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Monday, February 6, 2012

XLVI SUPERBOWL SUNDAY

XLVI sack


The Superbowl of the year happened last night. Went down the mountain to Chad's house in Pine Swamp for a Superbowl party of three, Justin too. "Wings" fresh out of the oven, pizza squares fresh out of the oven, beer fresh out of the refrigerator, big flat-screen tv high on the wall in a corner of the sitting room, Chad's recliner under it. Justin and I sat on the couch in the second row. I'd only been to Chad's once. I've known his grandparents and his mother and a couple handsful of his kin. First met Chad when he was 6. He's one of the best natured people you can be around. Easy to get along with, no rooster games, works in a factory, drives a Tbird, good hunter. He's not somebody to drain your energy when around him. He's just who he is, no major issue, no problem, doesn't need to be up front, unless racing. Chad seems to me to have the nature of a happy kid, though I know his childhood wasn't particularly joyous. When he was 15, he had to tell his mother's abusive second husband that if he hits her ever again, Chad will beat him to death with his bare hands. Evidently, he was convincing. Chad is good people. 



Justin I've known since he was 3. His next birthday he'll be 30. Justin had such an upbringing I was afraid he might spend his adult life in prison for patricide, and it almost happened, more than once, came so close Justin shudders now when he thinks about how close it was. Three of us there with patriarchal issues watching a bunch of men kick the shit out of each other on tv, exclamations popped up from us like, Did you see that! He snatched that ball out of the air! How did he do that! We watched the commercials and laughed at how funny they were. My favorite was for a little Chevy, I forget the name, showing a stunt driver flip the car sideways and it land on its wheels. They bungee jumped the car with stunt driver in it. There was a commercial of the Restaurant at the Edge of the Universe visited by Darth Vader. I forget what it was about. The funniest one was a dog named WeGo that ran to get beer on the command, "Here WeGo." Dog trotting back and forth getting beer all the time. Cute, funny looking dog, a very well trained dog. The old art of teaching dogs to do tricks is not dead. I've an idea that in every litter of puppies born in USA over the next few weeks, one (at least) in the litter will be named WeGo, this year's big dog name. And some of them will be trained to fetch beer.



Superbowl Sunday has become something of a holiday in itself, like Thanksgiving and Christmas where the men watch football and the women hang in the kitchen. About a half mile before Chad's house I passed a small house with 6 pickups parked in the yard. The house didn't look big enough to hold 6 guys and a refrigerator, but it must have done it. The game this time was one of the best any of us had seen. It was a tug-of-war between two equal teams. The team that won just happened to be the one that won. Something of a flip of the coin. None of us in the room was really pulling for either of the teams. I asked Justin which he was pulling for. He said, neither one, but the projections he heard said the Giants might get it. Neither Justin nor Chad had any emotional interest in either of these teams. I think Justin's team is the Redskins, and his wife Crystal's team is Baltimore. Neither of those teams was playing, so Justin didn't care who won. I don't know Chad's team, but it wasn't playing either. I don't have any team. At the beginning of a game I automatically pick a team to pull for, for reasons unconscious, though I don't care which one comes out on top. 



An example of how I would pick a team to pull for at the beginning of a game: If U of Indiana were playing U of Utah, and I know nothing about either team, nothing at all. I see U of Indiana in a sea of corn, corn to the horizon all the way around. I see U of Utah in a world of beautiful snow-capped mountains, desert light, and I find myself pulling for Utah. The Giants and Patriots. I know nothing about either team except one is from Boston and one New York. That's it. If I had to pick between NY and Boston as a place to go to, I'd pick New York. So I go with the Giants. I don't like the word Patriot, because it's used by scoundrels, plus the atrocity of Patriot's Point at Charleston, SC, and the even greater atrocity of the Patriot Act. My only association with the Giants is Joe Namath from when he was a big star in the 60s. The word giants has only the association for me of big people, like to the birds outside, I'm the giant that lives in the house. Patriot has too many ill associations for me to pull for a team named Patriots. It's not a big deal, like I care about it; it's just the subconscious sequence of associations devoid of logic and reason. Something like a rorschach image, I see two tennis players on the tv, never heard either of their names before. It won't be but half a minute or less that I've picked the one to be my favorite. Like Martina Navratilova. I picked her for her name. Venus Williams I picked for her name. It would be for "reasons" that had nothing to do with either player's ability as a tennis player, only associations that say something about me, like I prefer mountains to infinite cornfields. That's all.



Madonna's half time entertainment was a major multi-million dollar spectacle. Performers always appear so small in the half-time shows, that despite Madonna's attempt to counter that effect and appear larger than life, she still came across small most of the time. The production covered the whole football field, making her stage so big it dwarfed her. Nonetheless, she did it right. She let the world know, all the way around the globe, that Madonna rules. She's in excellent athletic shape, keeping up with the dancers, even leading them, in command. A time in the music when she was feeling it, the flow was with her, the big smile on her face was hers to herself. She was having a happy moment, wanting with all her might to reach that place she needed to for an unforgettable Superbowl halftime show, and she caught it, like the Giant #88 jumped in the air and caught a bullet pass with fingertips--How'd he do that!! I loved how she came onto the scene as Cleopatra, her boat pulled by Roman legions, Cleo on her way to Tony. Madonna is a performer who can do choreographed dance with first rate dancers. At one point, she had 6 black guys dressed in white doing hip-hop acrobatic street dance all around her, Madonna hopping around in stiletto heels so high she was almost dancing ballet, all in black with her Nordic-Italian locks flowing around her shoulders. The Madonna I knew would be there was there, the woman in charge. She put on a show.



Justin's wife, Crystal, stayed home for quality time with her baby, Vada. She's not a woman jealous of Superbowl Sunday with her husband. She respects it as the guy's day out of the year. She likes a day out, herself. And Justin doesn't come in the house kicking a hole in the door, knocking her around and cussing her calling a whore, so drunk she has to calm him down and put him to bed, the best she can. She likes the same kind of thrills that Justin likes. She likes it when he drives really fast. She has a bit of dare devil in her. First time I met her after she married Justin, I said, "You're a brave girl." Turns out she is, indeed, a brave girl. It's not that it was brave of her to marry Justin, which I initially meant, but she has the same kind of bravery about her that Justin has about him. She was happy to have a Sunday evening at home with Vada to play with her baby doll and have some fun together before Monday morning when Crystal is off to work again.


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