As everyone knows, it’s DFO Hate Week this week.  And while I’m sure many of you will disagree, I think you’ll at least get where I’m coming from on this.

As a fan of the Ravens, a lot of people would be surprised to know that I don’t hate any of the other NFL teams.  Well, except for the Colts.  But the AFC North clubs?  Stillers are actually my second favorite team.  Yes, I am an odd Ravens fan.

And hating Cleveland or Cincy just seems wrong.  That’s like hating the mentally challenged kid who lives across the street.

The are some teams I don’t care for and which I hope burn in hell.  But even for them, hate is a strong word.

The only teams I truly hate are in the college ranks.  University* of North Carolina and University of Maryland.  I’d line those fuckers up against the wall and take aim if I thought I could get away with it.

The NFL, not so much.  But here’s what I do hate…

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I HATE THE FUCKING SUPERB OWL

Yeah that’s right.  You heard me.  And it had to be said.

Now, it’s not the game itself that I hate.  If it was just the game I’d be fine.  But it’s all the rest of the shit that goes with it.

Hey, should we have a SB party? (Hate Begins)

Hey, Joe Blow just invited us to HIS SB party. (Hate Rises)

Hey, what should we cook for either our SB party or Joe Blow’s? (Hate Intensifies)

Hey, I can’t wait to see all the commercials they have this year.  (Loses Feeling On Left Side Of Body)

Hey, did you know that J Lo and Shakira are both doing the halftime show? (Loses Feeling On Right Side Of Body)

By the way, who’s playing? (Head Explodes)

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True Story…

Back when I was stupid and married, my wife decided she wanted to have a Superb Owl party.  The woman hadn’t watched a second of football all year.  But now we gotta have a party.  Can’t remember what year this would have been and I don’t feel like doing the math.  But it was XXX, Cowboys/Steelers.

We were living in Pennsyltucky at the time, near where she grew up.  So of course the only invitees were HER friends and family, most of whom I eventually came to loathe anyway.  Regardless of this story.  No big deal.

So I cook some stuff.  We get the house ready.  And then the onslaught begins.

I shit you not, at least five of her friends and family who showed up asked who was playing.  At least two of them said how much they loved football…THEN asked who was playing.

YOU LIVE IN FUCKING PENNSYLTUCKY AND YOU DON’T KNOW THE STEELERS ARE PLAYING IN THE SUPERB OWL?

Holy shit, somebody just kill me now.

So the game begins.  Myself and my wife’s father (who is the only one in that family I genuinely liked, including my ex) are the only ones in front of the TV.  Which was actually a good thing, I suppose.  The rest are in the other room milling about and eating my food and drinking my beer.  Then the wife comes and tells me that one of her friends (can’t remember her name and frankly do not care) wanted to know what time the halftime show starts.

“After the first half is over”, I reply, sort of annoyed.

She looked at me kinda funny, but then went back in the other room.  Then halftime comes and Diana Ross starts up.  And they all poured into the room.  One of her friends, let’s call her “slightly overweight” to be kind… She plopped down on the sofa next to me and nearly tossed me off of it.  The rest just stood around oooohing and aaaahing.

Screw this.  I got up and went upstairs to the other TV.

About five minutes later, my wife’s father came upstairs and handed me a beer and said…  “Wow, what a bunch of assholes, huh?”

Like I said, I loved that man.

Moral of the story…

Fuck your commercials.

Fuck your 45 minute halftime show.

Fuck your six hour pre-game show.

Fuck your parties.

And most certainly…. FUCK EVER AGAIN GOING TO SOMEONE ELSE’S SB PARTY.

Trust me, it’s impossible to get away from the assholes that way.  And bonus…if I’m alone at home I can go take a drunken shit during the halftime show.

It’s the little things in life that are important, don’t you think?

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