The NFL. Opening ceremonies

Finally, it's here. The NFL in all it's splendor and magnificence it upon us once again. This is not just a big deal -- it's a HUGE deal, monstrous, gargantuan, I dare say even bigger than Chris Christie. Let the world tremble with awe.

Yep, the NFL season kicked off with a match up between the Denver Broncos hosting the Baltimore Ravens. A rematch of last year's AFC title game, which the eventual Super Bowl champion Ravens won in overtime. Denver QB Peyton Manning was disappointed. You know, the same Peyton, who along with his brother Eli, never saw a commercial opportunity they didn't like, no matter how dumb it was? Yeah, that Peyton.

How do I know this was a big deal? Well, the pre-game coverage started a couple hours before the actual contest. What a whole panel of talking heads can possibly find to talk about for that long remains a mystery to yours truly -- but somehow they pull it off.

There was Ryan Seacrest trotting out to midfield with a microphone, surrounded by gorgeous cheerleaders, trying to hype the crowd in Denver's stadium. Was this really necessary? If the sell-out crowd in attendance at that stadium got any more hyped, they would have spontaneously combusted. Let's just say they were already good to go -- big time.

The pomp, pomp, and more pomp was unbelievable. Fireworks being shot into the air. Huge sections of fans all around the stadium supporting giant NFL provided banners to announce the NFL was back. Did I mention pomp?

Come to think of it, an all-around international superstar stud like Ryan Seacrest showing up is a big deal in itself. It is rumored that the Olympics tried and failed to book him to light the torch, while paying him the paltry sum of a billion dollars for him to grace the Games with his presence. Maybe RS had better things to do. But that's only heresy. Besides, yours truly has gotten word that the good folks in Sochi, Russia, hosts of the upcoming winter Olympics, are now busy negotiating with Miley Cyrus. You know, the same Miley that headlined the recent VMAs. I think VMA might stand for Vaginal Morons Association, but I'm not at all sure about that. At any rate, not being able to get Seacrest, and with Bieber being, you know, so OLD these days, our friends in Sochi are scrambling for a hot act to highlight their show. I wish them well, but I digress.

Back to the game. The last 30 seconds left before "kickoff" were announced one at a time by former NFL greats popping up on the screen. 30, 29, 28, 27.  There was Barry Sanders. And Joe Namath, Neon Deion, Dan Fouts, Ray Lewis, and.... wait a second. How did Fouts get in there? Whatever. 3,2,1, and then....

Al Michaels and Chris Collinsworth, the guys that would call the game, appeared in all THEIR splendor, not to mention blathering on some more. Hey. What happened to the game? We went through hours of worthless stats and trivia, a countdown, and when it finally got to zero, instead of liftoff -- we get MORE talking heads? I'm beginning to understand why some people go "postal" once in a while, and it has nothing to do with the US mail. You can only push a die-hard football fan so far.

Finally, mercifully, thank you God, the game was going to actually start. But no, now it's been delayed. There's a possibility of lightning in the area. Please stay tuned for another half hour.

You know what? By that point, I didn't give a damn about any lightning. I wouldn't have cared if there were 100 tornadoes, an earthquake, a tsunami, the plague, locusts, incoming nukes, or the Klingons and Romulans had teamed up to occupy Denver. It was time for some football -- dammit. Let's GO.

Finally I gave up and decided to write this dumb article. I'm assuming the game finally happened. It would have been nice to watch it -- but a guy can only take so much. You know?

Hi Storm.