Super Bowl Recovery Guide

SO SUPER BOWL XLVI IS OVER AND WE ALL SURVIVED. Plus we learned a thing or two. Like we discovered that both Ferris Bueller and Madonna are alive but only the former is still relevant, that Indianapolis is the Des Moines, or perhaps Columbus of Indiana, that Archie Manning should bottle his sperm and sell it on eBay, and that apparently NBC is still a television network.

Chances are you enjoyed Super Bowl Sunday in an irresponsible and debaucherous manner. Good for you! But like Madonna’s career, all good things must come to an end, and here we are on Monday morning trying to make sense of it all. So, as 127-year-old Al Michaels scrubs the pancake makeup from his forehead, Gisele Bundchen warms Tom Brady’s Uggs in the microwave, and Ray Lewis comes up with a believable alibi, let The Smoking Jacket provide you with a 5-step Super Bowl recovery guide.

If you’re smart, you booked off Monday morning from work, you’re unemployed, or you’re a freelancer. Either way, there’s no need for human interaction today. You likely smell like a mix of BO, stale beer, and Frank’s Red Hot, so avoiding other humans is a more of a community service than anything else.  Also, your gambling debt will be called in today, and since you drunkenly used your girlfriends winter tuition money in picking the Winnipeg Jets to cover the spread, you’ll need to lay low until you can borrow enough money to cover the vig.

You no doubt put a lot of very bad things in your body yesterday. Chicken wings, five alarm chili, aerosol cheese, whiskey, Nerf footballs, light beer, Jell-o shooters, an index finger, your buddy Will, absinthe, the list goes on. I woke up the Monday after Super Bowl XXXV with a stomach full of marbles and half a Kerry Collins jersey protruding from my, well, protruding. Three of the marbles are still in there somewhere.With your body filled with dangerous toxins that want out, you’ll need to do some coaxing.

Run yourself an extra-hot bath and add 12 lemons halved and juiced (seeds removed), a half-sup of chopped cilantro, 7 jalapenos cut in half and deveined, 3 caps of bubble bath, as many Tums as you can find, 2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, a quarter cup of cayenne, and an entire container of baby powder. You’ll want to soak in this stew of you for at least an hour, allowing yesterday to be slowly extracted. Let everything, and I mean everything, that wants out out. Don’t fight it. Then, shower off the remnants for another forty minutes.  I’ll warn you: it’ll smell like a dead llama soaking in urine eating falafels and smoking stale tobacco, but you’ll thank me Tuesday.

Chances are that during the course of 16 hours of pre-game shows, 6 national anthems, 12 color guards, 9 cases of beer, 14 cans of pre-mixed appletinis, 10 pounds of ground beef, 6 shots of something yellow, 8 cows of cheddar, 1 football game, Madonna’s senior-voguing, and NBC’s countless previews for its upcoming Howie Mandel vehicle, the reality show So You Think You Can Marry a Drunk Dwarf? you’ve lost something. If you’re lucky, it’s just your dignity, but more than likely it’s your smartphone, your wallet, or your girlfriend. A quick inventory of important possessions will provide some piece of mind.

Personally, the first thing I do Super Bowl Monday after my lemon and cayenne detox bath, is cancel all of my credit cards and break up with my girlfriend, just in case.

You no doubt did something stupid yesterday, so you’ll want to get ahead of the game and start sending out some email apologies. Many of your friends will be doing the same, so the earlier yours get in your friends’ inboxes the better. Stay simple and vague, as chances are you can’t remember anything that happened after Madonna’s halter top fell off. Wait. Was that this year?

Hey (blank),

Crazy Super Bowl, right? Wow. I was so gone. Can’t believe that play. Man, that’ll cost some serious coin. Sorry about setting fire to that. I should’ve taken it outside, or to the bathtub like you suggested. I’ll totally replace the curtains and your kid’s Diego videos. Oh, and that’ll totally grow back. Mine got shaved off in college during frosh week. Totally back by the time I wrote my finals.

See ya Friday. Drinks are on me,

(Your name)

No matter what you’ve done, you come out the winner here. If you didn’t set fire to anything, the email recipient will just think you’re a jokester, or perhaps still drunk on those canned appletinis. Plus, if you have done bad you’ve offered to make amends by buying drinks on Friday, which is totally cool of you. You come out looking good here, trust me.

Look, you’ve just spent an entire Sunday with a bunch of dudes watching a bunch of dudes talk about other dudes, while some dudes wearing spandex and sweating wrestle with other dudes, while a bunch of dudes get drunk and cheer those dudes on, culminating in a fair amount of dudes hugging dudes and spraying each other in champagne. Gay, straight, or bi, your mind will be confused on Monday morning and you’ll need to get things back to normal. In order to return to that baseline of pre-Super Bowl sexuality, you’ll need to watch a fair amount of porn. The degree of core is up to you.

See you in a few weeks at Mardi Gras, where most of these guidelines are applicable.

Mike Spry is the author of JACK (Snare Books, 2008), which was shortlisted for the 2009 Quebec Writers’ Federation A.M. Klein Prize for Poetry, and he was longlisted for the 2010 Journey Prize. His most recent work is Distillery Songs (Insomniac Press, 2011). He lives in Toronto.

Related on The Smoking Jacket:
What’s Your Excuse for Calling in Sick to Work?
The Writer’s Guide to Staying Single 

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