I needed to hide in my proverbial cave before entering back into the world of sports. The media’s recycled replay has stolen anything and everything fresh to talk about. For days I’ve thought about Super Bowl XLVII and come up with zilch. Nada.

I scratched on a lined sheet of paper a few ideas, but each fell flat.  Ray Lewis retiring was too obvious. Joe Flacco’s soon-be and well-earned mega contract was too recycled.  Jim Harbaugh’s over-conservatism on offense. Ah, now there’s a hard hitter, but it is too early to say if that’s really a problem yet.  And the next landing spot for Alex Smith is boring.

The media spinsters have stolen every crumb worth discussing from a football-related standpoint. ESPN is truly the evil empire. But Dan Patrick and his Fox Sports getaway aren’t void of such a name tag either.

When thinking back to what was ultimately a pretty damn good game between two brothers on opposing sidelines, I’m left dumbfounded at the obvious: the game seemed rigged. Yes, rigged—at least on some level it was.

When the lights went out it was a little too weird. Too cliche of a  story line. Like a classic horror spot on with the scene when the lights flicker and the down and out(the 49ers) are tested to their ultimate limit.

A league as pretentious as the celebrity driven NFL, in my opinion, is not far removed from making this sort of thing happen. Albeit it’s out-there to think so, sure. But absolutely impossible? I don’t think so.

Seventeen points were put up in a four minute stretch following the return of the lights, by a team that mustered only 6 in all of the first half. I timed that. It took me four minutes this morning to brush my teeth and tie my tie. By the time I put my shoes and socks on, it had gone from 4 minutes to 6, 7, maybe 8 or 9. In half the amount of time it took me to brush my teeth, tie my tie and put my shoes on, the 49ers offense magically unveiled 17 points on a defense playing out of their minds?

Give. Me. A. Break.

That was a storyline straight from the Goodell playbook. And it was well-timed. It was a strategic move attempting to draw back the league’s growing disenchanted fan base.  Super Bowl XLVII had the lowest rating in 7 years.

Yes, the lowest.

This means there is a chance for other popular leagues like Major League Baseball or the NBA to reclaim what once was a more equitable balance of American sports power.

Beyonce’s halftime show was… interesting. Maybe it should have had a rating on it though. By Beelover9481 (Beyoncé Knowles), via Wikimedia Commons

Inception, Leonardo Dicaprio, remember? Goodell needs a story to manipulate the masses, draw us back, make us live, eat and and pray the game of football, but it’s not working. The media has been muted on the issue. After all, they are more invested in the NFL’s success than anyone. We’re slowly, but surely, tiring of the league’s ridiculous rule changes and unlawful bounties.

And then there was Beyonce Z at halftime.  Oh God, her crotch grabs and tongue licks were enough to make a five year old dream about making love. And that’s just gross. I threw up in my mouth with each and every one of her ego-maniacal dance moves. I would have rather seen Meatloaf beat box half-naked in a pair of high heels. Her manifestation of what some people define to be music, was as bad if not worse than the infamous Janet Jackson nip-slip. Soft core porn has become a byproduct of an NFL clearly grasping at straws.

In 30 years, I believe, the NFL will cease to exist as we know it for a variety of reasons. It could be because of an alien invasion. Or simply people moving on. Some other steroid-hungry sport will come along and strike our fancy. Like Glass Eating. Ten wine glasses wins. Most blood determines league MVP.

Whether or not such a prediction is true, you can count on this. Tomorrow you will wake up, you will tune into ESPN and listen to whatever ESPN anchor spout the same nonchalant stupidity in a neverending diatribe of bafoonery. NFL, NFL, NFL. All NFL.

Turn the TV off. Have a conversation with yourself in the mirror. Discuss the implications of growing a beautiful beard (or not; or if you’re a lady, the implications of growing leg hair) and join James Harden in his ultimate quest.

There are a number of glorious beards in football too, after all.