Shortly after the Packers collapse two weeks ago (when it was already clear how outclassed the Colts were), I made a bold declaration.
I wasn't going to watch the Super Bowl.
While this seems like a bold declaration for any American (although I always wondered who these 40 percent or so of people were who didn't watch were), it's especially odd for me.
The last time I didn't watch the Super Bowl was when Doug Williams and the Redskins topped the Broncos in Super Bowl XXII.
The reason I didn't watch then? I was seven. It wasn't my thing. In fact, I was probably in bed.
The reason this year? I really can't stand either of these teams. I went back and forth for two weeks, trying to choose the lesser of two evils and just couldn't bring myself to do it.
Maybe my Seahawks hatred is just sour grapes as a Packers fan, but I've had no use for the franchise since the Fail Mary game. Sure, it was that scab ref's fault, but I don't care.
Beyond that, there are a lot of guys that I find to be ginormous tools on that Seattle team. Earl Thomas, Marshawn Lynch, "Angry" Doug Baldwin, Richard Sherman, Bruce Irvin -- they can all take a swim in Puget Sound, for all I care.
As for the Patriots, do I really need to sell this Indiana audience on reasons to hate them? Insert your own reason here and I probably agree.
So I did everything I could to avoid the game. My big goal was to go to bed Sunday night without knowing the outcome.
It went from me pouting to a sort of social experiment.
I made plans to avoid the Internet and Twitter on Sunday night. I planned to stay off of sports radio and TV sports or news.
One possible wrench in the works was finishing up at the Banner on Sunday evening. We were still there for the beginning of the game. When it became evident that those around me were going to do what any blue-blooded American man would do and turn on the game, I took evasive action.
My first step was to go downstairs and get some headphones from the pressroom. Seemed like it would work, but it turns out they weren't actually noise canceling.
Good luck with your hearing, boys. Sorry.
So I went another route and just plugged headphones into my phone and cranked up some tunes. If you haven't checked out Wilco frontman Jeff Tweedy's project with his son, Tweedy, then I suggest it. It's a good alternative to that sporting event you want to avoid.
During this time, I did pick up three or four things about the game, quite by accident. Tom Brady threw an early interception. The game was still scoreless a half hour or so in. And at one point, I heard Al Michaels say something like "Third and nine and we have five wide with Wilson in the backfield."
(By the way, that begs another question: Does Seattle actually have five guys on the roster worth splitting out wide? This team may own my Packers, but when Baldwin and Jermaine Kearse are your top two options, who are the next three?)
Getting home, things got a bit easier. I had some DVR'd shows saved up, and a Tom Petty concert came on AXS TV at 8 p.m. (Thanks, Mark Cuban and Ryan Seacrest.)
The concert continued through getting a four-year-old to bed before I moved on to watching the last half hour of "Ghost" with my wife. Good lord, the graphics in that movie were horrible. It's like we were barely even watching talkies back in 1990.
I can only assume that the game ended just after 10 p.m. because that's when an unscrupulous former sports editor who was aware of my little social experiment sent me a text that just said "Holy crap." He went on to say that the ending was going to blow my mind.
So much for my hope that this wouldn't be a memorable game. Thanks a lot, Caine.
I was cruising along successfully, nearing my goal to make it to bed time without finding out the winner when I made my fatal mistake.
I checked my email. Seeing one message in the inbox, I figured it was some BS from a store like Kohl's or Target or someone.
It was JCPenney with a message something like: "Congratulations New England. Save on NFL gear."
So close to my goal, but the dream died at 11:32 p.m.
The Patriots, huh? Whatever.
When do pitchers and catchers report?