Sports commentary: I had royal wedding fever

  I can only compare the mania over the recent royal wedding with one other thing:  the Super Bowl.

Both events had dramatic build-ups to the respective big days.  Both received scads of media coverage.  Both were events to which you and I will never be invited, much less attend.

Those are the obvious similarities.  But you, the reader, pay me a princely wage to dig deeper than that.

So, here are some less blatant examples of similarity.

For instance, both events create marital discord.  It is common knowledge that there is a huge spike in the number of domestic disturbances immediately following the Super Bowl.  That trend has been attributed to guys sitting on the couch, swilling beer, losing bets, and blaming their wives.

Similarly, many women watched the London nuptials while bemoaning the state of their domestic life.

Luckily, the wife didn’t watch the big ceremony.  Lucky for me, that is.  Had she seen the duke and duchess whisked off in their royal coach and all its accoutrement, she may have been reminded of our nuptials.  At that less-than-posh affair, I whisked my bride away in an ‘89 Thunderbird with no working air conditioning and a duct-taped passenger window.

Oh, yeah.  It was the hottest day of the summer.

Had she watched the royal wedding feast, she might have been reminded of our honeymoon in Palmyra.  In honor of our wedding, the B&B’s owner presented us with a cheese tray, complete with a TV Guide magazine.

Now, I’ll admit that I’m not the smoothest guy in the world.  But when someone gives you a TV Guide on your wedding night, he just might be sending you a hint about how obvious your non-romantic signals might be.

The royal wedding, just like the Super Bowl, is a boon for television advertisers.  The target audience, however, is obviously different for the two events.  

During the Super Bowl, you’re likely to see ads for Budweiser and Doritos.  You get Go Daddy (whatever that is), Stella Artois beer and lots of cars pushed your way.

During the royal wedding, you get ads for toilet cleaners, bleach, Swiffers and pills that are supposed to make you happy, thinner, less manic, more regular, less crampy or less creaky.

I think the idea is, should you take one of these elixirs, you will catch the eye of that prince of a man who is out there somewhere.  Best wishes on that front, by the way.

Another similarity is in the area of analysis.  The Super Bowl has led the way in over-analyzing.  Listening to Howie and Terry and JB and the gang can make your head spin.

The wedding was no different.  You had the play-by-play voice-over:  “And now, the coach and four wends its way past Westminster Abby.”

And you had the color commentary:  “Lady Camilla looks ravishing in an off-pink chiffon wrap.”  (Sorry, gang, but nothing makes Lady Camilla look ravishing.)

I could go on about the similarities, but space precludes that.

Ah, but there are differences, too.

First, there was no drama here.  That is, the outcome was predetermined.  

The fun of the Super Bowl is that you (usually) don’t know who will win until late in the game.  There’s a lot of uncertainty there.

Not so with this wedding.  Did anyone think that the bride-to-be was going to say “I don’t”?  

When the minister asked whether there was anyone who wanted to register a protest, did you actually think some old flame would come out of the woodwork to do so?

No, the outcome on this bad boy was never in doubt.

Another difference is that there was no retirement announcement by Brett Favre during the week-long run-up.

During Super Bowl week, you can always count on Brett to host a tearful retirement news ceremony.  Yet, he was mysteriously absent from the goings-on in London.

In addition, the Super Bowl was the tamer affair.  Sure,  there is some fierce hitting on the field of play.  But those hits were like a butterfly alighting on a petal compared to the jostling and battling by fans along the march route, trying to get a glance at these royals.

Others:  The Super Bowl lends itself to drinking lots of beer and eating lots of chili.  The wedding lent itself to drinking lots of tea and eating lots of cucumber sandwiches.

The Super Bowl uses Roman numerals to number its games.  The Brits, to number its kings.

Finally, the difference is that no self-respecting sports writer would be caught dead watching the wedding.

He certainly wouldn’t admit to it.

Personal note

I’d like offer congratulations to SRHS AD Rick Falls upon his imminent retirement.  

I always found Rick to be a pleasure to work with.  He was cooperative, informative and pleasant on a daily basis.

His vast knowledge often saved me from making mistakes and he gave me a better understanding of the ins and outs of high school sports.

His expertise and camaraderie will be sorely missed. 

Happy trails, Friend.