Ah, the Super Bowl. Today is the one day a year where Adam will willingly sit down in front of an American football game, and then we'll debate what exactly a line of scrimage is and what it's used for and why it's on that particular part of the field and if, when they're all crouched like that, it smells bad because everyone had chili for lunch, because no matter how "mature" we are, fart jokes never get old. And then we congratulate each other for being so funny, because we're twelve, and then I have to remind Adam what a football looks like, and then if someone manages to get the ball in the end zone, we run around the house yelling "GOOOOOOOOOOAL!" or "home run!" because did I mention we're twelve? And then Adam asks what inning it is, and I answer him earnestly, and then he wants to know when the tea interval is, which this year happens when Prince is on stage, and then we make a few wagers as to what sort of asshattery will happen during half time.

All of this action takes place at 3x speed, bless those Tivo gods. We resume normal speed for the commercials, of course, so we can critique this year's batch of ads, replay, critique and then resume the game. The whole affair takes about an hour and a half. This is how we watch football.