February 7, 2011 Super Bowl!!
Yes. I admit it. In fact, I embrace it. I watched the Super Bowl last night and loved it.
To be fair, I was knitting while I watched, and also to be fair, I chickened out and went to bed at half twelve instead of sitting it out ’till 4. But it was my first taste of a game I’d previously written off as a coward’s replacement for rugby. Suffice to say I’ve changed my mind.
My housemate Alex says that Super Bowl makes his favourite day of the year. I think his sense of excitement was infectious, he’d invited friends round too (one was American and something of an authority on the game – everyone treated him with awe) so there was a little crowd of us.
The only previous knowledge I had of the Super Bowl was from The Fourth Hand by John Irving. I love John Irving, this was a surreal book, his tenth novel, a good read. The love interest, a strange and seductive woman called Mrs Clausen, works for and absolutely adores the Green Bay Packers; the protagonist is obliged to support them as part of his efforts to win Mrs Clausen’s love.
So I accordingly supported the Packers and was gratified when I rolled out of bed at nine to hear they’d won.
Mostly I just relished the un-ironic joy of it all. The Americans don’t self-deprecatingly steep their events in faux humility. The entire spectacle was so huge, so glitzy, so unclassy, so expensive, so, so American. The whole thing was, in the words of one of Alex’s friends, completely ostentatious and gaudy. Brilliant! I loved the huge rolling mounds of flesh that made up the defence, the men who couldn’t really run anywhere but could not be budged either. I loved the ridiculously huge teams and the men who sat on the side, wimpishly glugging on oxygen. I loved Christina Aguilera’s absurd rendition of the National Anthem and the fact that all the Americans had tears running unashamedly off their chins. The ginormous stadium. The fact that tickets cost more than a week’s holiday in Turkey. All of it. Brilliant brilliant brilliant.