Is the Super Bowl here yet?

Let’s pretend for a minute that I hated sports. Wholeheartedly despised them with a passion that made Rush Limbaugh seem subdued. If I had to choose between watching an entire football game or sticking my fingers in a pencil sharpener for three hours, call me Knubby McHands.

Let’s also say that last Sunday after a routine trip to the doctor’s office, I learned that my repulsion of sports had consequently given me a brain tumor, curable only by spending every waking minute watching Super Bowl coverage. With every aspect of this game meticulously analyzed by talking heads, what would I actually learn about these two teams, aside from the fact they’ll run around for three hours this Sunday and eventually one of them will go home with a giant phallic trophy? Here are the three overblown and repetitive Super Bowl subplots that  would replace the void in my brain left by the malignant growth.

Perm's Portrait: Something that rhymes with "two per goal Monday"

I've had the death flu for the last week. It's been like handing Ray Lewis a butcher's knife and having him go at you. That's how bad it's been, so obviously I have been creatively stagnant. That's alright though. Even if I am melting my cerebral cortex right now, I still have the perseverance to get you your weekly Perm's Portrait. This one has a surprising theme to it.