I had my most interesting Super Bowl experience today.
Let me preface with I don’t follow football. Everything I’ve learned about football, I’ve learned from Denzel Washington in Remember the Titans or Coach Eric Taylor in Friday Night Lights (that show made me care about football #Riggins). Like most people who don’t follow the NFL, I watch the Super Bowl for the food and the company (and maybe the half-time show). It’s all about the wings and guac in my mind.
So I take a step back on the Super Bowl and just watch the craziness happen. I was mostly surrounded by Seahawks fans, not because they had a love for Seattle, but because they had a profound hatred of the Patriots. (Apparently, New York and Boston hate one another. Who knew.) So as the plays were going and the Seahawks made some spectacular catches (that fabulous hot potato moment at the end, anyone?), I found myself pondering the effects of sports on interpersonal relationships.
People, who are usually extremely calm and tranquil, turn violent:
“I want to see Tom Brady cry. I want someone to break his legs.”
“That’s right. Stay on the ground you mother-fucker.”
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”
Those who were once friends were now mortal enemies:
“Your team sucks. They are the devil. I hate them. And I hate you.”
Trivial comments now became professions of faith:
“I can’t believe you just said that. Now I know I can’t count on you when the going gets rough. Go outside, turn around three times, and spit.”
In between all these comments, I’ve learned that the day of the Super Bowl is the day that domestic violence calls reach their highest—a fact heightened by the commercial with the real-life recording of a woman calling a 9-1-1 operator, pretending to order a pizza, but really saying that her husband has just beat her.
Amidst this repartee, I commented, “I’m so glad we have such a positive atmosphere and that we’re all supporting each other despite our differences.” Those who’ve read my previous posts know I keep a “why can’t we be friends” attitude when it comes to sports, for the most part.
But then something amazing happened. Towards the end of the game, the next door neighbor of my friend, whose apartment I was visiting to watch the game, knocked on the door and asked to join. Apparently, his TV went out during the last minute. He brought along a girl with him, who was a major Seahawks fan. I knew this because she basically barged into the apartment on her phone, giving a play-by-play to whoever was on the other end. Before I knew it, she was sitting next to me on the floor and commenting on how we both were wearing fuzzy socks—to her, a sign that we’ve bonded.
The Seahawks fumbled and this girl lost her shit. She threw her phone across the room, jumped up and down and shouted, “Those mother-fuckers!” several times before sitting down next to me again. She actually kind of collapsed onto the floor, banging her head on the coffee table in the process. Seattle still had a chance to make it if they really tried. The tension was high. She asked to hold my hand, and before I knew it, she was squeezing it really hard. They were at 3rd down (I honestly don’t know if this is right. I don’t really get the whole down thing.) She dropped my hand and held my foot.
“Can I hold your foot? It’s just more work to hold your hand. I’m gonna give it a massage. Do you want a foot massage?”
Sure, whatever you need to do to calm yourself down.
While simultaneously watching the screen, “Does that feel nice?”
I have no idea who you are and why you want to massage both my feet, but hey free massage!
The game ended. She cussed. She offered us all a cigarette, asked to take some of our beer, then invited us to an after party at her apartment down the hall. Then she left, and I asked my friends if they knew her, and they said, “No!”
I just let a complete stranger give me a foot massage and hold my hand. Casual.
I will say this about the Super Bowl. It does bring people together in the strangest ways. By the way, my new fuzzy-sock buddy gave me a pretty nice foot massage. I’ll file this under one of the strangest sports experiences I’ve ever had.
Whatever. I’ll stick with Quidditch. Ireland’s got the best team, but Bulgaria’s got Krum.
thelongwayaroundmylife 