"American Hustle" Kills SuperDud XLVIII

So on Sunday afternoon I went to see American Hustle, which should win the Best Fun Picture category at the Oscars, and after which my wife wryly noted, “I don’t think we saw Amy Adams breasts enough.” (See the film, you’ll get the joke, and learn more about Amy Adams anatomy.) But speaking of that darling star of Junebug and Enchanted, she’s nothing less than a knockout in Am Hustle. She steals the show in the first half of the film, then Christian Bale and Bradley Cooper get their due in the second half. Other than Nebraska, it’s the best film I’ve seen in a while. And that’s a long list, by God! I just watched 247 F on Netflix. Three college kids sweating to death, locked in a sauna. What’s not to like?
Then I came home and turned on Superbowl XLVIII@$%!, and it was like that moment in About Schmidt, when Schmidt comes on to the woman in the RV, and she says, “You’re a sad, sad man.” Only this was . . . just sad. All the hoopla, all the buildup, the Legion of Boom, and . . . fizzle. Of course if you were a Seahawks fan it was great fun. I was half-heartedly rooting for Denver (Go Broncos?), so I wasn’t too thrilled that they were never even in the game.
Is there a moral to the story? Like the Frankenstein monster, I can chant, “Film, good. Football, bad?” My students repeatedly said the commercials were better than the game. Now that’s just sad.