Every year, everything Super Bowl should be purple and gold. And what a shame that Irving Berlin, he who wrote both White Christmas and Easter Parade, died before he could write a quasi-sacred Super Bowl anthem. The Super Bowl needs all the fixings that other major holidays enjoy. Super Sunday is a convivial holiday, when Americans of all genders and generations come together as one. And, you see, if we care about the game we're less inclined to enjoy one another's company.
Holidays can be tough.
There's such tremendous pressure on us to like them so much, to get all the right Christmas presents and to cheerfully put up with all those dreadful relatives who come for Thanksgiving dinner. It was especially tough this year because we were absolutely required to have a ball on the New Millennium Eve. We're taught that holidays are supposed to be perfect, and if they're not, for us, we feel as if we've failed. The wonderful thing about Super Sunday is that it is the one honest holiday when we are allowed to grouse and complain. And this year, with the two anonymous teams, we have license to start bitching even before the game gets lousy and lopsided.