I love football. I mean, I really love football. I played the sport (badly), I coached the sport (reasonably well), and I am a depressingly committed football stats nerd. The NFL is the highest expression of this most American pass-time and, as such, has my undying (customer) loyalty. Or so it believes. The Super Bowl will be played this Sunday (On NBC, please don’t sue me NFL), and I will watch all of the game and most of the commercials. But this year, I watch in protest of an institution that has, in the time-honored phrase, grown too big for its britches.
For some time now, the small-minded folks in charge of the NFL have built a marketing machine on the shoulders of their very much larger-minded predecessors. The league and its owners are convinced that the NFL is a great irreplaceable and immortal colossus, immune to competing forms of entertainment, and thoroughly entrenched in America’s psyche. The result is a hype machine that has blackballed customers, blackmailed taxpayers, and made a joke out of the on-field product.




