Since I've no doubt my basic goodness and inherent warmth manage to show through this blog there's probably no need to explain that I have refrained for two weeks now, out of purely humanitarian impulse, from commenting on the experience of having one's small-town local news hairdos have a Super Bowl fall into their laps (for ten days local news, no great shakes under ordinary circumstances, has consisted of: Colts story, Colts story, toss to two anchors relocated to Miami, toss to field reporter located in Miami, weather, Colts story, Colts weather. Rinse. Repeat.).
This morning, though, has tested my patience and found it wanting, I hope but temporarily. I stumbled downstairs, found my wife already had the damned thing on, made a cup of tea, and got back to find somebody's field reporter at a nightclub (on tape from Friday evening) promising me I "wouldn't believe" the celebrities in attendance, which was her way of teasing me into remaining in place through the following round of car dealer commercials (she needn't have bothered; having not yet finished that first cup of tea I was incapable of going anywhere else, or even pressing the remote if by some chance it hadn't been in my wife's clutches in the first place). We returned to catch her interviews with:
• Brian "Kato" Kaelin
• Marion County Prosecutor Carl "South Florida Disco Shirt" Brizzi
• Indy Racing League driver Tony Kannan
So, a guy who lives here, a guy who spends at least a month each year here, and a guy we could lure here with the promise of free fries with burger purchase. The woman parked herself in front of a middle-aged poon hunt. Thank God for satellite communications.
(Oh, lest there be some misunderstanding, I'm sure Disco Carl wasn't there hunting poon. I'm sure his adoring wife and three adoring children, the ones from that reelection campaign ad of his from two months back, were standing just out of camera range.)