The annual Super Bowl frenzy is almost here

Super Bowl. Yes, it’s that time of the year, the culmination of months of watching the fine art of implementing intricate offenses and defenses in an effort to get a large roundish object the size of a small watermelon down one end of an artificial field, so an individual player may bump hips with others, dance and throw his back out in what is called the end zone.

At least that is the official definition according to a newsletter put out by aliens overseeing the planet Earth. Seems about right.

And how quickly this came upon us. This sacred Sunday is sort of like when you were growing up and someone in the neighborhood got a new car. Everyone ran out of the house to see this vehicle with a new thing called air conditioning. No more opening those small vent windows in the back that let in a tiny breath of air.

Only now the event everyone is waiting for is held inside the house, with a television the size of an aircraft carrier and a buffet that would rival anything on a cruise ship that holds a couple thousand guests.

Anyway, I’ve listened closely to the expert football analysts on television, so I can have some sense of why men the size of large boulders end up mashing, stomping and crashing into each other over this small watermelon.

Now just take the offense in a play that involves passing the ball down the field to get to this end zone. The analyst usually has a chart, which I’m sure you’ve all seen. He uses a pointer to show how everyone is lined up on the football field. And all the players who might catch the ball have very specific assignments as to where to go on the field.

When the quarterback, that’s the guy yelling and pointing at other players, and hopefully they all look like Tom Brady; he passes the ball, and a bunch of events happen.

There are players who cross in front, players who run to the back, players who zigzag various patterns they have memorized and dart like gnats trying to avoid the windshield wiper on a car.

And of course, the quarterback has to try to fool everyone into thinking it’s a different play. All of this is meticulously diagramed. It has been studied by the players by reviewing films and memorizing scientific signals from the quarterback that start with the word, “Hut.”

Now my idea is simple. You go back to the old street pickup game. You know the one played between a Buick and a beat-up Chrysler.

That plan cuts down on a lot of time and you don’t have to write anything down on your wrist or listen to a microphone in your helmet that doesn’t work, but does pick up the local weather station.

All you have to do in the plan is have a bunch of guys run down the street and jump up and down, waving their arms and shouting, “Throw it to me, Bubba.” Simple as that. And if the ball bounces off of a car or someone’s head, hey, it’s still in play.

Sure, you are thinking, but what about the defense? Fair enough. I’ve seen the intricate analysis of this also. This is how you stop them from getting that watermelon into the end zone.

The analyst again draws a complicated map with stick figures lined up on either side of an imaginary line. Then the defensive player who is going to make sure the guy yelling, “Throw it to me,” doesn’t catch the football is highlighted.

To do this he runs what’s called a pattern, where he crosses the field, dodges other players, crosses the Santa Monica Freeway, gets on the 101, doubles back around and when it looks like he is doomed to defeat yells at the pass receiver, “Hey, look, there’s Elvis!” Naturally, the referee is going to look also, so you may have the option of just throwing the other player into the front row of the stands. At least I know some guys who could do this.

What about the rest of the game? There’s more? If the television is in the trash can when you get up in the morning, that’s all you need to know.