I've seen way too many of those horrendous NFL-designed purses dangling from the wrists of otherwise well-meaning women lately. Yes, it proves fashion for the sake of fanship has become more offensive than a wide-open tight end. It also means professional football isn't, and hasn't been for some time, a sport belonging strictly to the boys.
Still, a few sole survivors among us females never got sucked into the Sunday sit-downs. Some of us still prefer the words "fantasy" and "football" as far apart as possible. And some of us - OK, me - have no idea which team to root for in today's Super Bowl. But some of us, me again, won't let that stop us from reasoning our way to a perfectly logical pick.
Let's start with the facts, mainly because you won't see much of them in the rest of this column. We've got the Baltimore Ravens and the San Francisco 49ers. See, right there, I'm already leaning toward Baltimore. Why? That's none of your business.
But you've read this far, so I'll come clean. If you're thinking, though, that it comes down to the "pretty purple uniforms," give me a break. As I once told the boys who took way too ambitious a lead off third base, I'm not that kind of girl. Ah, sixth grade.
Anyway, everyone knows that basing a decision about the Super Bowl, Thanksgiving's first cousin, on fashion would be like picking a purse based on football. Blasphemy.
Rather, my first instinct relied on something much more legitimate: team names. Let's take a look at the glaring offender, the 49ers. Forty-nine what exactly, and how does the team 49 its opponents?
The only menacing quality this number has to offer is that it's 20 shy of a million punch lines. And, how does this team have any female fans? As women, as soon as our "number" creeps into double-digit territory, it's only prudent to divide it in half, subtract two and quickly change the subject.
So these female fans shouting it loud and proud at sports bars and wearing mesh oversized shirts emblazoned with a number symbolic of too many undisputed third-base leadoffs says only one thing: progress.
Great, now I'm leaning San Francisco. Such a beautiful, liberated city.
And how about that Colin Kaepernick quarterback? Talk about a fine underdog story right there. A fresh-faced kid from the rough life of Reno, by way of the mean streets of Milwaukee, rockin' more tattoos than a vato serving 20 to life.
There's something to be said about that, you guys. When I figure it out, you'll be the first to know.
One thing I can discuss in detail is choreography. For the first time, you know where this is going.
If Ray Lewis wants this shameless bid for a "Dancing with the Stars" invitation to go anywhere, he really needs to add a little flavor to his routines. I'm thinking a clogging bit, maybe a little Cowgirl kickline. And why have we never seen him hop in the air and click his cleats together?
These are the kind of hard-hitting questions those "sports reporters" should be asking in postgame news conferences. I know his image squeaks like a rubber duckie, it's so clean. But, if he could just loosen up a little, I'd put my pompoms all in for the Ravens.
For now, though, it will have to come down to none other than sophisticated sibling science. That's right, I've got inside information that this year's Super Bowl coaches, Jim and John Harbaugh of the 49ers and Ravens, respectively, are bros. Not the kind that follows a " 'sup," either. I'm talking legitimate brothers.
For any reasonable Super Bowl spectator that doesn't hail from San Francisco or Baltimore to make a pick on today's game, we'll need a little more intelligence.
Who pulled the most two-for-flinchin' pranks? Who sunk the most battleships? Who had the best noogie knuckles? And, last but not least, who could play his college's fight song using none other than his armpit instrument?
Once I have those answers, I'll know exactly whom to root for today.
Contact Xazmin Garza at firstname.lastname@example.org or 702-383-0477. Follow her on Twitter @startswithanx.