Super Bowl Mania: Kelly Clarkson's Deportation, Eli's Beady Eyes, Gronk's Ankle

The Super Bowl is finally here. After weeks of slow-roasting hype, the game has finally arrived. As kickoff approaches I find there are several pertinent questions demanding to be answered, some intriguing storylines to be explored and, most importantly, some trash to be talked.

Whether you’re a New York Giants fan, a member of Tom Brady’s bunch, or just someone who really loves skanky Go Daddy commercials exploiting women who can only be described as once-proud, then sit back and let’s light up a Bowl (of Super).

Important Questions:

- What is Eli Manning so confused about?

Eli Manning started out this season by declaring himself to be an “elite” quarterback. He was promptly eviscerated by the media for making such a bold claim. However, after throwing for 4,900 yards and having something like—as the philosophers known as the Ying Yang Twins would say—fiftyleven surefire interceptions get dropped, Eli has silenced his critics. Kind of.

Now, with the Eli critics quieted to a dull, oceanic roar it is finally “Peyton’s brother”s turn to step out of the shadows and into the light. And, from the looks of things, his eyes are still adjusting. Eli is squinting. He’s beady-eyed.

I can’t figure out if he’s perennially confused, has had his head replaced by a muppet face operated via remote by a crack-team of Jim Henson puppeteers, or whether he was that kid on the Manning family’s block that looked directly at a solar eclipse with a pair of high-powered binoculars.

Maybe he is as confused as he looks. Maybe he can’t figure out why, even during a week when he’s poised to pass his famous brother's Super Bowl win total, everyone seems to be talking about his brother’s surgically repaired neck. There’s been more neck-talk this past week than at a hangman’s convention in the Middle Ages.

Eli Manning is the Emilio Estevez of the NFL. Less talented than his brother, less talked about, but with a legitimate chance to get the last laugh. Now, if only he could find some damn sunglasses, he’d be just fine.

- Will America Break Up With Kelly Clarkson?

We know a few things in the year 2012. One is that the “Hardest Working Man” in showbiz title now actually belongs to the Kardashian family attorney.

The other is that we’re at the peak of the angry, scorned-lover-songstress movement. (*Author’s note: Adele currently wears the crown. But since she’s busy smoking more cigs than a character in a Stieg Larsson novel and is a Brit, we’re getting the silver medalist in scorn-pop.)

Kelly Clarkson, who has apparently been getting dumped since 2005, has only taken a break from her rocky, tumultuous, cliche-ridden love life to sing about how angry/scorned/weirdly revitalized she is by the entire process.

But what will she do without the requisite anguish that she needs to create? Can she even sing without being f-ed over by some dude? I’m not sure. And after the trainwreck that was X-tina Aguilera botching the National Anthem last year, can the Super Bowl really afford to hand over the keys to an ill-prepared, un-recently-heartbroken Clarkson?

I see no other logical solution than what I’m about to suggest. As a nation, we can’t have Clarkson standing in front of the microphone at the 50 and suddenly wondering, “Wait…what’s my motivation?”

She’s forced our hand here and we’ve got no other choice: Moments before she steps out to rip through the Star-Spangled Banner, we have to deport Kelly Clarkson. The United States has to dump Kelly Clarkson to bring out the best in her.

Nick Cannon?!?! Really?!?!

The Super Bowl pre-game show has devolved into a pseudo-celebrity Red Carpet event. No one is clinging to their last deflating life raft of fame with a more rigor mortis-ly tight grip than Nick Cannon. (*Author’s note: Cannon is like a tween playing video games before bedtime, desperately pleading with those in charge to give him “Just another 15 minutes…plllleeeeeassse?!?!”)

He has been chosen by the NBC powers that be to host the “Red Carpet” event that kicks off some of the festivities. Thank goodness we get the delicious Super Bowl chaser to wash the Cannon out of our mouths.

Intriguing Storylines

- Tom Brady vs. The Giants’ Defensive Line (And Insane Expectations)

The Giants’ pass rush is fierce and fast. But as dangerous as that speed is rushing off the edge, not even Apollo himself could outrun the echoes of a legacy uncemented. Tom Brady doesn’t need another Super Bowl win. He has three. But he didn’t need to marry a super-duper-model.

He didn’t need to grow out his hair, causing women across the nation to swoon like eighth grade girls watching Taylor Lautner play for the “skins” team in a pickup game of basketball. He doesn’t need to routinely play with a massive wellspring of passion for a game he’s routinely dominated for nearly a decade.

Will his legacy really be incomplete without another Super Bowl? Probably not. But, lest we forget, this is a guy whose legend looms Vince Wilforkianly large in the minds of current NFL pundits and fans.

If Brady loses the big one again, he’ll still be on top of the mountain. But if he should win? He’ll have his face carved on the side of it.

Gronk’s Ank

The 6’6″ inch Rob Gronkowski has established himself as, with all due respect to Jimmy Graham, the best tight end in the game today. After spraining his ankle in his last game against the Ravens, the logical question is how crunk will Gronk be able to get?

(*Author’s note: here’s a quick side question. If you’re Rob Gronkowski, with the chance to potentially make or break a Superbowl for you team but you have an ankle that’s killing you, what wouldn’t you do to get on the field?

You have to think that, as one of the Patriots’ only legitimate offensive weapons, Bill Belichick will call Gronkowski into a side office somewhere in the bowels of Lucas Oil Stadium and will sit him down at a desk and lay out a syringe full of racing-horse steroids, a mirror with a Tony Montana-sized pile of blow on it, and a handgun. He’ll give him the option, “One, two, or all three?”

Yes, I may just have portrayed Bill Belichick as Satan incarnate. No, I don’t respect him less as a coach, even if he is.)

A New Prince Could be Crowned

I’ll have my eye on Amukamara, a former Nebraska Cornhusker, even though he isn’t usually a vital part of the game. He has a Kid 'N Play worthy flat-top and a solid game. (*Author’s note: and here’s the main reason why I wanted to bring this up...) If Amukamara wins, it will cap off what has been a great year for Princes.

Amukamara got paid, Harry got laid, Simba got re-released, and “The Artist Formerly Known As” allegedly hated on Glee‘s attempt to cover one of his songs, which moves him up another notch in my book.

And, Finally, a Random Burnpoetry Prop Bet:

- Madonna attempts to cougar-pounce on Rob Gronkowski, mauling him with her botulistic face: 4-1

FIN