Because I decided long ago not to watch the NFL this season, not watching the Super Bowl was an easy, if annoying, decision. I love the Super Bowl. I love how we pretend that it truly matters in the grand scheme of things. I love the commercials and the halftime shows and all that jazz. I even love that Justin Timberlake’s halftime show caught the same critical treatment as his album. Spoiler alert: They’re both basura.
Anyway, as I made my preparations (read: treated Super Bowl Sunday like any ol’ Sunday), I decided I’d spend the day watching movies. Early in the day, I watched Get Out. Then I watched Sleepers. This was all before the Super Bowl. Because I got some early movie watching in, I felt like I could do it with ease. Sure, I’d miss the commercials that I love, but I mean, this is principle. I could do this.
I pulled up my Netflix queue and watched Morris From America, which was a little bit like Get Out but with teenagers. It was also not funny and I only watched it because the description had Craig Robinson and hip-hop in it. That took me right into what would have been the first quarter, probably, of the Super Bowl. Once that wrapped and after searching for what seemed like forever, I landed on Message From the King, starring Chadwick Boseman. I think I watched a solid 2.5 minutes of that before ending up in a family discussion about wedding venues, love languages and what constitutes “a drink.” That conversation lasted way longer than it should have.
At about 8 p.m., my girl went upstairs and took my sons with her to put them to bed. I started scrolling through my Amazon Prime queue and then it happened: I got a phone alert letting me know that the Eagles were up 22 to 12 at halftime. And then I started itching.
I hate the New England Patriots, possibly irrationally. I hate Tom Brady even though I respect him, Bill Belichick and the organization’s winning ways. They’re winners, and that’s nice for them. But I don’t ever want them to win shit ever again for eternity. Sadly, I felt like they’d win this game. But something felt different about that halftime alert. I thought, “Could it be?”
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I checked out the USA Today game breakdown, and between the two teams, they’d amassed over 650 offensive yards—I guess the defenses didn’t feel like playing yesterday—by halftime. I LOVE offensive contests. LOVE LOVE LOVE. And THIS is the Super Bowl I’m missing? Le sigh.
But I held fast. I knew Timberlake was about to perform and hopefully shit the bed (success), and I mean, the Pats were probably gon’ Pat (and make a comeback). But I couldn’t shake the lingering feeling that maybe the Eagles could pull it out. I refused to watch the game, though. Instead, I kept attempting to watch what amounted to the shittiest list of bad black movies known to man.
I started with Flowers. Literally made it one minute and was like, “Nope.” Then I tried to watch Living With No Regrets because Clifton Powell was on the cover art. But that movie looked like it was filmed on a Razr EVEN THOUGH it came out in 2015. I should have known something was up when I kept seeing the name “DoItAll Kelly” pop up for every important role and function. Listen—for all of those people who feel like there aren’t enough black movies out there, that’s not true. There are TONS. Most are just REALLY, REALLY, REALLY bad. I watch them all for you.
At some point I started getting random text messages from people like, “Bruh ... you watching this?” I ignored them. USA Today even kept sending me alerts ever so rudely. I caught a text about the Tide commercial, then about the one with Odell Beckham, Eli Manning and Dirty Dancing, which—until I watched the commercial this morning—might be in the top 10 most confusing texts messages I’ve ever received in life and had me entirely wrapped up in the possibilities for at least seven minutes. Though after I watched the commercial, it made so much sense. I, too, love that commercial.
Listen—I managed to make it through the whole game without watching a single down, but you know how you can tell a game or event is getting better by the number of texts you start receiving from people who never text you or watch those games or events? That happened. I went from itching heavily while oddly watching PJ Masks—it’s a Disney show; I’m not really sure how I ended up there—to having an eye twitch. I picked up my remote control and then threw it under the couch. I lay down and put my face on a pillow on my couch, and the next thing I knew, I was being woken up by my woman yelling from upstairs asking if I was asleep.
I’ve always found that question odd. Anyway, that woke me up and I checked my phone and saw that the Eagles of Philadelphia had flown high. From USA Today: “Eagles dethrone Patriots 41-33 to win first Super Bowl in franchise history.”
I’m not an Eagles fan, but I was so happy to see that alert. Like, for five minutes I felt like a bandwagon Eagles fan JUST because they beat the Patriots, and nothing makes me happier than Patriot losses in the Super Bowl. Remember—I have an irrational hatred. So while I was happy that I didn’t betray my protest and watch the Super Bowl, I REALLY wished I’d seen that shit happen in real time so I could jump up and down and run around and shoot the bird to Tom Brady in hopes he’d feel the supernatural force of my disdain through my television. I’m proud of myself and happy that the Patriots lost. So I suppose it was a good night.
And because it’s Philadelphia, at 11:18 p.m., I received this alert from Bleacher Report: “Philadelphia is literally on fire after Eagles shock Patriots to win Super Bowl LII.”
And all was right with the world.