Did I mess up?

Since I started this column months ago, I have tried to write them the week before they publish for a multitude of reasons. This one, however, I purposely waited to write until Monday, and I think I messed up.

You see, this is about Sunday’s Super Bowl, which I didn’t watch a single second of. I protested. I withheld. I did not engage.

No, the NFL losing one viewer — a small-town sports editor in rural N.C. — isn’t going to affect their bottom line, revenue deals, or anything else. For every person like me who didn’t watch, five more Swifties probably did. Roger Goodell wiped away his tears of missing my viewership with hundred-dollar bills I’m sure.

I took a nap shortly before kickoff Sunday. If there’s one thing in this life that I cherish more than my daughter, my Buckeyes, and my job here, it’s a good Sunday nap. I knew I had nothing planned for the night besides eating some dinner and doing everything I could to avoid this dreaded game — which is a tall task, I came to find out.

Millions of Americans, and plenty more people from across the world tuned in for the grand spectacle. Plenty of storylines from the players and teams to even the halftime entertainment awaited the viewers. It was a grand spectacle down there in NOLA. But I? Instead, I watched some Celebrity Jeopardy and even an episode of Netflix’s American Primeval while I smoked a cigar (because I sometimes enjoy the finer things in life) and watched my daughter play in the rain (which she was very happy about).

What I didn’t do though, was participate in the rah-rah that is Super Bowl Sunday. I didn’t host or attend any party. I didn’t place any bets. I didn’t pig out on a bunch of unhealthy food (unless you count the delicious nachos I made for lunch). Sunday was just any other normal Sunday for me.

I heard my neighbors yell at their TV, so I assume they are either Chiefs fans or had a vested interest in them. I smelled whatever they had cooking on their smoker, too. I saw the texts in my group chats. I knew it was happening, but I just avoided it.

But it’s hard to avoid the biggest game for your favorite sport, like I mentioned earlier. It’s even harder to do so without becoming the insufferable person who lets everyone know they’re not watching. Insert the “See, nobody cares” scene from Jurassic Park that has been used as a meme a million times over. Nobody cares that you don’t care, but when you’re as big of a fan as I am, it’s hard to let it be known.

You have to be wondering now why I didn’t watch. It’s simple. I couldn’t bring myself to root for either the Philadelphia Eagles (or E-L-G-L-E-S, if you’re a die-hard and get that reference) or the Kansas City Chiefs. I would also not find any enjoyment in watching either of these teams win another ring.

I have a Terrible Towel that hangs above my head when I’m sitting at my desk. I’ve been a die-hard Steelers fan since the day I was born (no, seriously, my dad would have it no other way). The Eagles are the bane of my existence. Say what you want about Pittsburgh’s rivalries, but I just hate Philly more than any other non-divisional team. The Eagles just have the Steelers’ number every single time.

And the Chiefs, well, they’re the Chiefs. I’m tired of them. I don’t care about Patrick Mahomes or Travis Kelce anymore. I surely do not care about the person that Kelce is dating, unless, of course, I’m with my kid and then I’m a BFF bracelet-wearing Swifty. Going from Tom Brady to Patrick Mahomes with no reprieve for 20 years is torture.

This is nothing political, either. I don’t embrace political debates, especially not professionally. I surely wouldn’t write about them here. If my protest was anything close to political in nature, nobody outside of myself would know that. Luckily for you and me, that’s not the case.

When I think of these two teams playing, and having to choose a side, there are plenty of historical figures I could pick to personify the teams and my feelings towards them. I will save you the imagery, so feel free to assign whomever you see fit, but just know that I like neither of these teams.

I promise I didn’t set out to be the holier-than-thou, “I’m better than you because I’m not watching the game” type of person. My hands were tied. Plus, my Buckeyes are national champions, so that softens the blow a little bit.

But, did I mess up? I saw the final score last night and saw that the Chiefs got smoked. Routed. Dog walked. Boat Raced. Obliterated. Any other verb to describe what happened to precious Patty Mahomes. I normally despise box score watchers, who think the stats of the game can tell the whole story (looking at you, Chandler, who thinks that Texas’s defense played well against Ohio State’s Jeremiah Smith, when in reality it was a strategical match-up that caused Smith to ‘underperform’). You cannot tell the whole story of the game just by looking at the scores by quarter or how each player performed. Yet, that’s what I did.

I’m glad the Eagles won, as they were the lesser of the two evils in my eyes, but I’m still not out here celebrating their accomplishments. Kenny Pickett, who I, like many Steelers fans, ran out of town, took the final kneel-down for Philadelphia to really rub salt in the wounds.

I missed a game in which the Chiefs got molly-whopped. I didn’t get to see what could easily be the beginning of their downfall, just to prove a point to nobody, really. It came at the price of my team’s in-state rival winning another championship, but any time the Chiefs lose, America wins.