I am the typical American Super Bowl viewer, male, female and American. I am…I am Superman!
After viewing another telecast of the Super Bowl, an event that I try to view from the perspective of God, The Creator; but still in an earthly sense; I have come to more greatly and exponentially see the evolution of the typical American male and how this creation appears to one another. And here is what man, and in some cases women, have evolved into as a creation.
I let a woman who is anything but a Queen sing about God’s grace in blue jeans. She is followed by an idol who chirps about the country and its greatness in a sexy, skin-tight, white Elvis jump suit with pumps or high heels a stripper would wear. And I am proud, proud, that I have armed military and jets, like a Biblical swarm of locusts or a formation of birds do a "fly over," so I can feel secure in my fearful heart that the nation is supporting troops who kill at all costs; man, woman and child, so I can defend my way of sinful life and my newfound creation.
I watch a controversial commercial, one of the first of its kind, against abortion; that is so politically-correct and cowardice that it ends up sending a muddled 2.5 million dollar message about the life-threatening sin of abortion and child sacrifice or the murders of babies. Not a very good investment for a priceless life, the way I see it.
Seemingly out of nowhere, I then come to learn that men (a real man’s man) wear thongs in some asinine commercial I don’t even choose to remember.
Later, as I progress through watching a game of the greatest God-given athletes on the planet; I realize I was being taught that I if I really wanted to improve my game I should drink Bud Light. And if I drink enough of it, I either am or will become a dumb jock (who’s never played the game, because athletic greatness and alcohol NEVER mix), who violently or idiotically slaps or hits around other guys, completely abuses or tortures animals (God’s second living creation); and surely, I am an out-of-shape, mind-numbed Neanderthal who objectifies women as nothing more than sex creatures.
Eventually my drunkenness will make me so dumb and unhealthy that I eat Doritos that are used as a suit, stuffed in a casket (ironically in a commercial made by a church group) or stolen from my date that I am there just to have sex with, anyway. I am not only a dumb viewer, but a dumb creator of non-creative, non-comedic commercials who believes I can sell you because you are like-minded.
I later learn, to be a success, or get the girl to fool around with, I need a website that teases, tempts and titillates; or I need a career and a job that will afford me the opportunity to live the American dream and get a sexy secretary or date that I can objectify some more or use and make hordes of money while doing it, maybe by winning the lottery!
Last, but not least; I spend most of my day exposing my grotesque, aging, out-of-shape body by taking off my pants or being naked everywhere and anywhere at any time.
The good news is: Peyton Manning, too spite the interception, is the game’s best passer to date. And the Saints, as predicted, and with God’s guidance, did the recommended manufacture of points I noted in my last article with the “unexpected” onside kick.
And while Drew Brees had it right, adoringly kissing his son, and mentioning “God”;
I was pleased a long-time devout Christian, Mark Brunell, won a Super Bowl; and as announcer Jim Nance said; Matt Stover is "spiritual," make or miss…the tragic part is, however, in all those hours, not once did I hear the "Name Above All Names" mentioned: Jesus Christ. I do recall announcer Phil Simms using it as a curse word years ago on a telecast; but no, no, not once did I hear the glorious Name of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, mentioned during this telecast of perhaps His greatest game creation: these “gladiators of the gridiron.”
Finally, and forgive me for my tint of sarcasm, it too is ungodly; truth is: I am ashamed. It shames me as one who loves the NFL and football, to see its telecast be so degrading, demeaning and dehumanizing. I fear after many, many years of viewing this great game called the Super Bowl, I was sinfully tainted. Truth is: I am no Superman.
God bless this creation, they (we) are going to need Him.