The SaniTERRYum: Dictum Meum Pactum

Beer and Clothing in America

Welcome to The SaniTERRYum, the new Tuesday sanctuary for all you crazed sports fans and alcohol aficionados seeking refuge from this mixed up world. Think of this as a platform for blending sports talk with real talk, intellect with idiosyncrasies, rough-around-the-edges delicacies for a rough and tumble world.

Alright folks, your Super Bowl party hangovers have subsided, you’ve digested both whatever the hell you ate and the uneventful happenings that took place during the most overhyped game in all of professional sports, and you’re ready for the Bulls and Hawks to take over their respected leagues as well as your TV viewing schedule…not to mention pitchers and catchers reporting in less than two weeks (!) to bring us back to reality from the nightmarish, roller coaster season that was the 2012 NFL campaign. But let us not forget this oh-so-American tradition that has become known as Super Bowl Sunday. They might as well just declare the sumbitch a national holiday.

The Game

For some reason, Tom Brady and his New England Patriots just can not beat the New York football Giants in the Super Bowl. The Pats’ve been there five times in the last ten years, beating St. Louis, Carolina, and Philly but losing to Eli(te) and New York twice. Joe Montana and Terry Bradshaw will remain the only quarterbacks with four rings for at least another year, Tommy Boy (yea, he’s cool with me calling him that).

If not for key drops late in the game by usually sure handed Wes Welker and Aaron Hernandez, we’re looking at a different outcome. The injured and uninvolved oaf, Rob Gronkowski also DNP’d a huge part in the loss. The Patriots started XLVI uncharacteristically out of sorts, complete with a game starting, 60-1 odds, opening play, intentional grounding in the end zone safety that started the scoring, simultaneously bringing hope to all the gridiron grid holding, square watching fans in possession of  “5 and 8” or “9 and 2.” We have liftoff, and we have a chance, baby.

The Halftime Show

One word: Madonna. Oh, and Cee-Lo accompanying her on Like a Prayer. And LMFAO doing whatever the hell it is that people find entertaining. And Nicki Minaj saying, like, six words. And MIA spewing the shit word and flicking off the camera. BFD. Anyone with a musical pulse knows how much of an influence Madonna has had on pop music over the years. If Michael Jackson is The King of Pop, Madonna reigns as the genre’s Queen. But, like Brett Favre and MJ in their respected fields, she mastered her craft, aged, then stayed in the game just a bit too long, causing some new brand of embarrassment for hard core fans. There, I said it. It’s out there. Big whoop. Wanna fight about it?

The Commercials

You can’t really talk about the Super Bowl anymore without bringing up the damn commercials at some point or another. The fact that a thirty second spot costs $3.5 million is, quite frankly, beyond me. That Skechers Dog commercial was pretty badass though. Our party determined that they’ve mastered the lost formula for a perfect Super Bowl commercial. Either they don’t make ’em like they used to or our desensitized internet culture has superseded all things attempting to entertain us, because we were not swayed to buy any of the products paraded in front of us like we’re a bunch of material-hungry consumers chomping at the bit to spend our hard earned money on new and useless products. We’re too smart to fall for that one, corporate America. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to put on my H&M underwear, lace up my new Skechers shoes, hop in my brand new Chrysler, eat a bag of Doritos in the car on the way to the liquor store, because I’m all out of Bud Light Platinum.

Drinks of Choice

This being A Drinking Town with a Sports Problem, I feel compelled to share with you the beverages we enjoyed on this the holiest of sports/beer holidays. “Good people drink good beer.” Hunter S. Thompson (a personal hero of this lowly sage) said that at some point during his illustrious life. Our Sunday partners in crime were a couple of good Scottish style brews: Scotty Karate (Shortest beer review ever: strong flavor yet smooth finish) and Brooklyn Winter Ale (great flavor, very drinkable to say the least. Good lookin’ out on the recommendations Scottie Too Hottie!). All this indulgence and partying talk segues me into one of my favorite current Major Leaguers, at a time he’s found himself in the spotlight for controversial reasons:

Josh Hamilton

Addiction is a very serious part of our society today. As our name points out, we’re all about alcohol culture around here. However, for some, there comes a time when the line needs to be drawn. In the case of former MVP Josh Hamilton, he decided when and where that line got drawn by sobering up and turning his life around. Not you, not me, not his family, not Rangers, Reds or Rays fans, not God, not Satan, not anybody. Him. It’s his life. Let him live it the way he wants to, and leave the judging for the birds. If he wants to have a drink every now and then, he’s probably earned that right. Have you?

Think about that. Word is bond…