Super Bowl XLII: Brought to You by the Ringling Brothers

can sponsor it. Acrobatics! I'm sure you could easily set up a trapeze act using the goal posts. Fortune Tellers! Apparently there is a camel in New Jersey named Princess who makes picks with a great track record who chose the Giants. No, I didn't make that up. Think of the carnival games we could play for small stuffed likenesses of that creepy Patriots mascot! Each team gets a station.

Just a few of the possibilities: In the Patriots booth, kick a field goal with Tom Brady's boot. Bonus if the people in the Jets booth get it on video. The Giants will sponsor a hall of mirrors: can you find Jeremy Shockey?

The Steelers invite you to ride your dirt bike in a halfpipe with no helmet. If you want to lay down and take a nap, stop by the Seahawks tent. They've been sleeping there since week 17. In the Colts section, try the oreo licking faceoff with Peyton Manning, then pretend to retire with Tony Dungy.

The Titans and Redskins still can't figure out why anyone gave them a booth, but they're pretty sure it was a gift from the Colts and the Cowboys, personally delivered by their starters, who had plenty of time to do favors since their coaches removed them from the field during week 17. Oh, and if you'd like to coach the Redskins, feel free to stop by for an interview. Everyone else is doing it. The igloo belongs to Green Bay. Yes, Brett Favre's been in there since Media Day. Don't worry, he's fine.

Hey, it could happen. After all, the Giants won three playoff games which they theoretically should have lost. Green Bay lost at Lambeau in the playoffs for only the third time. Ever. Somebody let Carson Palmer play an entire season. But assuming no one cares what I think (which is a good bet), and the halftime madness comes back next year, take heart football fans—it could be worse.

The Super Bowl was not in fact home to the worst halftime spectacle on record.

That honor belongs to a regular-season game I attended back in 1993, a Monday night matchup of the the Belechick-helmed Browns and the dynasty-hangover-era 49ers. The game went in favor of the Browns, 23-13. The score is not relevant in any way, because no one in the 86,000 strong, filled-to-capacity Cleveland Stadium saw the second half of the game. Why, you ask? Satan, thy name is halftime.

The halftime show was the oh-so-generous donation of a car company looking to promote a new redesign of one of its models. Disclaimer: In the unlikely event that I become a famous writer whose works are one day published in some sort of anthology, I must be covert about the identity of the offending party. I don't wish to be sued for libel over a game I attended when I was 13. The Browns did enough damage to my childhood as it is. So let us call this car the Tord Faurus.

This debacle masquerading as entertainment consisted of several Fauruses driving around destroying the field in the midst of what turned out to be a shower of defective fireworks. The result? Aside from giving 86,000 people a sudden urge to go buy a Chevy, no one saw the second half of the game because the whole stadium was filled with thick, visually impenetrable smoke that wouldn't clear. I assume they actually did play the second half. I couldn't tell.

Back then, especially in the regular season, a scene such as this was an anomaly. The Super Bowl commercials and the halftime circus were indeed already seeking inspiration from the icecapades, but the gross excess was still in its infancy and provoked more of an eye roll than the urge to shoot flaming arrows at the Nike logo.

Techincally, this mess was worse than the for-profit song and dance disasters seen now. We had no idea we were buying a ticket to half a football game. At least this Sunday during the Super Bowl you can hide in the bathroom during the halftime musical number with the comfort of knowing you still have another 2 quarters of football to watch. 

However, should there be a surprise Tord Faurus-funded redux this Sunday of the 1993 pyrotechnic malfunctions, I suppose it could 1) prove relevant to our carnival theme: A magic show! Watch the game disappear before your very eyes!, and 2) preserve the dignity of one team in the event that the game shapes up to be a virtual blow-out before the end of the first half: If I can't see it happening, then it isn't happening! Why not? It worked for baseball. What steroids? I didn't see any steroids!

So who will win that pesky game that's always interrupting the media and advertising circus? Odds support the undefeated Patriots. Chaos Theory supports the Giants. The Manning formerly known as the red-headed step child led a team that looked hopeless at the beginning of the season to an almost perfect road record and a chance to win the Super Bowl. The aforementioned camel who picked the Giants apparently has nearly as good a rate of success making picks as Dave Goldberg, the guy who makes picks for the Associated Press. Clearly, the circus has made its prediction.

But the Patriots are at present still The Greatest Show On Earth. People are whispering things like "best ever" about their quarterback. They have the best group of receivers in the NFL according to everyone but Plaxico Burress. Their defense is nearly impenetrable. They had a perfect season, for god sakes.

It will be a tough go for the Giants. Still, if I'm going to see a circus, I expect to be amazed. The Patriots may look destined to be champions, but the Giants are fighters. The Giants stuck their collective head in the lion's mouth again and again, and they haven't been eaten yet.

The Giants just keep pulling rabbits out of a helmet. Illusion, stroke of luck, or magic? Maybe I've stayed too long at the fair, or maybe I've just seen too many halftime shows, but I'll go with the underdog. Let's hope the Giants can conjure one more rabbit.

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