Today … two things that constantly embarrass me: (1) The amount of time I spend watching football. Hundreds of hours a year. It’s absurd-to-obscene. That and (2) Talking or listening to people talk about football. As in grown adults having serious, supposedly meaningful discussions of … football.

This cranky geezer line of thinking cycled back into my head last evening when I clicked over to ESPN and was gobsmacked by an aerial shot of nearly 300,000 people mashed together outdoors in downtown Detroit (not Coachella) to watch … the NFL draft. Not an NFL game, mind you. Just the Commissioner of the NFL on a stage a half mile in the distance announcing draft picks and greeting college-age players — in street clothes and, um, sun glasses mostly — who flew in to be part of what has become like everything else about the NFL, a wildly-hyped TV extravaganza.

Allow me to repeat: 300,000 people … to watch a TV show.

Again, I like football. I enjoy watching football. Some of these players are freaks of nature in terms of what they can do throwing and catching a ball. But that, for me, a sour curmudgeon with a bad rotator cuff, is pretty much the end of it. In terms of time spent on football.

Judging by close ups of various fans in their NFL-sanctioned official team jerseys, hats, face paint and other assorted costuming, my guess is there were plenty of people who spent time and money (in this inflation-crippled economy, TM any Republican) to drive/fly to Detroit to you know, “support” their team.

If someone asks me on a Monday morning what I thought of Sunday’s big game, (and they’re all “big” dontchaknow), I’ve got the patience for 30 seconds of deep thoughts. After that … I’m embarrassed to be seen talking about something so otherwise irrelevant to my life experience, or meaning, or value … or whatever.

So you can imagine the answer is, “No. I never listen to sports talk radio.” Grown men (mostly) nattering on for hour after hour, day after day, month after month about … the NFL draft. I’m embarrassed for them. It’s a great paying gig for the hosts … because football has been marketed up to the status of a religion in this country, (soccer may be even worse outside the US). 300,000 show up in person in Detroit and millions more (mostly men) listen devotedly every day across the country. There’s a lot of pickups, beer and Cialis to be sold to a crowd that big and single-minded.

People argue that this kind of secular religious mania is a good thing. In a world where half the country thinks the other half is nuts and/or dangerous, watching and talking football is considered therapeutic. It’s a binding agent. Or so “they” say.

Maybe. And maybe I really should calm the f*ck down and get with the program. You know, buy a pair of Helga braids, paint my face and garage door purple and gold, pay $75 to tailgate in 10 degree weather and join in that creepy Nuremberg-rally “Skol!” clap before each Vikings game. But I’m too embarrassed.

Maybe it’s because I’m constantly aware of how little people, (men mostly), seem to know or care or care to talk about things that … to me … seem a lot more important and valuable in terms of life experiences.

Like? Well, like art, politics, the mysterious functioning of the human brain, dark matter, automobile maintenance, dog grooming or just about anything else that hasn’t been marketed to us, like hormone-infused feed to dull-witted sheep.

Having said that, I told pals last winter watching the NCAA championship game that that kid McCarthy would look good in a Vikings uniform, and …lo!

How long until the Super Bowl?