Afterblog

The Super Bowl is the biggest annual spectacle in America. Super Bowl Sunday has all but reached national holiday status, and I’m not talking Columbus Day, I mean the religious ones. The ones where a deity of your choice will reach directly into your pocketbook and buy financial sacrifices for the God of consumer culture.
Go through the checklist.
Ritual? Check.
Zealotry? Check.
Tribute collected for the poor collected from the poor?
Check.
Messianic figures? Just roll it around in your head for a while…

Advertising Prayer

The Super Bowl, like all religious events, draws an enormous amount of intense attention. Attention, like most resources, is defined by it’s scarcity. Strip mining of the national psyche by “New Media” (a religion in its own right, if not, at least a really popular self-help program) has left attention supplies at an all-time low. As technology progresses, the price of attention is going through the roof. Let’s face it, when anyone can be heard, who the hell wants to listen?
Let us pray: our team, who art in the Holy Bowl. Please give us  our weekly water cooler talk, and bless our city with the amenities afforded to keepers of your talent-imbued sons. Forgive us our inability to afford your ticket prices. Spare us from blackout and the sting of defeat. I give my life unto you as a fan, my well-being inexorably tied to the success of the Saints of my choice. In the name of the Papa Bear, Vince, and the holy gridiron we pray. Amen.
Can you hear the prayers beneath the overlying blessing? The quiet asides, whispered in the cracks in crevices. The vulgar snickerings from the back row of the cathedral, dirty jokes told in the house of our lord.
Coca Cola gave a great sermon last night. It’s not material things that matter…except when that material thing is Coca Cola.
Google, the demigod spoke through the 1080p burning bush. It reassured us lowly believers, that though it is all seeing, it is benevolent. Trust in Google and we may all find our French soul mates.
Brother High Life showcased the regular believers, ordinary reflections of the great creator.
That’s all the sermon I caught, the rest was just hackneyed comedians sitting behind me making obvious jokes about the first thing they saw. I think someone may have been masturbating…

Sons of The Saints

Religion is only real for the downtrodden, and God tends to show herself to those in need. New Orleans can now continue to rebuild around the holy Lombardi. A thousand blessings.

Religion serves as a common language for working class. The hardships of the day need to convert, not only into promises of personal success, but large scale success outside of the house unit. One of the steps at AA is accepting a higher power. If you ever find yourself there, tell them you are a football fan.

People who look for miracles haven’t led charmed lives. People who see miracles never forget them. There’s a lot of stories for a lot of future grandchildren down in New Orleans which are based on the time frame of last night.

Thomas had to run harder. He had an entire city on his back.

If you’re a Colts fan, you’ll recover and appreciate the nakedness of Drew Brees crying with his son in the winners circle. You’ll find magic in the satellite feed of Mardi Gras starting early this year. If you don’t, then I don’t want to hear another thing about Pierre Garcon and the Haitian flag. You can’t be a fan of one and not the other.

The Saints had to win. America needed this, and Detroit sure as hell wasn’t going to do anything about it.

The Final Amen

God is great. She gave us one fourth of The Who: Two original members, both of them half dead.