Does it get any better than this?

Your friends cook you a four-course gourmet meal and ply you with super-strength margaritas. Then you get to watch the most exciting Super Bowl you can remember. You throw in a few switches back and forth to the Puppy Bowl. Bliss.

Of course, there is that part of the evening where a fight breaks out over whether being tortured in a POW camp entitles you to a pass on using a racial slur to describe your captors.

And there is still the chance that, overwhelmed with grief on behalf of his beloved Tom Brady, John will kill me in my sleep.