Super

Friday February 6, 2026

In about 12 hours, I’ll be boarding a plane to San Francisco. On Sunday, I’ll be at Super Bowl XL with my dad.

My dad’s been a Seattle Seahawks season ticket holder for 20 years, since he lived there for a while when I was in high school. Season ticket holders of the two teams that make the Super Bowl get an entry in a ticket lottery for each year they’ve held tickets. My dad won the lottery.

Of course, in this case, “winning” was getting the right to buy tickets at face value, but considering the 5x prices on the secondary market, that’s not such a bad win. My dad’s girlfriend, Amy Kimmel, insisted he offer the second ticket to one of his sons, and since Dylan is even more paternally preoccupied than I right now, it was my decision to make.

I waffled. I felt guilty leaving Lindsay alone with Des for a weekend on short notice. It’s not cheap to fly to the Bay and stay for three nights. It didn’t really feel… real. It’s the fucking Super Bowl. Normal people aren’t supposed to go to this thing, like Michael Rubin’s White Party or Little St. James Island. (I should read the ticket’s fine print; I might have to commit some fraud or give Mossad my Social Security number as a condition of my attendance.)

Nonetheless, I have a few sporting regrets:

1. Not buying an $850 Gametime ticket to Game 3 of the 2022 NBA Finals, the Celtics’ first Finals game since 2010. I almost pulled the trigger while walking across the locks to meet Jeff Blair, Matt Mui, and Brandon Boyd at the bars around TD Garden, but it felt like too much money. I still probably spent $150 on food and drinks, and it turned out to be the Celtics’ only home win in that series.

2. Not buying a $1,200 ticket to any of the three 2024 NBA Finals games in Boston. I knew the Celtics were going to win that series, but just felt poor. They won all three of their home games. Sigh.

3. Not buying a $450 blind 2026 World Cup ticket last winter. The Sneaths, Cheneys, and we almost pulled the trigger on six tickets, not knowing which teams would ultimately be assigned to the game. Today, the get-in price for even the bad games is more than twice that. Foxboro is hosting Norway vs. France, which features arguably the two best players in the world. We might have gotten that game, where the 1-ticket price is now $780.

Huge sporting events cost a lot of money. I typically don’t want to spend a lot of money. I was fully prepared to make excuses and create another regret.

Lindsay saved me from myself. She talked me into going, reassured me she’d be fine with Des, and reminded me that this might literally be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Unless I somehow become ultra-rich, I’m never buying Super Bowl tickets on the secondary market. The sheer luck of the Seahawks making the Super Bowl, my dad hitting on tickets (for the first time in three tries), and the Patriots being their opponent… I’d be insane not to carry a credit card balance for a couple of months to do this. Plus, I get to see the Lincolns in San Jose and finally meet the good boy, Manny.

So, my dad and I are going to the Super Bowl.

The Patriots are somewhat significant underdogs. We’re probably gonna be sitting in a Seahawks fan section. I’m trying to mentally prepare myself for this being the most ludicrously painful sports-watching experience of my life. (Keep telling myself Drake Maye is basically a rookie and the Pats have the most cap space in the league this offseason; this isn’t a one-and-done miracle run.) The Seahawks just plain are the better team and should win, but anything can happen in one game.

Bad Bunny is maybe the most interesting halftime show ever considering the size of his audience (20 billion streams on Spotify, matching Taylor Swift), his recent Best Album Grammy, and his outspoken abhorrence for this administration, such that this is the only performance he’s willing to do in the U.S. Greenday, who hates Trump maybe even more than him, is playing the opening ceremony. The NFL is almost weirdly catering to a left-wing activist audience in an attempt to go global. (Meanwhile, Turning Point USA is hosting their own America-first halftime show with — unsurprisingly — the openly pedophilic Kid Rock performing.) They’re gonna do something crazy that will spark a Truth Social meltdown that makes the racist backlash against Kendrick Lamar look quaint.

I’ve got my I <3 Drake Maye shirt, and I’m ready to go.

One Hollywood: Green Street Hooligans

I don’t know, I didn’t have a movie or show this week, and it got down to the wire. This was one of my favorites in high school. Just a stupid gangster/soccer hooligan movie that kind of thinks it’s Fight Club but is nothing like Fight Club.

One Book: Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

The softcore porn adaptation starring Jacob Elordi and Margot Robbie comes out this week, so I encourage you to read the book. The movie looks like fairy erotica slop that ignores the austerity and temperament of the book, but I guess you can’t judge a movie by its trailer. Heathcliff is — fairly crucially to the story — mixed-race, though, so casting the blue blood, lily-white Elordi (great actor, just not for this!) is already a huge red flag. As always, read the book before the movie.

One Song: Bad Bunny - KETU TeCRÉ

As Nick Sneath said when I shared I’m going to the game, “Better learn Spanish!” I’ve been listening to Bad Bunny’s (now Grammy-winning) album, DtMF, and the title track is my favorite song. It took me two listens, probably because I understand every tenth word, but it really is a beautiful album. Never felt so much like dancing while sad. I think KETU TeCRÉ is my favorite song on the album, but that’s subject to change.

DtMF stands for “DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS,” which means “I should have taken more photos.” The album is something of an ode to nostalgia and the relentlessness of life. It feels especially appropriate for what will likely be one of my life’s most memorable weekends.