I always make fun of athletes who show up to games late. LeBron James did it last week.

And here I was on Super Bowl Sunday, talking on the phone to a DJ I used to work with in 1990. I glance up at the clock and saw it was 3:10 p.m. I hung up and jumped into my car with a Super Bowl cake to bring to the party I was crashing (it helps to bring food or beer when you’re crashing an event).

Super Bowl party in North Park.

^{Courtesy photo}

As I pulled out of my street, I realized how athletes like Tiger Woods and Kobe can get themselves into problems with other women.

I saw a cute Middle Eastern woman walking across the street, juggling a few bags of potato chips. I waited to pull out while she crossed. She smiled and mouthed, “Thank you.” I thought about asking her where the party was.

I then glanced at the cake next to me, which my girlfriend was nice enough to buy, even though she wasn’t going.

As I broke various laws to make it into North Park, I could hear an announcer’s voice in my head. He was doing play-by-play on the various things I did in my Chrysler.

“Now that was a risky move, Marv! Josh just cut off an SUV that’s three times the weight of his car. And he did this right in front of a cop parked in a 7-11 parking lot.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But he was stopped cold by those two red lights that saw him coming.”

As I approached my destination, one of those speed limit signs that said “35” had an electronic thing above it that said, “Your speed – 48.” I swear, George Carlin could’ve tweaked his baseball/football bit to compare football to driving.

I walked in to Bill and Veronica’s house as Rhianna was singing a song on TV. Just as I was about to whip out a joke about wanting to see a “wardrobe malfunction,” someone said “She’s perfect for football games. She can really take a hit.” With the crowd laughing, I didn’t attempt to top that.

I grabbed some chips and salsa and a Diet 7-Up (because that’s how I roll).

Bill was walking around selling squares in a betting pool for 25 cents each. I bought $2 worth, thinking between those eight squares and the $50 I bet on the Colts to win…this was going to be a profitable day.

The spread.

^{Photo by Josh Board}

There was gumbo on the stove, which everyone raved about. I was content with the spread of Mexican food they had set up in the garage (which was also equipped with TVs that had a Spanish broadcast).

One of the Latinas there came in an hour later saying, “The Saints might have better luck if more fans came to the garage to watch the game.”

It wasn’t until the brownies were set out there that everyone took her up on that.

I was standing behind a guy watching the game, and when there was a knock on the door, I thought about doing a spin move to quickly take the spot on the couch of the person who got up to get the door.

During the commercials, I noticed something weird. No, it wasn’t my stomach from all the crap I had consumed. It was so quiet. And after each commercial, the room either erupted with laughter, or, everyone commented on why it wasn’t funny. Luckily, they had a good crop of spots this year.

One woman brought three homemade pizzas which all smelled delicious (especially the dessert ones with cinnamon and nuts on top).

I felt bad when she tried unsuccessfully to get someone to try them, but then I turned her down, too.

Someone made the best tasting garlic bread ever. It was hysterical to hear him explain what was on it every time he was asked.

There was mayo, mustard, four types of cheeses, and three or four other things.

When the second commercial aired, showing people in their underwear, I asked, “If you were in this, would you tell your friends so they could watch? Or, are you at a party somewhere, and you create a diversion so nobody notices?”

At half time, jazzed by such a great game, we watched The Who.

They sang a medley of songs we’d grown tired of years earlier. I attempted a joke as Pete Towshend sang, “See me/Feel me.” I said, “He said that to kids on the Internet.” A few groaned, but a few laughed.

It wouldn’t be the last thing I said in bad taste.

Luckily, most of the crowd laughed, and I was able to leave on a high note (but $52 poorer).

(Want to invite Josh Board to crash your party? Email him at sacs6@cs.com)