As the Philadelphia Eagles furthered their demolition of the Minnesota Vikings in the second half of Jan. 21’s NFC championship game, I made a bold proclamation from my apartment couch to all who would hear it. “I’m just not going to watch the Super Bowl this year,” I declared to the walls and ceiling, who, as usual, gave their silent approval. That, of course, was a lie. I’m a glutton for football, even when it continually punishes me and those around me, not to mention the actual people playing the sport. With only one game remaining and a painfully long offseason looming, there’s no way I would miss the Super Bowl. I’ll be watching Sunday, but I won’t be happy about it.