Englishman at a SuperBowl Party
By Richard Downie
I’m told that everyone watches the Super Bowl, even the President himself. So, I decided to join a bunch of Steelers fans for the evening, make inane comments, and glug cheap beer while they got increasingly tense and irritable.
Games are more fun when you back one of the teams, so having neither been to Phoenix nor to Pittsburgh, I asked myself one simple question to decide who would get the potentially decisive benefit of my armchair support: Which team had the best uniform? That immediately ruled out Arizona, with their frankly embarrassing helmet displaying a cartoon sparrow on it. I briefly wondered why they didn’t choose a more intimidating bird to sum up their fighting spirit; a buzzard or perhaps a pterodactyl. So the Steelers it is, I decided.
Having selected my team, I settled down to watch the adverts – sorry the game — and began to map out in my head what else I could have done with four hours of my life (a couple of essays, 34 games of pool, fly to Tampa and still get to the stadium in time to see the fourth quarter…). Snapped out of my daydreams by the host of the party, I was presented with a corn dog — apparently a special gift befitting my status as honorary foreigner. I was new to the concept, but it seemed to be some sort of molded, mystery meat on a stick, encased in a doughnut. I washed it down with a large bottle of something called Colt 45, which tastes like the sort of stuff problem drinkers turn to when they’ve already got through the contents of the cupboard under the sink.
My friends tried to answer my questions: “Who’s the fat guy commentating?” (John Madden), “Is eye-gouging allowed?” (No) “Why can’t anyone sing the national anthem without going all Mariah Carey and making a big deal of it?” (Leave her alone, her entire family was shot), “Where’s the bathroom?” As the first half dawdled to a close, I began to reconsider my Sunday evening options. All of a sudden the game sprang to life. A Steelers bloke intercepted the ball, barreled his way to the opposite end of the pitch, and in for a touchdown. My party friends went ballistic. Excitement is an emotion I had never associated with American sports but even I had to admit – that was quite a play.
I had heard that the commercials are usually the best bit about the Super Bowl and that some of this year’s ads would be in 3-D. I put on the cardboard specs, kindly provided by my local Safeway, but nothing seemed to work. All I got was a talking horse and a blurry shadow of MC Hammer encouraging me to trade in my gold jewelry for cash. But suddenly, 3-D vision kicked in and I was assaulted by a troupe of dancing cartoon reptiles and singing aliens. It all got a bit frightening, and Bruce Springsteen hadn’t even come on for the half time show yet. When he did, he looked like a wild-haired, deranged old uncle on crack. However, he was greeted with loud cheers by my fellow Steelers’ fans and then hoots of laughter when he attempted to slide across the stage on his knees and crashed into a camera. Clearly winded, he struggled to force out ‘Glory Days,’ helped by a man dressed as a pirate. Things went from bad to worse during the grand finale; he almost garroted himself with his guitar strap while performing a series of complex arm-flailing maneuvers. By then I was drunk, confused, and impatient for the game to get going again.
The third quarter plodded along with absolutely no sign of life from the little sparrows. But as the fourth quarter got going, they suddenly mounted a stirring comeback with two quick touchdowns. A pall of anxiety fell over the room and the black-shirted fans around me started muttering dark curses into their beers. The Steelers were going to throw it all away. I noticed, with surprise, that I was as anxious as the rest of them; chewing my nails absent-mindedly and shuffling around on my seat like a fidgety child. Then, with the clock running down, the Steelers rescued the game with – actually, you probably know the rest. Unless , of course, you’ve been in the SAIS library the whole time. (On second thought, the Steelers won).
Afterwards, my newfound friends were delirious with happiness. Someone put “We are the Champions” by Queen on the stereo, and a succession of increasingly incoherent toasts were made to their team’s status as ‘world champions.’ I considered pointing out that no other country in the world played American football (the clue is in the name), but decided it would be churlish to rain on their parade. In fact, I couldn’t help but to get swept up by the occasion. I declared lifelong allegiance to the Steelers and promised to buy one of those yellow-comfort-blanket things they all wave around at games. And I’m even considering a visit to the Steel City during Spring Break. On second thought, maybe that’s taking my newly discovered passion a little too far….
Richard Downie is an MIPP candidate focusing on African Studies.
Filed Under: February 2009
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