Now that I’ve had time to digest Super Bowl Sunday I think it’s given me heartburn in so many ways.

We’ll just forget that I picked wrong. I should have known better. I never really bought into the 49ers all season and now I wonder why I even picked them.

Instead of belaboring it all now I’ll just present you with the worst to best of the Super Bowl starting from the worst moments to the best. Footnote — I missed some of the commercials and the Ray Lewis link has some bleeped out bad language.

The halftime show: Beyonce is beautiful, sultry and all that, but the lip-synching nonsense in the Super Bowl has to quit.

The blackout was New Orleans at its finest and put a huge damper on the momentum of the game. Baltimore let it get in their heads and nearly blew the game because of it. Second footnote — All you ever need to know about New Orleans can be found in John Kennedy Toole’s classic novel A Confederacy of Dunces.

Ray Lewis, Ray Lewis, Ray Lewis and more Ray Lewis. The egotistical Ravens linebacker was hardly a factor in this game. Ray Lewis and the Ravens did not win the Super Bowl — the Ravens won it.

The Dodge ad: Pandering in the name of God to sell a few trucks by making farmers think they’re communists or atheists if they don’t buy Dodge.

The game itself: The only reason it was close, I believe, is because of the blackout. San Francisco was destined to lose this one huge.

Anquan Boldin: Six receptions for 104 yards and a touchdown, plus some key catches, should have put him in the running for MVP. I’ll take Joe Flacco as MVP because he’s a decent guy. I’m a little surprised Ray Lewis didn’t get it just because the media loves him for some mysterious reason.

You have to love all the Budweiser Clydesdale ads.

Leon Sandcastle: The NFL Network’s agency scored huge points with the Deion Sanders ad.

The Mercedes ad featuring Willem Dafoe as the devil. Yep, in my opinion it was that good.

The Sandy Hook children singing America the Beautiful with Jennifer Hudson. There‘s still a lump in my throat from it — Lance Martin