Super Bowlish — IFSF PUBLISHING

We didn’t know who would win the big game, but now we know. And everything we now know will soon be forgotten until the next big game presents itself and we will want to know once again, not now knowing who will be the winner and who the loser.

It oddly reminded this veteran spectator of an old Ali fight, in which the pay-per-view customer watches the champion toy with his opponent for x number of rounds, having himself been beaten almost senseless, until the victim surrenders to a pre-agreed upon sudden-death cease-fire and is then allowed to walk out of the ring alive but with his head down, dejected.

Time always has its way, as does Half-time. Half-time of The Super Bowl is the true extravaganza, where the spectacle of peak performance meets all sales goals. Sunday, this poor spectator wasn’t sure what he was watching at Half-time—a blur of weird music accompanied by carefully choreographed half-dressed dancers being photographed by thousands of people who paid real money for the privilege of being there at Half-time—until the performance ended and the TV commercials commenced once again. Then, realizing the game was every bit as good as the commercials and the commericals as the game, he knew exactly where he was.

In the meantime, his attention strayed: is the distance of the feeling a man has for his dog and the dog for his man the same distance and the same feeling? Is that distance and that feeling between them exactly 100 yards, or is it much closer, a matter of inches? What is that feeling and what is that distance? Is the man the leader and the dog the follower? Or is the truth of the matter the other way around?