NEIL FLOMAX

A word about bowl sponsors. First, the Bell Helicopter Armed Forces Bowl. Is that one sponsor or two? And just how much oomph does Bell Helicopter get by sponsoring a bowl? I mean, how many people do you know who go helicopter shopping unless they have a check from the Pentagon?

 "Darling, wouldn't the kids just love it if we bought them a helicopter?"

"Great idea! But not just any chopper. Let's make it a Bell Helicopter! Hmm. I wonder why that particular brand came to mind."

Also, the Roady's Humanitarian Bowl. If you tuned in, you learned that Roady's is basicaly the modern-day Stuckey's that I grew up with, an interstate oasis with all the amenities: fuel, coffee, beef jerky, showers and maybe even a movie theater (you need to be driving west of the Mississippi to appreciate the necessity of such places).

Still, my experience is the following. I either 1) Notice the gas gauge is past "E" or 2) have to take a No. 1 so badly that, well, there's no need for Prescription Flomax or 3) both. Most likely it is 3. And at moments such as those, I don't care who operates the rest stop. It could be the Bates Motel and Gas n' Sip for all I care. It can be that service station in the beginning of the film The Hills Have Eyes. I don't care. I just need fuel in and fuel out.

So why bother advertising?

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Just heard on the radio that the Arizona Cardinals are still 6,500 seats shy of selling out their first home playoff game in more than six decades. Now, according to NFL rules, if you don't sell out the contest 72 hours before kickoff, it is blacked out locally. Well, through the munificence of the National Football League, they've decided to extend the deadline 24 hours. How kind of them.

I don't blame the Cardinals. And I certainly don't blame the fans. On my list of top ten sports pet peeves please find, "Local sports radio host who exhorts fans to show support for their team by purchasing tickets." Like you need a guy who gets into the game via a media credential to tell us how to spend your cash.

Meanwhile, for just two people you're looking at no less than probably a $200 afternoon with the Cards, once you factor in the cheapest seats ($55 per), parking (which I believe is $30), and then brews and grub.

At moments like this I recall what my friend Steve Rushin chose as his topic when SI did an "Overrated/Underrated" issue. Steve's choice: "Most Underrated Seat: My Couch". As he wrote: "You know those billboard signs that read, 'If you lived here, you'd be home by now?' Well, I do live here and I am home." 

The view is unobstructed. The beer is cold. The bathroom is clean. Sure, it may be boring. You have less chance of happening upon a couple having random-stranger sex in the midst of a blowout (poor word choice there; sorry), but it's a lot less hassle. Especially since University of Phoenix Stadium is, for those Valley dwellers who live on the East Valley, tantamount to driving to California.

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Would it be fair to call "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" a "going of age" film? You know, as opposed to a "coming of age" film.

My friend Katie (America's funniest woman in print) renders the following review:

I apologize in advance to anyone who reads this and takes offense; I'm sure all of the people who worked on this film are lovely and will win awards and go on to work on far duller projects. Many spoilers shall occur, so discontinue reading if you intend to see it and don't want the plot ruined. But be warned: bring a pillow.

Brad Pitt is born into the body of a really old baby. His mother dies and his horrified father abandons him on the steps of a nursing home, where he is adopted by the wise and benevolent Queenie. She loves him and raises him without batting an eye, putting her faith in God that all will turn out well. Several hours and a few years into it, Old Kid Brad meets Daisy, a precocious and beautiful dancer. They flirt, repulsing all, especially Daisy's grandmother. Old Kid Brad, who has now morphed into Old Young Man Brad, joins a tugboat crew and wracks up a few life experiences, most notably getting his own boat tugged for the first time. He goes to Russia, puts on a ridiculous David Crosby wig and gets it on with Tilda Swinton. World War II comes, some other stuff happens and I take a short nap. 

Oldish Brad and young woman Daisy meet up again. She's a self-absorbed (edited for blogavision).

Older Gentleman Brad follows Daisy to New York and gives her flowers. She rejects him. She goes to Paris, gets hit by a car, he turns hot and she's still a (edited for blogavision).

He turns really hot. I mean really, really hot. Daisy realizes it and starts being nicer to him. They (have a scene of intimacy).

Now in love, they move in together and she has a baby. Hot young Brad, having learned apparently zilch from the woman who raised him, bails because he finds the situation creepy. He goes on a montage of various worldly activities that require him to be sweaty and shirtless and wear a fetching headband. Ten years pass and he returns to Daisy, who is now 307 years old. He looks about 14. He meets their daughter, a gangly teenager who couldn't possibly be the genetic result of a Cate Blanchett/ Brad Pitt coupling. My butt falls asleep again. He leaves once more, she finds him again and takes care of him until he dies in her arms, a beautiful, 85-year-old baby.

Oh, and sporadically throughout, we are treated to trying to interpret what Cate Blanchett is saying through her English Patient makeup. 

It wasn't terrible. It was just sooooooooooooooooooo looooooooooooooooooooong. And it does have a really nice moral, which is only 40 year olds are worth having sex with.

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If you watched the Sun Bowl today, you are correct in wondering how Notre Dame allowed 24 points in regulation to Pitt. The most difficult part of assessing the 2008 Notre Dame football season is attempting to determine which loss was the most avoidable. Was it...

A) North Carolina

B) Pitt

C) Syracuse

d) Will Yeatman