What kind of poet . . .

. . . watches the Super Bowl? I'll admit it. I love watching football, and I never miss the Super Bowl. Rest assured, I'll be watchhing this Sunday.



Does that make me a bad person? Is my appreciation of art and beauty called into question with every Flare, Slant, or Draw-Play?



I wonder if there are any contemporary poets out there who used to don the pads?



Last semester, Thom Ward came to my school to give a reading. He boldly talked about lacing up his cleats and kicking @$$ before a shocked auditorium. He still pumps iron, etc., but he mentioned how he suffers from gimpy knees because of his football days.



I also had the honor of hanging out at Austin Hummell's house while I was doing a visiting teaching gig up in Northern Michigan University. We were watching the NBA playoffs and snarfing macadamia nuts while looking over poems. I guess the two can happen simultaneously--art and physical grace.



Anyway, I'm a poet who so happens to be a sports nut. I'm going to be watching Super Bowl XXXIX for the sport, not for the commercials.