I've kept my mouth shut on the topic of professional sports for most of my time as a writer. I don't even talk about how much I despise the majority of the culture that comes with it on Facebook (I save those complaints for Twitter). But I know I can't be the only one who suffers in silence this time of year. Denver is especially bad this January; I have seen the most unsuspecting of my friends become Broncos-outfitted zombies. My neighborhood -- which is basically a parking lot for Mile High Stadium at Sports Authority Field anyway -- becomes an idiot zone, as people drive up and down the street honking and screaming like lunatics. And don't even get me started on that bogus "nonprofit," the NFL
. I work part-time for a nonprofit. The NFL being considered a nonprofit offends me.
Though I cannot escape the tide of putrid orange and blue that has temporarily washed away the IQs of my fellow citizens, I've come up with a list of ways to survive Super Bowl XLVIII -- even though you won't be able to fully escape its taint unless you leave the planet until February 3.
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