Jack Links Super Bowl

Had the chance to rub unpadded-yet-still-sizable shoulders with NFL-ers (and PS: Sasquatch) on Saturday. We felt small. They’re big fellas.

Ah, but we were among friends. Freakishly strong, jerky-eating friends – as it was the VVIP (yep, two Verys) Super Bowl hospitality space we designed for Jack Link’s. We gave it a classed-up man cave vibe with ornately framed oil portraits of Sasquatch gazing regally into the distance like the king of the forest he is, and a Lombardi trophy made of bark. Dubbed the Jack Link’s Legend Lounge, it was like the northwoods. Only more legendary. And loungier.

Guests kicked back, sipping Smoky Apple Pie Moonshine, arm-wrestling the man-beast Sasquatch, and intentionally non-gawking (ok, a little bit gawking) at Snoop Dogg, NFL stars and other A-listers (we saw you, selfie-sneaker). But – to combine two of the few non-English phrases we know into one FrenGerman thought – the pièce de résistance? Hammerschlagen. No really. When was the last time you swung a hammer at a party? (Exxxxxactly.)

A few guests may have misconstrued Sasquatch grunts for trash talk, but it all got patched up in the end. Nothing tasty jerky snacks couldn’t fix. There may have been hugging – a tender moment only slightly upstaged the next day by a certain Dirty Dancing running leap/lift.

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