I'm pretty sure my disinterest in American football stems from having my collarbone broken cleanly in half when I was running the ball during an eighth grade skirmish. I had no idea that running fast could inspire that kind of aggression from the opposing team. Having gone through that at an early age, it's been a wee bit difficult for me to sympathize with pro players who take off weeks over a sprained pinkie.

Once a year, though, I join with millions of other Americans to vicariously celebrate our fixation with the art of pummeling a guy who's just trying to make it from point A to point B while carrying a vaguely egg-shaped ball. I'm talking Super Bowl here. And yeah, I tune in mostly for the commercials. I freakin' love seeing the uncut versions of the advertising world's vision of what's going to rock our world in the coming year. It's a perverse pleasure, I admit, since MadAv rarely synchs with its target demographic in these lavish spots. But I like imagining how they pitched them to their clients in the first place.

Whether you're a couch potato quarterback or a clueless copywriter wannabe is irrelevant. What makes Super Bowl Sunday the most important unofficial national holiday in the calendar is the food. It's the one day of the year that we not only guiltlessly gorge on food and drink, but are actually encouraged to do so. This is not a day for carefully thought out dinners symbolizing thanks or penance. No, on Super Bowl Sunday, silverware is replaced with paper towels, and the only glassware you'll find are beer bottles. It's our annual homage to our baser instincts. We gather together in the dead of winter to feast and boast with reckless abandon, shouting to the heavens (or at least our neighbors) in praise of warriors who were only weeks ago our rivals. In short, it's a par-tay of the first degree.

Rites of this magnitude require a bit of attention. Mind you, I said a bit. While ordering in for pizza was ample in earlier days, the Super Bowl has taken on a life that requires at least a hint of a personal touch. It needn't be anything fancy — in fact, that would be just wrong given the context of the party. Burgers won't work — grilling takes too much time away from the event, and homemade party trays require, for want of a better word, lots of labor. I Googled Super Bowl recipes, and found a wealth of totally worthless information — unless June Cleever is preparing the feast.