I know nothing about football. Non Americans, I’m obviously talking about American football. I realize that they stole that name from its rightful owner and that not much foot action occurs. Anyway, I never learned to play it as a child and never knew how to throw a football. My dad never watched football or talked about football. Basketball was more his thing and so therefore it was more my thing as well, as much as any team sport could be my thing. At school, the boys would all run out to play football during recess and I would walk around in a sort of lonely wistful way. I probably walked around in that way looking really intelligent, yet not without a very hip edginess. Yes, that’s it.

I really hate how men talk about football all of the time and there are all of these terms I hear in passing and I often like to hop into the conversation and repeat these terms knowing full well that the way I use them doesn’t make sense. In fact, I intentionally make less sense than I possibly could just to stick it to them. This year I didn’t have any idea the Superbowl was going on until it had ended and even then I didn’t know who had played until much later. Sometimes I wish that I could just be a normal person, watching football and drinking beer with my buddies and having a grand time. Instead, I learn about poetry and literature, make comics for an almost nonexistent web based audience, play video games, meditate to attain oneness with the universe and become unnecessarily freaked out when required to speak to another human being. Also, why did I put a strange Middle Eastern war background on a Superbowl comic? Your guess is as good as mine.