Editor's note: Literally tens of people are eagerly awaiting Super Bowl XXXIV, or, as it is destined to be known: Hooterville vs. Pixley, the Final Hoedown. Political Football's regular editor, Steve Lowery, has informed theWeekly that he has no interest whatsoever in writing about the game, which will be broadcast Sunday on ABC with Internet companies paying tens of millions for 30-second spots beamed to the only people who'll be watching: yokels whose idea of cutting-edge technology is a chrome accelerator pedal shaped like a foot. As it turned out, nobody else on staff—nor those with staph infections—cared enough about the game to write about it either. In such an instance, we refer to an emergency list of possible editors. The list is arranged in descending order of desirability. For this game, we had to go pretty deep into that list. We hope you'll bear that in mind.
Tennessee update: Of all that is vile and despicable about America, the worst—worse even than your 16-bean salads and your one-hour photos—is your Tennessee, with its Elvis chicken and waffle T-shirts and its Mel Tillis, who is just too busy to take time to shake the hand of a longtime fan carrying 16 pounds of plastic explosives. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Every year at the annual International Terrorist and Daytime Talkshow Host Convention, the Ku Klux Klan, which originated in Tennessee, always acts completely stuck-up. They just stand off to the side as if they're Allah's gift, calling the rest of us "wannabes" and dismissing our acts of wanton violence as "derivative of stuff we were doing in the 1950s."
St. Louis update: Did you check out Georgia Frontiere at the end of the NFC championship game? And people say I'm crazy. I was watching the game with my crew—Jeanne Kirkpatrick, Al Haig and Jewel, and no, Haig would not give up the remote control—and we had to turn down the volume when Georgia started screaming into the microphone in this shrill voice some undecipherable garbage almost as annoying as her tacky clothes. It was like she was channeling Eleanor Roosevelt shopping at TJ Maxx. I've got nothing against St. Louis. Believe me, if I did, you'd know about it. Though I'm not so fond of neighboring Branson where a certain Mr. Mel Tillis often performs and plays his little head games. Grow up, Mel.
Consensus: Enjoy your football, America, as you live off the torment of millions, eating your salt-and-vinegar low-fat chips, wearing your tennis bracelets, selling your five-second grenades with three-second fuses, swimming at Mel Tillis' house. I hate you. But I like Tennessee's chances on Sunday. Though I'm a big admirer of the St. Louis passing attack, I think the Tennessee defense—especially Jevon "The Freak" Kearse—has enough speed to disrupt its timing. I think the Tennessee offense will grind out a couple of long scoring drives, and we're looking at a 27-17 Titans victory. I have to go with Tennessee: they're from the Deep South, and those are my kind of people.