Emptying out the chip dish and zapping up the leftover pizza in the aftermath of Super Bowl 45. Knowing full well there I will be served with a cease and desist order from the NFL for failing to use roman numerals.

How about we use the phrase “stumbling wounded”?

What is about to be the most overused three words in connection with the NFL for the next several weeks has to be “drop dead date”, used in connection with the exact moment the contract between the NFL and their Players Association expires. The overly dramatic use of unnecessary hyperbole in the televised pregame show had the FOX suits wondering how they could package the entire mess into a weekly series.

As we have allegedly become a more civil nation in the last few weeks, the countdown is now on for someone to feign insult for their 15 minutes of fame and demand we cease using the phrase “drop dead date” due to the morbid connotation. Wait with baited breath as we discover the pain and suffering caused by use of this phrase is directly attributable to statements and/or action from John Boehner, Nancy Pelosi, Dr. Gregory House, the entire cast of “Glee”, Jennifer Love-Hewitt, Tony Stark, the “E-Trade Diaper Babies”, and those hamsters from the Kia commercial.

Everyone relax. There will be no agreement by the date. The Players Union will fracture eventually. Sides will be taken. Verbal diarrhea will be served courtesy of Antonio Cromartie and his ilk. A deal will eventually be struck and you, the loyal (wallet) fan, will miss nary a moment of (replacement-filled) professional football in 2011.

US Government denies existence of aliens despite photographic proof from Super Bowl XLV.
Christopher Polk/Getty Images

One more note about the breathless reporting we will soon experience over this matter. Scientists have been contacted and, following years of comprehensive research, have come to the inescapable conclusion there are no golden geese remaining on planet Earth. PETA has also contacted the various networks, stations and radio talk shows promising reprisals for those who insist on using the execution of this mythic beast as a metaphor for NFL contract talks.

The NFL apologizes for underwhelming everyone with the halftime show. Claims entire planning division was held hostage by Ryan Seacrest.

Up front, I admit to not being a fan of the Black Eyed Peas. Unlike a good part of the populace, I hear those three words and think immediately of great corn bread and barbecue instead of music. Which proves I was ahead of the curve here, as those in the stands forced to undergo this visual mess-tacular must have felt as if there was a last meal to be delivered before the glowing aliens on the floor of Texas Stadium finished sucking the intelligent lifeforce from their cerebral cortex.

The veteran rock and roller in us was indeed heartened to discover the zombiefication process was a complete success, allowing Slash to stand in one place long enough to string together several of the more famous chords in metal history. At the same time, that bubbling noise heard in our viewing area was that marvelous homemade pizza from a few hours prior threatening to make itself public for a second time after hearing Fergie take “Sweet Child Of Mine” and refashion it as an outtake tossed on the cutting room floor from a future episode of “American Idol”.

Rumor has it the “Usher” character was portrayed by a former stand-in for Michael Jackson, and will have his Union card removed for hip-syncing. In light of this rousing success, the NFL has already started negotiations with Toto for the halftime extravaganza in Indianapolis. Vince Neil is being kept in reserve as a backup choice only if he’s coherent enough to harmonize with Jim Nabors for a rendition of “Back Home Again In Indiana”.

Jimmy Johnson finally exacts revenge on Jerry Jones by leading tightly woven conspiracy plot.

That FOX pregame interview love-fest between Jerry Jones and Jimmy Johnson was so wonderfully civil that you just knew it had to be rehearsed. The last time America witnessed such a touching reconciliation between a divorced couple was when Charlie Sheen sent those notes of undying love and affection to Denise Richards.

Which makes it all the more interesting that on the same day Jimmy and Jerry took great pains to prove that all their various "hatchets had been buried", (which for your information is another phrase currently being reviewed while I fear the likely legal action from Native American groups for putting it down on electronic paper has already begun), Jerry’s Palace D’Excess was playing host to the worst seating debacle since Dr. Hannibal Lecter was placed on a dais with new cast members for “The Biggest Loser”.

After exhausting every possible lead and peering into every dark corner, investigators have been unable thus far to prove any connection or actual pact existed between Jimmy and Beelzebub to smite the Cowboys owner and the NFL in creating a new high watermark for suckers.

Getting people to cough up $200 just to stand outside the stadium and be “part of the excitement” doing little more than watching TV and being pampered with glorified space heaters was a true stroke of greedy excess. At last word local SWAT teams were still on site seeking to quell the expected disturbance for those still waiting in line to purchase their first two beers.

Sadly, many lives and careers will be lost seeking to dig deeper into the tragic loss of ticket revenue suffered at this Super Bowl due to the (laughable attempt at jamming as many seats as possible in a small space to squeeze more cash out of the unsuspecting fan) unfortunate mistakes made by (lowly construction workers being paid cheap day wages) brave and loyal engineers, seeking to insure fan safety, comfort, and ease of access to (porta-potties and beer lines in) viewing the game they had so long desired to see in person. 

One can only imagine the wailing and gnashing of teeth emanating from the NFL (accounting office) customer care department at the discomfort endured by 1,250 fans who were (quickly shuffled out of public sight) given every possible consideration when their (high school steel bleachers) comfortable temporary seating was at the last minute found to be (unsafe at any speed) not of the standards (local law enforcement) the NFL demands.

Late word has it the construction firm hired to build the temporary seating in question was forced, due to the inclement weather, hire a completely new and inexperienced detail in order to have everything ready by Sunday afternoon. The company in question is looking into reports that every position was filled by members of the Dallas Cowboys 2010 roster posing as day laborers.

There is absolutely no truth to rumors that Wade Phillips was foreman on the job. So then, let us bid a fond adieu to Super Bowl, hoping that in the spirit of friendship the NFL will see fit to use the ancient Greek numeral system for a short spell because the Romans shouldn’t be allowed to have ALL the fun. Let us stash away those memories that will only grow fonder with age.

The bimbo who became the latest in a long line of screech therapy candidates to deposit a verbal dump on America while happily cashing that check with lots of zeroes. The little kid in the Darth Vader helmet, the pug door-slamming that food teasing jerk, the jogger who got beaned in the brain by a well-fired soft drink can, all of whom captured our commercial-loving hearts.

A red carpet providing even more evidence that Adam Sandler has not only jumped the shark, but he currently owns the entire predator-infested ocean. The comprehensive hex placed on Aaron Rodgers and the Green Bay Packers by the former player/analyst/commercial spokesman who noted how young the team was and how they could be at the beginning of a “dynasty”, (the same thing we heard last year about Drew Brees and the New Orleans Saints).

Our utter sadness at being denied the God-given right of every male fan to enjoy football with the latest in (scantily clad Mensa candidates and) future homemakers of America on the sidelines.

Roger Goodell, your phone is ringing. The ghost of Vince Lombardi would like to have a word with you.

In private.

Bring your playbook.