For your viewing pleasure …

Here are your last 12 months in the NFL – Janet Jackson’s Breastgate, Nicolette Sheridan’s Towelgate and Randy Moss’ Moongate. Heck, on Super Bowl Sunday, Buddy Ryan might run out onto the field and do a belly dance.

As usual, I’ll be at home, a recluse with a remote, virtually tethered to my sofa by court order. But as a public service, I am here at the moment to provide my annual Super Bowl Sunday Viewing Guide (For Super Bowl parties of six or more):

Paul McCartney is the centerpiece of the Super Bowl 39 halftime show. This year’s theme, it appears, is “Good, Clean Family Fun.” So why not go for the gusto and bring in Up With People? Paul McCartney? Really? Frankly, I’d prefer to watch a couple of circus elephants, a trapeze artist and maybe Nicole Richie shot out of a cannon.

You probably noticed that I called the game “Super Bowl 39.” That’s right, I’m done with this Roman- numeral nonsense. I’ve been a lapdog for the NFL on this front for nearly 40 years now. No more. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” Well, guess what? We’re not in Rome; last time I looked, this was very much America. Anyway, I’m doing this so that down the road, my grandson – Couch Slouch III – won’t have to refer to Super Bowl LXXXVII.

You paid a lot for a flat-screen TV, so make sure you create an optimal flat-screen environment. Follow the lead of major airlines during feature-movie presentations and lower all shades for maximum viewing quality.

What I’m about to say doesn’t need to be said more than once. You can talk during the game but not during the commercials.

No cigars. No exceptions. If any self-absorbed, faux-cool, Dartmouth-drenched blue blood wants to light up a stogie, send him to Billy Baldwin’s bash.

Speaking of which, you control the invite list – don’t make mistakes. No chatty Fantasy Football champions, no Jets fans, no lawyers, no homeopathic healers, no guys named Skip or Jay, no televangelists, no ex-wives or mid-wives, no former Homeland Security chief nominees with mob ties and no Max Kellerman.

In case you were wondering, the game will be played at some place called ALLTEL Stadium. The NFL holding a Super Bowl in Jacksonville, Fla., makes about as much sense as the pope holding Easter Mass in Atlantic City.

People often don’t remember the game, but they always remember a good spread. At a minimum, you must have a kick-butt bowl of chili, fresh Atlantic salmon fillet, mozzarella with prosciutto, puree of portabello mushroom soup, a nice Hungarian braised pork stew, Tostitos Scoops tortilla chips, a lentil and duck salad, Hebrew National hot dogs and cocktail shrimp. And don’t skimp on the shrimp.

But I’m going to save you some money beverage-wise. Pour tap water into empty Evian water bottles and nobody will be able to tell the difference. You can also get away with pouring generic liquor into top-shelf liquor bottles, unless Boris Yeltsin is in the house.

Bud Light or Miller Lite? Please. Rolling Rock only, in ponies where available.

Here’s a hint you’ll never get from Heloise. Leave a small tip tray next to the bathroom sink and someone might just leave a tip.

If the Patriots win a third Super Bowl in four years, Bill Belichick will officially be declared a “genius.” This is a media trend of the past generation. Sometimes, guys are offensive geniuses, sometimes they’re defensive geniuses and, every once in a while – in the case of Bill Walsh and maybe Bill Belichick – a coach is a flat-out “genius.” Albert Einstein? Just another mad scientist with a bad barber.

Oh, yeah, the game itself. You probably want to know who’s going to win. Once a year, I provide the EXACT FINAL SCORE of a game beforehand. (The first time I ever did this was the 1940 NFL championship. When I nailed “Bears 73, Redskins 0,” I knew I had a special gift.) Philadelphia 26, New England 22.

Ask The Slouch

Q. My fiancé is your biggest fan. Would you be able to attend our wedding Oct. 29? I am going along with her wishes because I’ve seen you on TV and I’m sure she can’t be attracted to you. (Steve Siler; Fort Wayne, Ind.)

A. You’re pretty sure of yourself, but I should let you know – I’ve ended more marriages than I’ve started.

Q. You’re from Maryland, at least the university, anyway – why is it Johns Hopkins and not John Hopkins? (Mickey Corbin; Columbia Station, Ohio)

A. It is a statistical improbability that someone who went to the University of Maryland would know why it’s Johns Hopkins.

Q. What do you think of the trash-talking in the PBA? (Dave Weth; Normal, Ill.)

A. “Your mother wears size 11 bowling shoes!” is hardly Ray Lewis-caliber.

Q. Who makes more money, a syndicated sports columnist or any member of the Ohio State football team? (Larry Pesch; Milwaukee)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.