• by George Simpson , Featured Contributor, February 8, 2006

The Super Bowl, a week-long media event culminating in 60 minutes of poorly played football to provide separation between dozens of obscenely expensive, generally tasteless ads (frequently executed worse than the off tackle dives and corner routes of the game) is probably the most over-researched aspect of American life, surpassing even the combined perpetual efforts of Glamour and Cosmo to discover "what really turns him on?!"

For weeks before, research firms try to grab a share of Super Bowl hype, revealing breathless findings such as "The ads apparently are less appealing to older viewers: 62 percent of viewers aged 18 to 34 watch as much or more for the commercials than the game, versus less than 42 percent of viewers aged 55 and older." This is then followed by the traditional post-game "grading" of the commercials, with everyone defending a favorite as if the future welfare of our children somehow rides on the finality of having a "winner."

In the shameless spirit of somehow associating with the same overheated press coverage that brought Keith Richards back from the dead, I contribute herewith my own findings about the big game:

Although by the Monday 13 days prior to the Super Bowl, 125 percent of everything worth hearing about the game will have already been said, various sportscasters, analysts, bookies, broken-down former players and unemployed head coaches will add another 674,000 percent in the remaining dozen days before kickoff. This does not, however, prevent the telecast "talent" from asking one more time just before kickoff, "What does (Team One) have to do today to beat (Team Two)?"

Despite 40 years of history, after the first ads run (and almost always before the first score) 98 percent of watchers will remark, "I was expecting the ads would be better." It is the same hope springing eternal that drives singles to accept yet one more blind date or parents to wait one more semester for those better grades before physically separating underperforming children from their Playstations.

Because the game is supposed to attract a large male audience, there is a 100 percent certainty that there will be ads featuring attractive women in attire that covers only 30 percent of their breasts, which some Higher Power declares will be no smaller than a DD cup. This will cause 89.4 percent of women watchers to say, "You know they aren't real." To which the 95 percent of more-experienced males in attendance will only THINK, "Who cares?" vs. the uninformed 5 percent who will SAY it out loud, removing any hope of seeing the next 16 to 18 plays. Not to mention the post-game festivities.

In earnest hope that the ads will get better, 67 percent of watchers will keep the sound on or not switch quickly to the Jackie Chan rerun on Showtime. But when the first ad repeats itself, 100 percent of watchers will throw in the towel and start channel surfing, since the game has pretty much sucked up to this point anyway, and missing a play or two will be considered a sufficient risk/reward ratio to avoid another tiresome commercial with an animal doing/saying something cute and/or just plain stupid.

There is a 25 percent chance that someone will do something counterintuitive and run a spot that raises awareness of a disease foundation, builds self-esteem among those who probably don't need it, or reminds you not to forget some subgroup of our populations that is homeless, starving, getting shot at or otherwise somehow aggrieved. No one will have the cojones the next day to give them anything lower than a neutral grade, no matter how sappy the execution (or thinly disguised the corporate patronage). Or ask, shouldn't they have spent $2.5 million (plus production costs) directly on their cause?

In 24 hours, 98 percent of watchers will remember who won the game and at least two commercials they liked. Within a week the recall will be 75 percent for the game and 20 percent for the ads. In a month, it will be like none of it ever happened. Unless you live in Pittsburgh. But you still won't remember why the caveman kicked the dino-dog just before his own demise.