Truth be told, I’ve never been all that interested in the Super Bowl. Sure, I enjoy the party food and the chance to hang out with friends. I like critiquing the commercials and the halftime extravaganzas. But the game itself has rarely meant much to me.
One exception was a Super Bowl from a long, long time ago. While cleaning out a “memory box” last month, I came upon a copy of a letter a friend and I wrote to Joe Namath in 1969, soon after he led the New York Jets to an upset victory over the Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III. It was the first time my friend and I—both of us 14 years old–had been interested in pro football. The only reason we cared a thing about it was that we had a gigantic crush on Joe. We included with our letter several pages from a scrapbook of newspaper and magazines articles we’d collected about him and asked him to please, please, please return them and also to please, please, please send an autographed picture to each of us.
We never heard a word back.
Though more than half a century has passed, every time the Super Bowl rolls around I think about Joe Namath. He’s 82 now and hawking reverse mortgages and Medicare supplements and hearing aids on TV. And here’s the truth. Joe no longer makes my knees go weak.
Fast forward more than 30 years to the next Super Bowl that interested me. It was XXXIV, when–in a heartbreaking finish–our “one yard short” Tennessee Titans lost 23-16 to the St. Louis Rams. And being a forever-fan of dear Peyton Manning, I watched and cheered as he led teams to the Super Bowl four times, winning once for the Colts (2007) and once for the Broncos (2016.)
This year, I was happy that fired Titans coach Mike Vrabel—who as a player helped win three titles for the New England Patriots–got the chance to return as their head coach in Super Bowl XL. Though the result wasn’t what Vrable and Patriot fans had hoped for, it was still fun to watch.
Now for the important stuff from this year’s contest: the commercials. Many of them I absolutely, positively didn’t understand. (In fact, I couldn’t even understand what some of them were selling.) The Liquid IV commercial was tasteless. Gross, in fact. And though I’ve always assumed attorney Blair Durham has a boatload of money, I was surprised to see him in a Super Bowl commercial.
The good commercials were really, really good. Xfinity Jurassic Park. Good Will Dunkin. As expected, the Budweiser “Freebird” ad was worth watching over and over again. And the Sabrina Carpenter “I need a man” Pringles commercial was cute.
But none of those held a candle the best ad of the evening: the tug-at-your-heartstrings, hand-me-a-Kleenex Lay’s Potato Chip commercial. It’s your farm now.
And, of course, there was halftime. Confession: Until all the brouhaha over him being booked for this this year, I’d never even heard of Bad Bunny. Were we in for the obscene, over-the-top, not-fit-for-children act that Turning Point USA warned us about? And did they honestly believe their alternative “All-American Halftime Show” featuring Kid Rock was going to be more wholesome and patriotic? Have they ever listened to Kid Rock’s lyrics???
I didn’t watch their show. But I did watch Bad Bunny. And though I didn’t understand most of what he sang—I don’t speak Spanish, and closed captioning didn’t help because it was in Spanish, too—I found the show clever (sugar cane fields!) and joyful and politically important in the best possible way. Surprise appearances by Lady Gaga and Ricky Martin were an added bonus.
Mike Vrable didn’t take home a Super Bowl coach’s ring, but at least his team didn’t get shut out. And the best news of all is that we didn’t have to watch even one Joe Namath commercial.
(February 14, 2026)