord in Butter people, just how stupid do the savants that run the major broadcast networks believe their viewership is?  I’m not in the habit of watching network TV anymore.  There’s better stuff to be found on the expanded cable package and through streaming services, so I don’t bother watching the miasma these people have to offer.  As I watch these games and the commercials for all of the other shows the networks are pushing, I can’t help but to emote audibly and take to the internet and gripe, bitch, and moan all Oxford comma-style about how these people are treating their audiences like a bunch of vapid twits.

Okay, let’s do a quick roll call to make sure everything’s been covered.

Unicorn cake.  Check.

Fair weather NFL fan.  Check.

Peanut butter cups.  Check.

Indiscriminate bantha fodder.  Check.

Vapid twits.  Check.

One last thing.

I just watched another trailer for the Shazam movie coming out in a few months.

I’m torn between that and watching the half-time show this year.

Both will suck, I’m sure.

At the end of the third quarter, Patriots are up 17-7.

Just as I was editing this, the Chiefs scored again.  This one could come down to the wire as well.  Fortunately, I have no more cakes to deliver.

Update:

It’s now 9:00 pm central and I’ve just added the media to this post. I’m told the entire Eunich-Horn Cake has been consumed.

Where the game is concerned, there are 11 seconds left and the Chiefs are trying to make it to the Super Bowl for the first time in the 42 years I’ve been following the NFL.