New Year’s Eve.
Saint Patrick’s Day.
Super Bowl.
What do all of these three events have in common?
They are fucking amateur hours.
The people who don’t normally drink; or think they’re Irish; or know squat about football, attend these events in order to be part of something. They are vapid beings who all need to have a date with a wood chipper. Face first.
I want to provide a guide to the characters you may encounter at this year’s Super Bowl party. If you even attend one. I don’t, obviously.
Things I would rather do than go to an SB Party:
- Listen to Ray Lewis preach for 8 hours straight.
- Spend time with my mother-in-law discussing politics, religion, and Donald Trump.
- Take a hammer to the ball sac.
- Drive cross country with Stephen A. Smith after he’s done a gram of meth.
- Spend one minute with Jackson Mahomes. Wait, I would spend that minute shoving knitting needles up his nose.
The Know Nothing “Fan”
Usually a female. She is there to party and flirt with guys. Probably dressed nicely, and depending upon her shallowness, wearing a brand-new jersey of a competing team. I’m thinking Joe Burrows because he’s so cute. (Reality check, he is an insufferable asshole.) She will cheer at the wrong time, ask stupid questions, and pass out by the third quarter. Drawing on her face is completely acceptable, but that’s it. Don’t get weird and creepy. You will see her a few weeks later at a bar making out with the bouncer.
Super Fan
A “true fan” of one of the teams. He shows up half in the bag and is running around yelling and screaming. A bottomless well of inane statistics and plenty of “insight” into the team. One minute after the game starts you will want to bury a hatchet in his face. Super Fan will over react to every penalty against his team, scoring drive by the opposition, and if his teams win will break something. This is the asshole who buys the “Super Bowl Champions” gear that comes out two seconds after the game is over. If his team loses, he will fight someone. Anyone. Finishes the night vomiting.
The Hipster
This is the tool who “doesn’t follow sports” and “doesn’t get how people can get into a violent sport like this.” His name is probably Brandon or Lovefart. He wears a scarf and drinks beer out of a glass. The beer will be some horrible concoction. If not beer, he may be sipping on absinthe. Look for lots of black clothes and possibly ironic glasses. When you see him, it’s okay to punch him in the balls or shove him into a closet. In the event he brings a book, slam his head into a wall. (NOTE: I used to attend the same SB party every year. A guy like this showed up and was so annoying that we locked him out on the porch. Then we hid his jacket and car keys. It’s amazing one of the meatheads there didn’t stuff him into the dishwasher.)
The Stats Guy
Knows every fucking stat ever about the game. Doesn’t drink. Sips on bottled water and will have annoying stats-based apps on his phone. Counters every argument with “facts” and is a firm believer in following the analytics. Has never played a sport and wishes he had. Beware, his stats knowledge isn’t just limited to sports, he knows everything about politics and will be able to quote the voting records of politicians. Former philosophy major. Also, a closet racist.
The Vegas Guy
This punk has about 40 props bets laid down and is constantly checking Draft Kings and loudly proclaiming how much money he has spread around. Also drinks stupid fucking martinis or something similar, like maybe a White Claw. (NOTE: If you are at a Super Bowl party and they are serving this type of swill, your friends are pussies.) Throughout the game will yell about his bets to impress people. Constantly yells “Vegas, baby!” and “I’m up five hundo!”
The Host
If the guy is single, he’s having a great time and the house is a wreck. Although not sober, he’s not drunk and will have to break up a fight during the event. Worried about his television and couch. His dog is loveable, and smells like a burrito.
If the guy is married or has a girlfriend, he is miserable. She’s been bitching about this event for two weeks. If you’re his friend, she hates you. May have invited one or two hot friends over for support. They are drinking white wine and sneering at everyone. Do everything you can to annoy them, it won’t be difficult but it will be fun.
The Cute Girl
She is actually here for the game and a few drinks. Undeniably cute with blue eyes. Probably of Irish descent and her nose is an upturned button that’s sprinkled with freckles. Good legs, awesome rack hidden under a jersey, so you’re constantly guessing. Mingles with ease and is tired of every buffoon at the party making a run at her. Approach her casually and talk about something other than football. After a long conversation, ask for her number and find out she has a boyfriend who doesn’t like sports or can’t be here because he’s this great fucking dude who is a pediatrician or lawyer for a non-profit. Find the Hipster guy and sucker punch him. Leave drunk and angry.
Good Luck
Super Bowl Parties eat shit. If you have to attend one, or God forbid you’re the host, invest in some PCP or quality LSD. Liquor and beer won’t help you.
I’m only rooting for the Rams because the Bengals and their fans will be insufferable next year and I’ll have to hear how they now own the AFC North. At the end of the day they live in Ohio and eat diarrhea on top of cheap pasta. Fuck them.
This day makes me sad because there’s no more football. Only basketball and baseball – both are horrible. I’ll find some solace in hockey, and spend time driving my thankless kid to lacrosse games and practice.
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