So what are you anticipating about Super Bowl Sunday?

Eating loads of chips and dip, drinking gallons of b- — pop, watching the commercials, ogling the scantily clad women in the halftime show, not caring about the second half because it’s not even a game anymore?

Now, ask the same question about the the World Series.

Answers range from the magic of the game to the beauty of the stadiums to the drama of extra innings. Fall Classic parties include debates about the rules of the game, comparison of batting and earned run averages and criticism of the umpires … Okay, so maybe one thing is the same.

Why do people get so worked up about an orgy of food, drink and violence and a game that rarely holds any excitement past the opening kickoff?

There is Americana in baseball. Old men lament the passing of the tradition that was the one-division American and National Leagues. Fathers recall the times of World Series games played during the day, when they listened in school on their transistor radios. Boys stuck in calculus reminisce about the home run they hit in high school ball.

And on the gridiron? It’s your big, fat guys against the bigger fatter guys. Rule manipulations such as “in the grasp” and instant replay, both (thankfully) no longer around, mar the true game. John Madden blathers about “butt sweat” and scrawls aimlessly on his telestrator.

Yes, there are faults in baseball, too. Player strikes, realignment, interleague play, the designated hitter — they are reasons to be disillusioned with America’s pastime.

But the truth is, a nation with no attention span has forgotten the most patient game on earth.

But it will always draw them back. Even the most hardened heart will melt as a mother, who has come to the U.S. just for the game, watches her son win in the World Series. A father who has abandoned baseball like a jilted lover will kneel at its feet when his team makes the playoffs.

“Take me out to the ballgame,” and forget the Super Bowl.