CAROLINE'S CORNER: SUPER BORING SUPER BOWL

Sports enthusiasts would like to think that the whole world is poised in anticipation of Super Bowl XXIX and that each person from Tuskegee to Timbuktu will have his eyes glued to the tube. Here is one American who does not look forward to Super Bowl Sunday and who has no interest in who is invited, who quarterbacks, or who wins.

Sometimes I worry because I can't get into the spirit of celebration on this day that is as sacred as foreign aid, Mama and apple pie to most Americans. This year I fear that FBI agents may come to Missouri and take away my citizenship because I am not politically correct and where in the world are my football values?

I did watch some of one Super Bowl game. I was there, in the flesh, in person at Super Bowl XXII in 1988 in San Diego. Washington and Denver were playing (However, Washington did most of the playing).

In order to enjoy a spectator sports event, I have to choose a team that I want to win. Upon my arrival at Jack Murphy Stadium, my choice had not yet been made. Since I had no favorite team and no interest in the game, I considered selling my ticket for $500 and taking a cab to the beach. After I heard that the police had arrested 28 scalpers, selling my ticket was not an option. With my luck, I would have been calling my attorney and singing, "Well, here I am - in the San Diego jail. Ain't got no one to pay my bail. So here I'll stay 'cause I can't pay. Just send my mail to the San Diego jail."

Into the first quarter, I continued my quest for a team to support. Upon reading the program, I found more players who had played for southern universities on the Denver roster, so I decided to get into the game and yell for the Broncos. My choice was solidified by a score of 10 to 0 in favor of Denver at the end of the first quarter.

Now that I had a team and that team was winning, I could buy a team sweatshirt. Because I was bored, I went into the concession area to begin my search for the perfect shirt. The first problem was that all the Denver shirts were orange, which is not my best color. After I determined that I would not be able to find a purple or blue Denver shirt, I bought my shirt -- orange with "Super Bowl XXII, Denver Broncos" printed all across the front. Included in the exorbitant price was a picture of a wild horse.

While I was buying my unsightly shirt, I heard more noise than usual coming from the stadium. "Hmmm," I thought. "I will be even prouder of my orange shirt now. The Broncos are putting more points on the scoreboard."

Much to my chagrin, when I reentered the stadium to watch the half-time show, Washington was ahead by 25 points. At the end of the game, the score was Washington 42, Denver 10.

At this time, I tucked my ugly orange shirt, still in its bag, under my arm and left the stadium in disgust. At that point I could have bought three Denver shirts for what I paid for one at the end of the first quarter.

My memories of Super Bowl XXII are that I spent the first quarter trying to choose a team, and I spent the second quarter buying an unattractive loser's sweatshirt. Since I was sitting in the press section, during the third quarter I looked for famous people and found none. During the fourth quarter I longed for a good book to read or a comfortable place to take a nap.

No one invited me to Super Bowl XXIX this year. On Sunday afternoon I will put on my ugly orange sweatshirt and vacuum and dust while the eyes of the world are glued on a 100 yard field in Miami, the ears of the world are listening to play-by-play analyses and a few party poopers are vacuuming and dusting.

You won't find me washing clothes at half-time. I realize that no matter what the final score may be or who the winning team is, the success or failure of the event is determined by the magnitude of the half-time flush.