And no, it's not about Marshawn Lynch talking to the media about why he won't talk to the media.
(I've finally figured out who Beast Mode is, by the way. He's Duane Thomas. Remember? The iconoclastic Cowboys running back wouldn't talk, either, but ran all over the Miami Dolphins in Super Bowl VI. He also issued the single greatest quote in the history of the Big Roman Numeral: "If it's the ultimate game, why are they playing it again next year?")
Anyway ... today's Super Bowl moment is about what you can do if you haven't bought your tickets yet.
Sell your house.
Because right now, the dwindling supply of tickets is going for right around $9,200 a pop. This is considerably higher than the already-absurd $500-$1500 face value, but, of course, face value is only theoretical when it comes to Super Bowl tickets. Scalpers, er, ticket brokers, drive the market for these sorts of events, and the market is up there in why-yes-we-do-summer-in-the-Hamptons territory. Your typical NFL crowd generally skews toward rich elitists -- tickets for a regular season game run into the hundreds even for the lousiest teams in the league -- but the Super Bowl is the province of the one-percenters. Working class stiffs need not apply.
Which is ironic, of course, because it's the working class stiffs -- the beer-and-wings line worker who ritually dons his Aaron Rodgers jersey every Sunday -- who made the NFL the monolith it's become. Now, on the biggest day of the NFL year, they've all but been priced out of a market they themselves created.
Makes you want to hop in the Wayback Machine and journey back to 1967, when the Packers played the Chiefs in Super Bowl I and the average guy still had access to it.
Tickets, after all, were only $12.