Another Super Bowl done and gone
but save those leftover Doritos in a ziplock bag!
Well fans, it was another Super Bowl for the ages, one in which the ads that ran at the end of the game were worth more than those run at the onset, due to increased viewership of heightened intensity. In years past, when games tended to be blowouts, savvy advertisers would avoid second half commercials. Of course, the X factor that they are missing is how much of that swollen audience will retain memory of those spots the next day, having swilled more and more beer as game tension mounted.
Anyhow, the winning Roethlisberger/Holmes catch in the right corner of the end zone triggered a strong sensation of déjà vu that bothered me until I tracked it down on Monday – The Catch, delivered to Dwight Clark by Joe Montana to win the 1982 NFC Championship game, just over the outstretched finger tips of the Cowboys’ Everson Walls. If he had only let his finger nails grow, history would be different. You could probably find a video of The Catch on You Tube.
For all the drama of the final moments of Super Bowl LVIII, Phoenix would probably have won going away without the interception and TD runback at the end of the first half. Poor Kurt Warner – his errant throw cost him the crowning glitter of a second Super Bowl ring for his ride into the sunset. He can console himself that he was snookered by the inspired defensive call of an even craftier old fox than he, Dick LeBeau, age 71.
Meanwhile, the second half feature was another aged and wrinkly pop star, Bruce Springsteen, his face only slightly less traveled than Mick Jagger’s. He should have finished his act with “Alligator Blues.” Thankfully, there were no wardrobe malfunctions.
That leaves only the TV spots for further comment, which make Springsteen’s act fascinating by contrast. The best of the lot was for Doritos, starring a magical bag of them whose vociferous “caa-runch” blew the drress off a beautiful girl, revealing lingerie not suitable for the office, unless she was that sort of working girl. Sales of Doritos to 13-year old boys will burgeon, it is certain. The precocious ones will be seen armed with at least two Doritos chips.
For horse-smitten 13-year old girls, there were the long-running (har!) Budweiser nags, featuring one of them crashing a beautiful young white mare out of the circus, where she was earning a meager living trotting in a circle with a hefty dame in tights standing on her back. No doubt this will increase Budweiser sales to PETA types, but the AB marketing people should take a look at what happened to the cigarette industry, accused of marketing to teenagers.
Well, that’s all for the ‘08-’09 NFL season, a long one as usual. Cheer up, the draft will be along before you know it.