When it comes to football, I’ll admit I’m a walking stereotype. I’m a woman and not only do I not understand this sport, but I also will never understand the hype around it. Feminists—before you get all Gloria Steinem on me—in my defense, this is a game made for individuals with XY chromosomes. Why, you ask? (And I’m glad you did.) One reason may be that men are innately primal beings who need an intense outlet to release their aggression. So, if they can hit and tackle each other on a field, they will be less inclined to do so elsewhere (women do not engage in this behavior nearly as much as men do, hence why the National Women’s Football Association didn’t match the popularity of the NFL). A more obvious reason is the terminology used in the sport. Touchdown? Tackle? Two-minute warning? These terms sound more fitting for the bedroom, not a sports arena. And don’t get me started on “muffed punt” and “bump and run.” Grow up, NFL. You’re just a bunch of grown men playing with balls. And don’t think we’re not fooled by those plays you call before the snap. 36-24-36? You’re just screaming womens’ measurements! My God, boys, do you ever stop thinking about sex?

And it’s not like I haven’t tried to understand football. I grew up an athlete, playing basketball, volleyball and softball, so I’m not completely dense when it comes to sports. But I can’t tell you how many different times my dad, uncles and guy friends have tried to explain to me how football works. Do you know how many dates I’ve gone on where I had to act as if I was familiar with (or remotely cared about) roided-out overgrown man-children running up and down a field? Forget Jennifer Lawrence in “Silver Linings Playbook.” I should be the one getting the Academy Award for best actress.

But let’s be honest: The Super Bowl isn’t really about football. It’s never been about football and never will be about football. It’s about money, just like everything else in the good ole’ U.S.A.: The land of the corporations and home of the greedy. I may not understand football, but eating mass quantities of fried, salty and fattening food? Yes, please. Just think about how much money we spend on food on one Super Bowl Sunday alone. Eight million pounds of guacamole are consumed and 14,500 tons of chips eaten. Moreover, another 4,000 tons of popcorn and 1.25 billion chicken wings will be devoured, as well. Beer sales rise around $17.9 million throughout the weekend, which results in the sale of antacids rising 20 percent the day after the Super Bowl.

It’s not as if Americans need an excuse to pig out. We do it every other day of the year. But there’s something about the camaraderie of getting together with your best friends in a competitive setting that really brings out the Kobayashi in all of us. Plus, that seven-layer dip is to die for.

I’ve also always been a sucker for those legendary commercials. Do you remember the 1995 Super Bowl champions? Me neither. But do you remember those 1995 Budweiser frogs ribbiting, “Bud,” “Weis,” and “Er”? Classic. What about the breathtaking Budweiser Clydesdales, the Coca-Cola ad featuring Pittsburgh Steelers’ “Mean Joe” Greene, or Apple’s “1984”-themed ad? The main intention of advertisements is to get people to buy products, thus strengthening the economy. Ads are enjoyable, humorous and catchy, which define generations. The only downside to advertisements is, however, the fact that no one would stop saying, “Wassup!” for close to eight years after those damn commercials aired.

Alas, if there is something entertaining to be said about the Super Bowl, it’s the glorious halftime show. There’s been the good (2010’s The Who), the bad (last year’s Madonna/Nicki Minaj/weird slackliner Guy) and the ugly (2004’s Justin “Wardrobe Malfunction” Timberlake and Janet “Surprise! I Wear a Nipple Ring” Jackson). But this year, the fiercest diva of them all will be performing: Beyoncé Knowles Carter herself. Personally, I can’t wait to see this performance; Blue Ivy’s momma can do no wrong in my eyes. She is flawless, fabulous and will work it like the rent is due tomorrow. Remember people: this is Beyoncé’s world. We’re just living in it.

Overall, I guess the Super Bowl isn’t all bad. I still think football is a bit of a strange sport and I’ll never understand the difference between a running back and a wide receiver   (not like I even care to begin with), but it’s an excuse to self-indulge on a Sunday and if there’s one thing I do like in life, it’s me. So, with a beer in one hand and another beer in the other, this Sunday I will be bleeding red and gold. Born and raised in the Bay Area: Go Niners!