I just love this day. The culmination of another great football season, the smack talk, the non-stop TV and radio coverage, and of course the corresponding parties. I even love the non-football specific but Superbowl related stuff, especially the ads. (I’d like to think that’s the marketer in me, but who doesn’t love the commercials?) As usual, my Cincinnati Bengals didn’t make it in this year. Though we’ve had a good streak in getting to the playoffs, we can’t seem to get a win. But it’s been a few weeks and I’m over it now. My #2 team, the NY Giants, who have generally been more reliable, have had a few disappointing seasons in a row as well, so won’t be seeing them today either. But it doesn’t matter. It’s the SUPER BOWL!
This year, though, it’s going to be a little different experience, unfortunately. As I type this right now, I’m on my way to L.A. for work meeting. Yes, they’ll be a viewing party at the hotel for us, so I’ll go and watch the game with my work colleagues, but I’m sure I won’t have quite the same level of fun. I’ll be the most sad not to watch it with my boys, both of whom have gotten even more into the sport this year and who I’ve really enjoyed spending game time with if for no other reason just to watch their reactions throughout the games. I’m going to try not to focus on missing them, and instead on the the game itself, which should be a good. One of the two teams that I loathe the most is playing – the New England Patriots. UGH I hate them. It’s tough to say if I hate them or the Dallas Cowboys more, but regardless, it is not a team I enjoy seeing get this glory. The only time I’m likely to opt out of viewing a Super Bowl would be if it were a New England v Dallas match up. Luckily, that’s not happening today, and I’ll instead to rooting for the Seahawks, a team that much like my Bengals don’t have a lot of local fans and had struggled for years before becoming worthy of being a Super Bowl contender, let alone who, by the end of tonight, could be winning this game two years in row. Go Hawks! May you rip those cocky, lying, cheating, smarmy Patriots apart. I’ll enjoy every second of it.
As I sit her in anticipation of the game, and frankly, with a few hours to kill as I fly 30,000 feet of the continental US, I’m reflecting on what it is that makes me love this sport so much. I've tried many times to figure this out, to pinpoint one thing. It's not like I know the players well, other than some of the big names. I'm far from a master of the nuances of the game, and I’m really bad at the history and statistics of it all. Also, it’s not like I've ever been particularly athletic myself. It's only been in the past 7 or 8 years that I've even made regular exercise part of my life. There are a few other sports, though, that I do enjoy and to a degree, can get into. Baseball and hockey, in particular, I tend to peripherally follow, especially if there’s a big rivalry or season impacting game. But football has always been a sport that I've just loved, LOVED to watch, and something about the sport that just makes me happy. Sundays in the fall are sacred, and I’m so very content to just sit in front of the TV and flip channels between the games. The advent of the RedZone channel on cable is, in my humble opinion, the best thing to happen to football fans since the addition of the extra games added to the regular season. Ok, they happened around the same time, but still, RedZone rules. This sport is fun, it’s unpredictable, it’s dangerous, it’s competitive, and for me, it’s nostalgic. So if I have to pinpoint one reason why I love it so much, I think it’s this sentimentality that drives it. It’s roots are deep, and they grow with every season. In fact, as I reflect back now, there are memories and even specific moments that are so intrinsically tied to this sport for me, that it would be impossible not to recognize how much relevance football has in my life, and probably always will.
As a child…
One of my favorite childhood memories is spending lazy Sunday afternoons in the fall watching football with my father. Well, back then, I don't know if it's fair to say I was watching the game very intently, but the time spent bonding with my Dad left an indelible mark somewhere in my brain. We'd be in the family room - in all its brown shag rug and wood paneled wall glory - just watching whatever game was on. He’d usually make popcorn, served in the same scratched up wooden bowl week after week. If there was a chill in the air, then there was a fire burning in the fireplace. I can still see my dad crunching newspaper into tights wads and prepping the wood stack just so, a Duraflame log in the center to get it going. Sunday dinner was often timed around halftime of the 4PM game, and if mom made Cincinnati chili, it was an even more perfect afternoon. Back then, the 4pm game on CBS was it for the day, so whether it ended on time or not, 60 Minutes always followed. I still feel the need to watch that show after the game, and frankly, the newer addition of a Sunday night game to the season has messed with that desire a bit. But I suppose that’s why God invented remote controls.
As a teen…
Though my father may have stared my football love, it was only the beginning. In high school nothing beat going to a home game. I can still remember the anticipation of it all as I walked down the long path to get to the stadium behind my school. The smell of lukewarm hot chocolate and hot dogs wrapped in foil from the snack stand greeting me on my journey. Finding my friends among the crowd in the stand, far from the parents section. Handfuls of green and yellow confetti ready to be tossed. The smell of the crisp fall air. In my junior year, I was the school mascot – the Golden Eagle. It was a job I coveted since I was a freshman, maybe even before, not just so I had an excuse to be goofy and get the crowd worked up in a a frenzy of school spirit (though that was fun too), but more because I wanted so badly to be part of the football day experience, to go to the away games that my parents wouldn’t drive me to, and to feel like I had my own special stake in the game. I knew I wasn’t cheerleading material – not in body or in coordination – but I so envied them and the role they played. That year I got my chance. Was I the best mascot? Not by a long shot. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy and embrace the opportunity, but the fact was….I just wanted to watch the darn game, and I had misjudged how little game viewing I could do while trying to be the entertainment. And thus, my mascot career was short lived, but my love of the game – even stronger than ever.
As a young adult…
In my family, football and baseball had always been embraced, but early in my independent adult life I realized not everyone felt the same way. "ACT FEMININE!" Yep, those words were actually said to me. Yelled at me, actually. It was mid-football season, a Bengals vs. Steelers game, and my friend and I on opposing sides of the game had once again gotten together to spend the afternoon watching the match-up. It was a mutual friend, and my roommate at the time, who was not at all into the game or the sport, and apparently just couldn’t take any longer hearing our smack talk and seeing us geared up in our jesery’s, hats, and whatever other swag we’d adorned that day. I don’t remember if the FUCK YOU was just in my head or if it actually did come out of my mouth, but not coincidentally, it was shortly after this that I chose to leave our apartment and move across the country. Unfortunately, though, it opened my eyes to a whole new world. A world that didn’t love this game. Honest to God, I remember being confused by this realization, and I considered that maybe I needed to keep my spirit in check, at least around those I knew we’re not appreciative of the sport. But then, I thought, “Nah, fuck that. I love my sport too much.” Can I get a WHO DEY????
As a grown-up….
Eight years ago, when my twins were too young to stay up for the whole game, we left a friend’s annual Super Bowl party at halftime to put the boys to bed. As I was tucking them in, giving them their nightly kisses and love, I felt like my grandmother, who has been put in hospice just hours before, was there with me, watching me put them to bed. It was an eerie yet peaceful feeling that frankly I’d never felt before or since, and I knew what it meant. A phone call a few minutes later confirmed that she had passed away. It was the only time I didn’t watch the end of the Super Bowl. A football fan herself, she probably wouldn’t have wanted that to have been the case, but I just couldn’t. While her passing could have put a permanent negative tone on this day for me, it hasn’t. If anything, it pleasantly reminds me of her, how wonderful she was, and how much enjoyed watching a game herself, rooting for her “Cincinnat-a” Bengals. Something about her passing on that day, during the crescendo of a sport season she enjoyed, now seems like it was fitting to coincide with her beautiful soul ending its journey, at least here on earth. So maybe she was pretty clever choosing Super Bowl Sunday after all.
Personally, I hope to go the day after the game, hopefully dying from an overload of dips and pizza and generally too hard of partying for a 90-something year old who is celebrating a Bengals win of the big one. Maybe it’ll even be a Giants v Bengals Bowl! OH MY GOD can you imagine???? Super Bowl XC. It could totally happen. Yes it could. Yes it could, yes it could, yes it could. Ah, shut up and go watch the game, will ya?
And GO SEAHAWKS!
Blogfully Yours,
Julie
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