We're not sure what much more we can say about the Super Bowl on Sunday, which is funny, because we haven't said much throughout the week either. More proof that the Super Bowl sucks the life out of anything fun in football: The Patriots have a chance to pull off the biggest story in the NFL in 25 years, and we honestly have a difficult finding anybody around Phoenix talking about the game. In fact, they're mostly just talking about how no one's talking about the game.

We really should have shut the TV off right after Tynes' field goal. Oh well: Let's trudge through two more days.

Because, yes, the Gin Blossoms were there. And he liked them!

In a rather surprising development, the Gin Blossoms provided entertainment for the evening. In 1994, this would've been a coup for the Host Committee. Last night, it was just sad. Don't get me wrong, I'm still a sucker for "Hey Jealousy" and "Till I Hear it From You," but you could tell that the four members of the band were beaten men. Lead singer Robin Wilson opened the set with a rousing "Hello Super Bowl 42 press corps, welcome to Arizona!" It was one of those moments where you didn't want to make eye contact with anyone for at least four or five minutes.

After a few songs, Wilson ordered a vodka and Red Bull from the stage. He then asked if his band members could have a few shots of Jack Daniels. The fact that he asked if the drinks were free makes me wonder about the band's finances. I never saw these men at their peak, but I'm thinking they probably didn't order drinks from the stage.

God, that sounds awful. To think we could have watched that with Paul Zimmerman. We would have told him that this is truly what the kids are listening to. That, and "the Music Factory."

We Found The Gin Blossoms [Hashmarks]

The Fox Sports Grill is a rather depressing place on a Tuesday night, and it was just us and five other people, drinking and being quiet. Over in the corner were two moderately attractive women in, we'd guess, their early-30s. Two guys we didn't recognize but were clearly in town for the Super Bowl, walked up to the bartender.

"Hey, you know any bars around here where a couple guys could find some ladies to talk to?" one said.

The bartender did his best to suppress a frown. We were at a suburban sports bar; half the people in the restaurant were families.

"Dunno, man, it's not really getting hopping until tomorrow," he said.

The two men looked around and saw the ladies up front. "You think we could sit next to them? Or at least across from them? Make some eye contact?"

"Knock yourself out," the bartender said. He then turned to us. "Hey, might as well ruin those girls' nights too."

A couple middle aged locals sat at the bar and asked the bartender, "So, is that ESPN out there? Mike and Mike?" The bartender said yeah, "we're total celebrities this week."

"Mike and Mike, man," one local said. "Just down the road from my house. Super Bowl's crazy, man. It's crazy."

That is to say: Media Day is a waste of time for everyone, and that doesn't just mean the players and the media. Even the dope gimmick folks, the lady who wanted to marry Brady, or "The Tonight Show"'s Kelly Pickler (an actual collaboration which tells you all you need to know about both Pickler and "The Tonight Show"), or the mock astrologists (as if there were any other kind), seemed generally bored with their schtick. Everyone felt like they were going through the motions; it's Media Day ... we have to do something CRAZY!

Everyone kept telling us beforehand that it was a "circus," but that's an insult that would cause P.T. Barnum to turn over in his grave. A circus at least attempts to entertain. Media Day is 40 different press conferences going on at once, with neither the subject nor the interviewer even pretending to stifle their yawns, while an occasional Spanish language reporter shimmies by in something slinky while reports make a mental note to hit the Blue Moon strip club tonight. The whole thing was empty, stale air ... and that was the best part. The schtick was the comedic equivalent of 30 separate Jay Leno monologues; it was like watching a public access reality show, punctuated by a vague, "Hey, isn't that Trent Dilfer?" smidgen of recognition.

We were so discouraged that we couldn't even make it through the whole thing. Sorry: Trust us, empty space is more entertaining that what we'd have for you here had we stayed.

Stadium looks great, though.