Two great tastes that taste great together, proclaimed the commercial that provided the soundtrack for so many Saturday morning cartoon marathons and promoted so many cavities.

The advertisers clearly weren’t talking about Super Saturday in Maine high school football lore. Only the buildup to Axl Rose’s “Chinese Democracy” (he may use the band name if he wants, but it’s a solo project, doggone it) has been more time-consuming and is more likely to disappoint.We spend a year, or at least three solid months, chatting up the contenders and following the muddy trail to the pristine FieldTurf of Fitzpatrick Stadium. All too often, the end result is a cacophony of foul-ups, bleeps, blunders and bloopers for one team and a groundswell of points in the other direction.

My esteemed colleague, Randy Whitehouse, aside from his failure to foresee Skowhegan and John Bapst’s victories last week, nailed it in the small print. The regional finals tend to be our best chance at seeing a finish we won’t forget until we die.

Just look at the raw numbers.

Class A – The West is 19-2 since the current state finals format went into effect in 1987, winning by an average of 15 points. A midweek Nor’easter necessitated the three-for-one, single-site format for the first time in 2002. Portland pounded Edward Little, 41-6, beginning a run of six finals in which the West has won five, four of them by three touchdowns or more. The disparity is gruesome.

Class B – Only eight times in the 21-year history of the three-class system has the intermediate final been settled by eight points or less. Scarborough’s 14-12 victory over Belfast in 2002 was the only contest in the Super Saturday era decided by less than a TD. And there have been some legendary blowouts, most notably Winslow’s 55-0 rout of Wells in 1993. The Warriors invoked a little-known section of the rulebook and made a statement by kicking to Winslow after the Black Raiders punched in a token TD at the end of that one.

Class C – Basically, the secret to a classic state final is to involve Lisbon and Foxcroft. The Greyhounds used a goal-line stand and a 96-yard drive in the last four minutes to win 19-14 in 1997. Another late stop inside the 5 made Lisbon a 12-7 winner in ’05. Two years earlier, the Ponies got in their licks with a 25-20 victory. Otherwise, more than half the 21 modern finals have been separated by more than a touchdown and a two-point conversion at game’s end. Some of my friends in the coaching and columnist fraternities use these disparities as evidence of the need for a return to four classes. Sorry, but I only see that as a valid argument in Class A, where all the geographic indicators show the South/West getting richer and the North/East hearing Ross Perot’s “giant sucking sound” of jobs, families and students. Bangor (2001) and Lawrence (2006) took advantage of perfect storms, when every contender in Western A seemed to showcase a sideline of sophomores and juniors after massive graduation losses.

The geographic differences are less daunting in ‘B’ and ‘C.’ Oh, no doubt Eastern B is thrice as deep as the West right now, but if you think that’s more than a temporary speed bump, you’re delusional. And once the traditional soccer communities with toddler football programs have a growth spurt and pour more of their finances into the gridiron turf, there’ll be no stopping them.

Not to mention that Western monolith Mountain Valley, steeped in traditional and mill town toughness, is the exception that proves the rule right now. Ask Morse what I mean while it’s recovering on Sunday.

Campbell Conference and Little Ten Conference loyalists can argue until they’re Winthrop green with envy and John Bapst purple in the face. Bottom line: Without any cross-over games to weigh, there’s no easy indicator when trying to settle which league is deeper right now.

All I know is that it isn’t easy to teach speed, and the Ramblers have more of it in their 5-3 defense than most Class C teams do in their offensive backfield and secondary.

It all adds up to an overwhelming belief that we will witness three Western Maine routs on Saturday. And a purely selfish, deep desire to be wrong, at least when it comes to the final margin.

Now somebody pass me a peanut butter cup. Darn the power of advertising.