Hey! Look at me! I’m the Oakland Raiders!

No really, check this out — this is great. This is the best impersonation, I swear, I had my buddies dying at this last night, it totally kicks ass, check it:

Hhhhuuhhhhrrrgggglllkkhhhh! Huh-hagkh!

See? Because they choked? Yeah!

So, obviously I watched the Superbowl yesterday, among the many many gojillions of other people in the world. I seem to be one of the only people writing about the actual football part of it, though, since I don’t think it’s actually cool to enjoy the sports any more. If you come on the internet and start talking about how the Raiders’ passing game just couldn’t get going, and how it wasn’t so much about the league’s number 1-rated offense vs. the number 1-rated defense as the 13th rated offense vs. the 23rd-rated defense, then they come and take away your Detatched Ironic Twentysomething Badge — and I just couldn’t stand that. I spent hours and hours sewing that thing to my shirt, and there’s no way I’m going to let them fucking take it away from me now.

There’s something so appallingly easy about ragging on the pre-game, halftime and post-game shows, though, like buying tickets to a wrestling match and then making fun of the rampant homosexuality of it all — as if that were somehow an aspect that nobody had ever noticed before, a revalation that cast everything in a whole new light. Of course the halftime show sucks. Of course the commercials were over-wrought. If they weren’t, it wouldn’t be the Superbowl.

In fact, what I loved about last night’s game was that the producers felt the need to tamper with the traditional shittiness of the event by adding new and exciting features, as if they would somehow be able to woo the attentions of otherwise fickle viewers. The theme appeared to be about giving a voice to the players, who clearly would have absolutely no other avenue through which to express sincere sentiments like, “Jerry Rice, Mississippi State!” or “Warren Sapp, Miami.” Not only did this tremendously humanize the fabulously wealthy, inhumanly large men who played in the Superbowl, but it also allowed viewers to connect with them through the terror of seeing their faces in a huge close-up.

And better yet, a select number of players from both teams were equipped with microphones throughout the game, allowing the play-by-play team to check in with them between plays in a segment called Mic’d Up. So, while an Oakland Raider or a Tampa Bay Buccaneer might be lying on the ground with blood exploding from somewhere, Al Michaels might say to John Madden, “John, let’s check in with Dexter Jackson as he speaks with Simeon Rice in… Mic’d Up.” And then you’d hear two Bucs having a decidedly awkward conversation on the sideline, in which they aren’t really allowed to talk about their game plan, private lives, actual thoughts, or anything profane.

Dexter Jackson: So, like, he was saying that we should rush the passer, but I’m saying that we should just go up the middle, you know?
Simeon Rice: Yeah.
Dexter Jackson: But, like, rushing? You know, the rush?
Simeon Rice: Yeah, right, rush.
Dexter Jackson: ’cause, I’m thinkin’ — up the middle? Fuc– uh, I mean, up the middle.
Simeon Rice: Word.

Or better yet, they might cut to on-field footage of Joe Jurevicius running down-field and bouncing off a couple of guys, before ultimately dusting off his pants and walking towards the sideline.

Jureivicius: Urrnnngh!
Oakland Raider: Auggh!
Jurevicius: Wauggh, uh! (brush, brush)

I wonder exactly who thought this was a great idea? Were the producers thinking to win the loyalty of the casual football viewer with the sounds of in-depth sideline conversation? I know NFL films manages to make the sound of linemen crashing into each other resemble something close to poetry, but that’s with hours of editing and stirring brass instruments playing in the background. Were they really hoping to approximate the same experience on live television?

Or were they trying to win over the female/nerd/non-jock element with some kind of dramatic element?

Oakland Raider: Yo, I’ve never told you this before, man, but I really hate those buccaneers, man.
Other Oakland Raider: Hey, it’s cool — we all do, man. They’re the enemy.
First Oakland Raider: No, you don’t get it… I…
Other Oakland Raider: What is it? You can talk to me.
First Oakland Raider: It’s just that… my brother was killed by pirates!
Woman Realizing There Is So Much To Football She Didn’t Realize: There’s so much to football that I didn’t realize! He’s feeling real emotional pain!

I don’t blame the Superbowl for being hokey, because hokeyness is practically what defines it — fireworks and jet flyovers and bizarre Gwen Stefani-dressed cheerleaders dancing at the halftime show and everything. A tasteful, understated Superbowl would be like a perfectly clean Olympics — it’d feel like there was something very fundamental missing. It’s like the Miss America pageant in that it’s become nearly invulernable to irony, because it’s so titanically ludicrous that there’s no one single place to start.

And at the heart of it is usually a fairly disappointing football game, except for last night’s triumph, in which the Raiders — ballyhooed since Week 2 as being Superbowl favorites — suffered a humiliating defeat, losing by more than twenty-five points. You say blowout, I say appropriate compensation for having to watch profiles about the greatness of Rich Fucking Gannon since October.

Oooh, hey, I’ve got another one! This is even better! Look at me! I’m the city of Oakland after losing the big game! This one is great!

Fwooooooosshhhh!