Making The Case For Superbowl Monday.

Super Bowl Monday [soo-per bohl muhn-dey]
-noun

1.  The Monday after the Super Bowl when your boss takes the day off.
2.  The Monday after a super bowl when you feel hungover. You often must go back to work, school, etc. which makes it that much worse.

Example:

I am taking the day off from writing a halfway-intelligent post. I realize this is slightly presumptuous, as it assumes that any of my posts are even remotely intelligent. Nonetheless, it is Super Bowl Monday and I shall refrain from boring you to tears any longer. If I continue on in this manner I am sure to write about goodness knows what, and I will no doubt regret it tomorrow. Whoops - it seems as though I'm already too late for that.

Super Bowl Monday needs to be added to the register of National Holidays. It's not like anyone is the least bit productive on the day after the Super Bowl. We all put in our time to make it through the day, popping headache relievers and rubbing our temples as we count down the hours to an early bedtime for our children (or for ourselves). And for those who don't indulge in the great American tradition of watching grown men wear figure-hugging Lycra and hurtling themselves at each other for mere sport, thereby causing irreparable bodily harm (or maybe you're just watching for the ads), you should take note: Super Bowl Monday affects your oft-underrepresented minority as well. You poor sods bear the immense burden of picking up the slack for the rest of us.  It is simply not fair to have to ask you to continue on in this manner.

So you see, I'm being nothing but charitable and selfless in my moment of extreme delirium. I was up until eleven pm, friends. It's a wonder I'm even alive this morning, considering my sweet little cherubs decided that they needed to wake up at the crack of dawn, on today of all days. They have an uncanny knack for knowing when we've been up late, and they are not afraid to exploit our lack of resistance towards things such as cookies for breakfast and over two hours straight of marginally educational television programming. I have surrendered to the masses (consisting of two extremely smart tiny people). I am outnumbered and out-pepped and I have simply given up. How many cookies did you say you wanted, my love? And how many hours until bedtime?

I don't think I'm alone on this. I recently read that as many people watch the Superbowl as those that attend an Easter service. At last night's game, I saw politicians mixed with Hollywood stars (and really, what's the difference between the two anymore?). My Twitter feed could barely keep up with all the banter regarding the closely-contested game, the ad flubs and wins, and the intrigue surrounding Usher's Hammer Pants. I think it's safe to say that football has transcended religion to become one of this nation's greatest unifying factors. And if that is true...then we, as observers of this heathen ritual, at the very least deserve a day off to recover from it.

I shall stop here. It beehoves neither of us for me to continue on in this manner, because I'm ranting on from behind the fog of a chip and dip stupor, and things are making even less sense to me than usual. I blame you, Superbowl Monday. I blame you.