Now that the day of reckoning has come and gone, the tale can finally be told. It is a tale of ultimate torment and anguish. A tale of a hard-fought and harsh battle the likes of which only the most epic of novels could ever be written.
And ultimately, it is a tale of victory for all the little (well, big but getting littler) people. The huddled masses (yearning to breathe free, even) that are under a constant barrage of terrorist propaganda from the Evil Corporate Empire of High Carb Snacks and Meals.
The tale unfolds during harshest assault of the year; a day that I, as the Low Carb Crusader, dread each and every year. My friends, I speak of that holiest of holy days here in America, SUPERBOWL SUNDAY.
Growing up, Superbowl Sunday was always a special time for me. I really couldn’t care less about which muscle-bound clods were fighting over the inflated remains of some pig (who had apparently been either a very naughty pig to be punished or a very tasty pig worth fighting over). No, for me, Superbowl Sunday had always been about seeing how many carbohydrates I could shove down my throat before the end of the game!
As soon as the Pre-Game Show started, I was allowed to start eating. The first wave of the attack on my young-but-ever-expanding body was a trio of chip-bowls. Each bowl could hold a large bag of chips in it, and that’s just what I got; usually Doritos in the lead, flanked closely by Ruffles, then a combo of Cheetos and Fritos (smaller bags, so they could comfortably share a bowl). The chips weapon of choice: French Onion Dip. A hard battle to come out on top of, but let me tell ya, I gave it my all. Eventually, however, the Pre-Game war would be curtailed when both the Chips and I would team up against a common foe, THE BIG SAMMICH.
The Big Sammich (or, “sandwich” to the uninitiated) was always the killer. No less than 2 feet long, no more than 6 feet. Turkey, baloney, salami, pepperoni, roast beef, ham, cheddar, provolone, and Swiss all made The Big Sammich look and sound like a great, Atkins-friendly meal, right? But it’s that oh-so scrumptious loaf of French bread that will getcha every time (not to mention all the mayo, tomatoes, onions, and lettuce).
Upon seeing The Big Sammich (at the beginning of the first quarter), The Chips and I go to work. When my jaw gets tired of eating sandwich, The Chips come in and give my mouth a pep-talk. Then it’s right back in to The Big Sammich, where I’ll keep the fight going strong as long as I have The Chips to support me.
On this holy day of Football, I have also been known to let bygones be bygones and leave The Big Sammich alone, opting instead to launch some raids on The Hut of Pizza, do battle against Colonel Sanders, or even just start an all-out assault on McNuggets. Whatever path I chose, it would always be a grand day of carbohydrate bingeing that was guaranteed to leave me in a coma for the next 2 or 3 days.
Last year, I knew I could never do it. I went down to zero carbs for the entire week before Superbowl Sunday, and went back on to induction for the two weeks after, but it was totally worth it! I battled The Big Sammich, and came out VICTORIOUS! However, this year I have decided to give it a try and attempt to actually remain low carb. As I am writing this, we are only an hour away from kickoff, and my mind is all ready looking for ways to convince Crystal (my fiance`) that we should go ahead and order some pizza. NO, BRIAN! BAD BOY!!!
I have a bag of pork rinds, and about 20 hot wings left over from Hooters last night. (How cool is it that I’m in a relationship with a gal who doesn’t mind going to Hooters?) I’ve even got a delicious, bubbly, warm dip of sausage and cheese ready to come out of the oven. How could anything go wrong?
KICKOFF: “Why are they all so angry at the football? Why must they kick it so?” I finish off the bag of Pork Rinds, and am amused by the eTrade.com commercial. It has a dancing monkey! How can any company that uses a dancing monkey be half bad?
END OF FIRST QUARTER: “What the heck is an Mlife, and why oh why do I want one so much now?” Nearly caved in and ordered a pizza, but luckily I am still so full of pork rinds and dip, I can’t even get up to use the phone. That’s one of my best strategies for staying on the diet; stuff myself with legal treats till even the thought of putting something in my mouth makes me wanna practice my vowel sounds in to the porcelain recorder. It has worked so far, but Crystal seems a bit weak.
HALF TIME: I’m having trouble even caring about this game at all. Has it always been so boring? Even the commercials (usually the highlight of the Superbowl) aren’t funny. Matter of fact, they SUCK! So I head in to the computer room, decide to check out what this Mlife.com is all about. Wouldn’t you know it, their website is down? No less than 10 ads during the Superbowl so far at $1.9 MILLION each, and their website can’t handle the traffic. Last month, I’m SURE there was a conversation between the Marketing Department and the Tech Department:
Says Marketing: “We’ll be on the Superbowl! We’ll get BILLIONS of visitors to our web page!”
Responds Tech Support: “Our server couldn’t handle that type of traffic.”
So now, somewhere in the belly of the Mlife.com offices, there’s a marketing guy trying to strangle a tech guy while screaming, “WHY DIDN’T YOU WARN ME THAT OUR SERVERS COULDN’T TAKE IT???”
END OF THIRD QUARTER: I think my tales of Superbowl Sunday’s past may have been too much for Crystal. She’s now trying to help me find reasons that we need to order a pizza.
Her latest try was, “If the Patriots win, then we need to celebrate with a pizza! But if they lose, then we’ll need to find some way to take our minds off our sorrow… maybe by doing something like, oh, I dunno, maybe ordering a pizza or something?”
Time to break out the emergency rations. Time to break out the hot wings. Hot wings make everything so gooooood. Much better than a pizza. Really.
END OF GAME: We made it! No pizza, no chips, no Big Sammich, no cheating at all! I can’t say that I don’t still have the cravings right now, but I do feel pretty darned good that we made it. The Big Sammich and his cohorts will no longer be allowed to rape and pillage in the lands of my body. I have vanquished them!
Emo Phillips once said, “I think of my body as a Temple… or at least a reasonably maintained Presbyterian Youth Center.”
And that’s how I’m feeling right now.