Like many a family, my wife, my son, and I have our annual Super Bowl traditions. Your family’s traditions may involve alcohol, catering, betting, snacking, TV commercial reviews, party invitations, and sports. Ours, not really. On Super Bowl Sunday, every restaurant in town without a TV in its dining area is deserted from 6 p.m. to at least 10 p.m. We take advantage and go seclude ourselves someplace nice. usually having the whole joint to ourselves. Last year we tried a new Asian place down the road that was entirely deserted except for the waitstaff, who just didn’t get us and didn’t seem in the mood to cook or serve to their full potential. This year we returned to Bynum’s Steakhouse, our refuge from Super Bowl XLV two years ago. Much more acceptable.

Also part of our family tradition: catching a few minutes of Puppy Bowl, Animal Planet’s idea of Big Game counterprogramming. If you’re not entertained by the sight of muscular millionaires pounding on each other for a few seconds at a time in between montages of really expensive TV commercials, then perhaps you might prefer the sight of animals frolicking in a fuzzy play area while an unseen announcer and a referee impersonator provide fake context saturated with horrible puns and nearly as much product placement as the real Big Game.

However, one dissenting member of our household is not a Puppy Bowl fan:

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