I will start by sharing a short story. A real tearjerker.

Last year I watched Super Bowl LVI home and all alone. Well, with a cat, Boots. My only real rooting interest was financial, and I was poorer after the game than before it. I did not hit any of many blocks in multiple pools.

I do not remember a single commercial, and while I know the halftime show was considered epic, I would add failure to the end of that description. The food I ate, I prepared.

Even Boots was bummed as his Bengals lost, 23-20. He believes the fix was in, noting, convincingly I must say, that there is no way a Bengal does not feast on a Ram.

For years I had watched the Super Bowl at buddy Richard’s house, where as many as 30 to 40 friends would gather and we would eat too much, drink too much and shout too much — gluttony always being the theme of the day. But Richard moved to the beach and did so without any consideration as to how those 30 to 40 friends would spend their super bowls. As far as I know he did so without consulting the rest of us.

I do not want you to think I had no good options last year. I was invited to a couple of Super Bowl parties but chose not to go. That eliminated the need for a ride home.

Before the emails start flooding in with invitations for Sunday’s Super Bowl LVII, I again have options, and will probably spend the day with friends in Chapel Hill, which is of course heavenly. The first half might be in a pub in Pittsboro, with halftime used to make a 20-mile trek to Chapel Hill.

Sorry Rhianna. Now if it were Stevie Nicks performing Rhiannon, I would stick.

This will make my 55th straight Super Bowl, with the first one being Super Bowl III on Jan. 12, 1969; it was called the AFL-NFL World Championship Game in 1967 and 1968 but that marketing genius got fired.

So technically I have never missed a Super Bowl. 1969 was the year the New York Jets, led by a guy in a mink coat named Joe “Willie” Namath, entered as a 19.5-point underdog and left with a 16-7 win over the Baltimore Colts.

The next year my Minnesota Vikings, 13.5 favorites, would lose 23-7 to Kansas City, the first of four Super Bowl losses for that franchise during what was otherwise a glorious decade, the 1970s. There are parts of the 70s I don’t remember well or at all, but as luck has it, those four Super Bowl losses remain vivid. My Vikings, with losses to KC, Miami, Pittsburgh and Oakland, were outscored 95-34 in those games, scoring in single digits in three of them.

Although a man’s testosterone levels decline with age, my interest in the Super Bowl has remained rigid even as the event has devolved from a football game into a spectacle. I might not enjoy the halftime shows as much as I once did – my favorites, in this order, being Bruce Springsteen, Prince and Paul McCartney – as the artists seem intended for a younger albeit less hip generation.

The commercials either are not as clever as they once were, or my brain is not as keen as it once was. Could be both.

I still do all the manly things in advance and during the Super Bowl, and I like Kansas City plus 1.5 points. A fraction of my retirement depends on it.

If anyone knows Chris Stapleton, please ask him to hold that last note of the national anthem so the performance will exceed 2 minutes, 5 seconds, the over-under set by Vegas on its duration. A fraction of my retirement depends on it.

When a person gets as old as I am, the mind and mortality mix more frequently, so there have been some health-conscious concessions when in sitting position for the Super Bowl. I no longer eat as many chicken wings, sausage balls and crackers stacked with cheese during the Super Bowl, and my alcohol consumption is down a tad. And when I say a tad, I mean a little less than a tad.

As much as I look forward to the Super Bowl, I recognize that it will be the last football game I see for half the year, which puts us into August. There is a chance I might catch a glimpse of a USFL game while channel surfing, but you get my drift.

Sunday night’s mood will shift quickly to melancholy once the game ends, but if the Chiefs cover the spread and Stapleton gets long-winded that will be welcome consolation.

Either way, I will not be alone.