Super Bowl Sunday is here again!  

Unlike last year’s Super Bowl where we naively thought our world would remain the same as a virus, labeled Covid-19, began to get a little attention, this Super Bowl will remind us what has transpired over these past twelve months. Rather than a packed stadium at game time and parties held in homes and sports bars throughout our nation, the Tampa Bay stadium will be limited to 22,000 fans, and parties will be reduced to individual families or couples.

In the past years, I’ve gathered with friends to enjoy snacks and laughter, and watch ridiculously expensive commercials with singing frogs or the iconic Clydesdale horses.  The first half of the game served as a prelude for the halftime show.  After the Janet Jackson mishap, most of us tuned in to the performance anticipating another wardrobe malfunction. By the end of the third quarter, most of us had seen enough football and heard more than enough commentating.  Unless the game was a nail biter, we usually called it a night and decided we could wait until morning to see the final score.

This year’s game pits a 43-year-fold quarterback making his 10th appearance in the big game against a 25-year-old quarterback who could probably do three back somersaults before throwing a touchdown pass to his tight end.  This year, however, I’m not setting my DVR to watch one of the future Hall of Fame quarterbacks or even catch some crazy advertisement. Yes, I’ll watch most of the game and even catch a few of the commercials, but my primary attention will be on a poet who will speak before the game.