The Super Bowl is on somewhere in my house because I was searching the TV schedule for the next round of figure skating (in case you were wondering what I do in the off-season… that’s it) and whichever channel the figure skating is on is also hosting the Super Bowl. That is how I watch football these days:  By accident.

I saw, through the end of the liquor bottle I was holding between me and the screen as I walked past it, a mess of Eagles fans. I suppose this means the Eagles are… in it? Near it? WAIT IS THAT FIONA?

The last time I saw such a high concentration of Eagles fans, it was in person, in Florida, in my bachelorette days, when I’d have nights like this:

8:39: Arrival at the bar well in advance of the cover charge. It is not an acceptable night on the town unless one has first stuck it to The Man, The Man in this case being Pat O’Brien’s. LOL, Pat O’Brian’s! We ducked your cover charge! All we paid for was our two-ounce, $10.99 drinks! SUCK-AH!!

8:40: First sighting of woman sporting the latest fashion, Midriff-Baring Shirt Accessorized With Midriff That Really Shouldn’t be Seen in Public.

9:14: My date for the evening, a now-married friend I shall call Flipper, orders beignets, a French for term for “lump of deep-fried lard coated in enough powdered sugar to keep Aspen open on a year-round basis.”

9:22: The Two Pink Leeches arrive. The Pink Leeches are wearing fuschia bras and seem to have left their tops and their skirts and their sensible shoes at home. They have, however, remembered the volumizing mousse.

9:40: “Are these two seats taken?” The bar is beginning to fill, and a male voice has just asked permission to share our table. We look up with expectant smiles, which immediately fall off our faces once we realize that our potential tablemate is well past twice our age, with his well-past-twice-our-age wife at his elbow. Because what we were hoping for, at that point in our lives, was a night out with parents.

10:01: From The Songbook of Songs That Should Never Be Played On a Piano, the dueling piano players launch into “Ice Ice Baby,” originally copyrighted in The Songbook of Songs That Should Never Have Existed At All.

10:30: The Pink Leeches find a group of men to seduce. Their method of seduction is to stagger about, yelling “I AM SO TOTALLY DRUNK!” There are no takers.

10:44: A group of Eagles fans, staying in Orlando because for some reason the nine hotel rooms in Jacksonville could not accommodate the weekend crowd or something, take their seats. It is forty-one degrees outside with winds at twelve miles an hour. They are wearing shorts.

11:07: Because I have not yet reached my sugar quota for the century with the beignets, I order a drink listed as “The Fuzzy Leprechaun,” which consists of orange juice, pineapple juice, blue Cuervo, peach schnapps, and a vat of sucrose.

11:08: The paramedics arrive.

11:24: Flipper points out a couple parked at a table nearby. They are not talking. They are not smiling. They are not singing. They are not touching.

“Worst. Date. Ever,” I suggest.

Flipper shakes her head. “Married,” she says.

11:48: Exit strategy for The Fuzzy Leprechaun.

11:59: One of the Pink Leeches shifts into Seduction Overdrive, attempting to earn alcohol by dancing at a passing male. He shrinks towards the bar.

12:02: Our waiter’s nametag indicates that he is from Cincinnati. “I’M FROM CINCINNATI!!” I scream at him. He gives me an I-don’t-care-face. I give him an at-least-pretend-to-care tip.

12:10: The Eagles fans immediately ensure a loss by waving a small Philadelphia car flag in time to “I Write the Songs.”

12:20: Second exit strategy for The Fuzzy Leprechaun. The Pink Leeches, seeing the need to straighten their nipple rings, are also in the bathroom. They are attempting to determine why no one has picked them up yet. Perhaps if they showed more skin.

12:32: Adjourn to Margaritaville.

12:47: Flipper is asked to dance. She declines.

12:51: The same guy asks Flipper to dance. She declines.

12:51.01: The same guy asks me to dance, because he realizes that what women want is to be approached by a man who has been turned down twice by the woman sitting right next to her. I decline as well, explaining that I have a boyfriend who is a judo instructor with anger issues who recently returned from prison and in possession of a flamethrower and also is standing directly behind him.

1:04: No Clue About Women Man gives up on finding a dance partner and goes it alone. He actually finds a way to move up the Pathetic Chart with his dance method, which is to run in place while imitating a person waving a 747 into the gate.

The guy in the table behind us leans over to me: “And to think, you could have had that.”

1:22: Depart Margaritaville, where I am, once again, the woman to blame.

PRESENT DAY: Please don’t make me be unmarried or in the presence of a high concentration of Eagles fans ever again.

About The Author

Proud aunt Mary Beth Ellis is a freelance writer and college teacher who lives in Cincinnati, OH. Her home site,, has existed in at least some form since 2003, and Mary Beth has been a regular columnist with one publication or another from the age of 16. Her first book, Drink to the Lasses, was published in 2006. She currently teaches college, runs personal wine tastings, gives literary readings, and stares into the middle distance.

Related Posts

18 Responses

  1. Scott Carter

    My only thought is that at least it was not Steeler Fans or Patriot Fans

    • WVRedlegs

      I flew out of Tampa, FL the day after the Steelers beat the Arizona Cardinals about 5 years ago in a last minute score to win the Super Bowl game, and the plane was full of Steelers fans.
      An hour into the flight, I would have gladly, and was willing to, walk off that plane at 30,000 feet without a parachute.
      All of them were loyal shoppers of Jos. A. Hole stores.

      • Mary Beth Ellis

        Thoughts and prayers. That’s hideous.

  2. Gonzo Reds

    Strangely enough the author looks like a dead ringer for a former friend who was from Cincy and last I heard was now back in Cincy. Name of Cora but for some reason likes to tell men her name is actually Viviane. After returning home after one such night similar to the one described above, and after knocking on the bathroom door a few times and hearing nothing, I found her passed out on the toilet in all of her glory (is that a no longer hidden tattoo?). After getting her um redressed… I tucked her into the guest bed.

    Sorry, bit off topic here, wait this whole topic is off topic, so being off topic is probably actually on topic?

    • Mary Beth Ellis

      Cora sounds like a stunningly gorgeous person.

  3. Jim Walker

    I also among those who only watches anything connected with the NFL by accident. I’ve all but written off 60 Minutes because CBS can’t seem to get it right what time the games will really be over; and, when I tune in at 7PM as often as not there is at least half an hour of football left. I understand that lots of folks watch these games. It is OK with me if the start of 60 Minutes is pushed back if the network would just be honest about it.

    • lwblogger2

      Networks have been allocating 3 hours of airtime for NFL games since seemingly the dawn of time. The games however have historically run longer than that and they almost never conclude in the 3-hour window. Why can’t networks just allocate 3.5-hours to each game? If the game concludes early the talking heads can blah blah for a few…

      Agree on the NFL. I watch very little football and really no NFL football. I didn’t even know who won the game until late Monday morning.

      • Jim Walker

        I knew who won in real time only because I was streaming the game on a tablet and keeping track with half an eye so we would know when to switch from PBS to NBC for This is Us But then the game ran so far over, they lost us because the filler on PBS after Victoria had caught our attention (The DVR was recording starting at 10PM NBC regardless).

    • Mary Beth Ellis

      The Olympics should be fun. I just won’t sleep, is all.

      • Jim Walker

        I especially like the short track skating. To me it is like roller derby on ice. You know there is going to be a big smash up or somebody will get some help being spun out. The only question is how will the officials call it.

      • greenmtred

        They should be fun and would be if the telecast wasn’t commercial breaks punctuated by tantalizing snippets of action.

  4. msanmoore

    We had the Super Bowl on in our house and, as a result, I can give you my personal final commercial ranking:

    1. Rocket Mortgage
    2. Combined Doritos/Pepsi
    3. Australia
    4. Groupon
    5. TurboTax Skip Ad

    Honorable mention to Avacados, Alexa, Hundai, and the weird NFL dance.

    By far the most NFL I’ve watched this year. The commercials and a chance to see Tom Brady cry were the only driving force. Baseball is a-coming. Until then, we have the wit of MBE to entertain us.

    • msanmoore

      And just for fun and to share nearly useless information … did y’all realize there is now a fully branded Girl Scout Thin Mints Cookie CERAL???

    • Mary Beth Ellis

      Awwww thanks! Australia and I are here for you!