Known to others as the “supabah” and the “Stupid Bowl,” today is the Super Bowl. The years that I am lucky enough to have my birthday fall on Super Bowl Sunday, we normallly seek out a party and crash it, doubling the festivities so that not only do we not have to worry about cleaning the house and buying pizza (presumably the party-haver has done all that), but we don’t have to worry about feeling completely useless as Americans because we ignored the arguably largest TV-viewing, snack-food-eating, rabble rousing holiday of the year. That is, in crashing the party so people can wish me a happy birthday, we also secondarily fulfill our duty as Americans in observing this most revered day.
B is a bit more of a football fan that I am, though that is not saying much. Since we’ve moved to NY, he’s developed a soft side (see, I cannot even write about football?? who uses the phrase “soft side” to describe anything about football?) for the Buffalo Bills. Where we’re from (VA), the closest thing we had to a home team was that one team from DC…their name alludes me now…ah, the Redskins (had to look it up! I’m football illiterate!). So if the Bills are playing on Monday nights, we’ll put the game on and little J will watch intently, waiting to witness the tackles and pile-ups (the more people involved, the better). He’ll point and stand up and shout, “Did you SEE DAT??!!”
At any rate, this year my birthday was too early to do legitimate party-crashing. But I am strangely eager to behold the spectacle. I think it’s partially because I want to see if Prince is going to flash some of his nearly-50-year-old nipple during halftime.
Just kidding. Really, it’s because of the Bears (Da Bears!). I was 10 years old the year the Super Bowl Shuffle came out–my best friend’s family never missed a game. When I was at her house, the Bears were on, and it seemed like they always won. She had a life-sized poster of “the Fridge” (Perry) on the back of her bedroom door, and people talked about the Sweetness, I was savvy.
Of course, the reason my best friend’s family loved the Bears is that when I was 10 I lived in Waukegan, IL, and *everyone* was a Bears fan–even my own family, who normally preferred baseball to football (I still dream of Harry Caray’s voice every-so-often).
Hm. Where’m I going with this? I guess this post serves as an apology. An apology to my subversive friends who would rather I exhibit some anti-consumerist solidarity and ignore the media frenzy this evening. An apology to genuine sports fans who might think my foray back into Bears fandom is unearned and nostalgic…I could be accused of that whole “fair weather friend” thing.
So, I’m hoping my quick history and my self-effacing apology will allow me to say just one more thing: