I couldn’t decide what to do a column about this week

I sort of thought about doing something about the Super Bowl, but it’s now four days past, so the relevancy of the moment has escaped. Unfortunately, I don’t have aphorisms or anecdotes to illustrate that point. Erm, seize the day and make flee the sun. Or something. (I’m sorry.)

In any case, I’m entirely too happy about the outcome of the game: that the Pittsburgh Steelers lost and Green Bay Packers won, in that order.

Some people bleed black and gold; if I could, I would defecate it. I’m not such a big fan of the Cowboys any more, although I’m still enough of a fan to hate the Steelers for their steroid-fueled ’70s dynasty, and less pettily, hate them now for their quarterback Ben Roethlisberger.

Watching “Big Ben’s” failure gave me dark joy so powerful it tasted good.

Roethlisberger actually has a sandwich in Pennsylvania named after him. The Roethlis-burger. They cook it with 100 percent pure canola oil.

(That is a joke related to Roethlisberger’s muddled history when it comes to gaining the informed consent of his romantic partners.)

Green Bay QB Aaron Rodgers, on the other hand, is apparently a very cool guy, or at least he is a former pro-wrestling fan who plays well and doesn’t text naked pictures of himself to team staff.

And that was the other part of what made Sunday so satisfying. Brett Favre, the NFL’s all-time leader in interceptions, got to watch his former team win a championship without him. You know Favre, the legendary competitor who played no matter how badly hurt he was or how badly his playing hurt his team; who just tore back and threw an interception at the critical moment in critical games; a noted winner who is tied on the list of most Super Bowl championships with other future Hall of Fame quarterbacks such as Trent Dilfer, Jeff Hostetler and Mark Rypien.

He made the season, too, so fulfilling: the on-the-field irrelevancy, and of course the off-the-field circus. The (“unsubstantiated”) accusations that the ol’ gunslinger had left inappropriate voicemails and sent text messages of his pocket pistol to the Jets’ massage therapist in 2008. In life, you’ve got to enjoy the little things. For his sake, I hope Favre does.

So, I’d hoped to write about that, but I thought it would be a bad idea because there’s a minimum wit-to-spite ratio that you need to give a truly enjoyable reading experience. If you are a fan of the Steelers or Favre and are now offended, I belatedly apologize. Of course, if you are fans of the Steelers or Favre, you probably deserve it.

Hey, I’m primarily a Carolina Panthers fan, so pro football was dead to me by about week 5.

Wait, what am I saying? Most of you out there are Cowboys; you all know what I’m talking about.

Anyway, there’s always next year. Maybe. Or probably, depending on the labor negotiations.

I guess I may as well write about the Super Bowl this week. Who knows if I’ll get to again?

There’s always college and high school football next year. Hopefully my hatred for the University of Southern California and Midland Lee will be enough to get me through it.

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