Who Dat Pay Dat $2.5 Million?

The game was good. Faint heart never won fair maiden and an on-side kick to start the second half was as bold as one can get. The Saints played their game, Drew Brees threw consistently, Reggie Bush delivered as needed and the pick for a TD in the fourth quarter sealed the deal.

Half time was a technological tour-de-force with a light show that probably had even Billy Beck impressed with the programming. Musically it left a lot to be desired. It is sad when your heroes have aged and done so none too gracefully. John Entwhistle and Keith Moon are long gone but the replacements filled the space competently. Roger looked bloated and dispeptic, somewhat fearful of banging himself in the knee or the noggin should he try one of those microphone spins he made famous. Pete windmilled but simply looked like a characiture of a rock star done by a sixty-five year old man at a Halloween party. Depressing to say the least. Ditch the Jersey fedora and shave, Pete.

The commercials were hit and miss. My favorite, but I'm a sucker for longhorns, was the Clydesdale and calf growing up together for Budweiser. The cutest for me was the four-year-old in the Doritos ad slapping the suitor across the face and saying, "Keep your hands off my mama and keep your hands off my Doritos."

I didn't get the vaunted Simpsons and Coke shot. It didn't do a thing for me. The Go-Daddy.com ads brought Danica Patrick to a new low with nothing but sleaze to recommend the product and not a bit of wit.

The most confusing ad of the evening was the public service travesty of stewardship of public funds. Your US Government spent big bucks for a Super Bowl slot to offer a stupid scenario of people wanting to tell a story without letting anyone know that they are telling a story. The ludicrous idea of a secret for 300 million people disguised as the US census was neither funny nor compelling. If this is the best use they can find for $2,500,000.00 of your money they should be fired.