Time for the Super Bowl but let’s not forget the moms who battle in the ‘Grocery Bowl’ every week

I’m really looking forward to the Super Bowl. Not because it’s a time-honored titanic struggle — a clash between two superior teams of finely honed athletes risking life and limb to achieve the zenith of athletic perfection. And not because my husband will lose consciousness for the better part of the afternoon, allowing me to do an end-run to Nordstrom without him knowing.

I look forward to the Super Bowl for only one reason: to hear how the play-by-play and color commentators will describe this superlative event. The awe, the reverence, the comparison to mythological epic battles, the individual sacrifices and personal demons afflicting each and every player, adding to the drama of whether they will, in fact, be able to actually recognize their teammates, let alone the ball.

All this for a group of highly paid guys who get together once a week for a few hours and throw around the under-inflated bloated remains of a pig.

I’d like to see a little respect and enthusiasm for the group of us moms who go out once a week, every week, 52 weeks a year, to play a little game called “grocery shopping.” For us, the Super Bowl begins at 5 p.m. the day before Thanksgiving.

“Hi, this is Al Michaels, along with John Madden here at the Grocery Bowl, where it all comes down to this one night. After 52 weeks, this is where it all counts. The team is pumped up, fired up and they came tonight to win.”

“Al, it’s been a tough year for the Franklin family. The team has been relying on Mrs. Franklin to quarterback, and with her pressing job schedule and the kids’ homework, she’s pretty tired.

“Her wide receiver, Mr. Franklin, will be coming off the injured list for his first game in over a month. It’s doubtful whether he’ll remember the shopping list. The Franklins will be playing short tonight because the rest of her team consists of rookie kids with limited attention spans who get stuck in the candy aisle playing with their smartphones.”

“And, John, this won’t be an easy game. Even though the Franklins have the home-field advantage, the stores have changed their starting formation so everything will be difficult to find and in limited supply. What else do you see, John?”

“Al, Mrs. Franklin will be coming off her nightly commute, so she’ll have to focus early and she’ll be playing injured tonight as well.”

“Yes, it’s those dang high heels of hers. She’ll be playing with calf cramps that will kill her patience level.”

Of course, after the pregame Oprah segment, a few commercials for diet soft drinks and post-holiday clearance sales, we would get the incredible play-by-play that will exhort us all to new levels of frenzy.

“OK, Al, Mr. and Mrs. Franklin have come out of the huddle, and they’re going right for the screen option! Mr. Franklin’s heading toward the bakery aisle for pumpkin pie and Mrs. Franklin’s going right to the dairy section.”

“Oh, that’s going to cost them, John. Mr. Franklin has to take a number. They may not have any pie left. What should they go for here, John?”

“I’d go with an option play, then, BOOM, right up the middle …”

“It looks like Mrs. Franklin’s looking for her tight end …”

“I think she lost that shortly after she turned 40, Al.”

“She’s going for the quarterback sneak! She’s bypassing dairy and heading right up the middle toward fresh turkeys! I haven’t seen a run like this since Mrs. Franklin’s midnight scramble for children’s Tylenol last flu season.”

“Oh, another bad move! She’s sacked! All the 14-pound birds are at the bottom of the pile.”

“I think they have to go with a pass here, John.”

“And that’s exactly what they’re doing! Here comes Mr. Franklin with the long ‘hail Mary.’ It’s the last package of herb stuffing! Right into the basket! Right in the numbers!”

“That’s an important score for the Franklins. They got thrown for a loss on the pumpkin pie earlier and had to settle for the frozen apple and nondairy whipped cream. I hope they’ll go for some short yardage in the produce section.”

“John, Mrs. Franklin is down! Looks like a monstrous leg cramp!”

“You know, Al, we hate to see this kind of thing happen. It’s just so tough on an athlete to be doing so well, and then get sidelined by an injury.”

“We’re nearing the end of the game, John, what would you call?”

“I’m not sure they’ve got a choice …”

“They’re headed for checkout lane 8!”

“Doesn’t look clear, Al. There’s a man guarding a full shopping cart; his wife must be running back with more items. They’re not going to make it. Wait … it’s a bootleg! They’ve faked and gone to check stand 5! It’s brilliant! They’re in the clear! They’ve won!”

Of course, there’d be spiking the yams and the post-game interviews in the parking lot as we load the groceries. But I imagine the viewers would have already headed for the refrigerator.