I had every intention of watching the Super Bowl this past
Sunday but life got in the way.
Being a New York Jets fan, I have no real reason to watch
the N.F.L., but believe it is a major current event that bears witnessing to be
properly informed, not that one needs much of an excuse to sit and eat and
watch TV. Also, in keeping with a tradition I had with my mother (RIP), my
brother and I have decided to make a bet on the Super Bowl every year. My
brother is a die-hard Patriots fan, so the bet was easy to make. I bet on the
Philadelphia Eagles to win; the loser buys the other lunch.
As a New Yorker, I should despise both teams. The Patriots
are cheating panty waists. They even cheated against my Jets, which is like
cheating against people from the Special Olympics. Nonetheless, like the
arrogant Dallas Cowboys of decades past, they have become the dominating
franchise with numerous Super Bowl victories. The Philadelphia Eagles have been
the hated rivals of New York football fans for decades. There’s something about
Philadelphia fans absolute violent savagery and dedication that is endearing.
They went into the game as underdogs.
Until I went to college, I could not see the use or interest
in football. It is a slow game with rules that are not easy to comprehend (wait,
they have to kick it again already, what happened?). Sports in general failed
to arouse my interest as a kid. Why invest so much into a game when you could
be out shooting bad guys or doing karate on people. I prowled around with toy
guns, back when you were allowed to have realistic-looking toy guns, and
pretended to hunt Russians or terrorists. I would rather practice being a
bounty hunter or future warlord than try to remember a bunch of rules that made
no sense. Sports seemed a poor substitute for real adventure in the world.
In college, sports made more sense. The athletes represented
our school in the most primal, tribal way, and supporting the team was
something that could bring even the most politically fractured college campus
together.
So this Sunday came and I figured I would turn on the Super
Bowl and it would be in the background while I had a regular Sunday with the
family. The game was supposed to start at 6:30 p.m. Eastern time, and we knew
that Pink was going to be singing the national anthem.
At the appointed time, we told our children that “Pirate
Pink” would be singing on television soon. Our children know the singer as
“Pirate Pink” from her appearance as a pirate on “Sponge Bob Square Pants.” But
something went wrong. We turned in to the Super Bowl when it was supposed to
start and they were actually starting to play football? What happened to the 45
minutes of bullshit before the actual game? The coin toss, the national anthem,
the endless displays of hype and patriotism? We only have one TV in our home
and I was banking on Pink’s appearance to make the transition from “Doc McStuffins”
to football; no easy task.
As the actual Super Bowl got under way, my older children
began to cry over missing “Pirate Pink” sing on television. I was the worst Dad
ever. I made my chicken dip and enjoyed dinner with the family while watching
“The Simpsons,” which is the only TV show we allow to run during meal times
regularly.
I was glad to miss the game because I tend to jinx many
teams that I watch on television. When the New York Yankees were in the World
Series against the Atlanta Braves in 1996, I watched the first two games and
the Yankees were crushed. I quit watching entirely and the Yankees won the next
four games and reclaimed the crown as world champions once again.
Since then my not watching sports has helped my preferred
teams. This year was a year I missed more Georgia Bulldogs games on TV than in
recent memory, and they had their best year since 1980, making it all the way
to the national championship game. Go Dawgs!
It was social media that informed me that my not-watching
mojo had helped the Eagles win their first Super Bowl.
Congratulations Philadelphia. Please don’t burn your city to
the ground.
No comments:
Post a Comment