Call me a Communist; call me un-American. And, if you’re an uninformed extreme rightist Republican, you may even call me a Socialist. And why? Because I don’t watch the Super Bowl.
It’s not that I don’t like football– I once spent an afternoon in the locker room with the Ottawa Rough Riders when I was twelve– it’s just that all that running around gave me asthma as a kid. I did, actually, play football, though it was the touch version as played in the streets of Brooklyn: the sewers were the goal posts, out of bounds was anyone’s stoop, and the team mascot was Mrs. Spezzano, who heard voices and believed it when we told her that the Mokarry outside air conditioning unit was a TV camera and that she was being filmed and was going to be on Johnny Carson that night!
And I used to keep statistics on Alabama– Roll Tide!– after I became obsessed with To Kill A Mockingbird and anything related to the Cotton State.
Things change over the years, however. A few years ago Kirk and I had a gang over to watch a John Waters movie starring Divine– Female Trouble, maybe?– and the pizza guy asked us “what team you rooting for?” when he made a delivery to the house. We had no idea what he was talking about; apparently it was Super Bowl Sunday but we may as well all have been on the moon that day.
My sisters are football fanatics; Lois and her husband Mike are diehard Jets fans, but Gina I’m not sure of; I’ll have to check Facebook. I do know that Gina and Lois yell and scream and get very carried away over football. One of these days they’re going to lose their parts with all that yelling and jumping up and down! Somehow, our Mom must have gotten the family hormones mixed up, because I am going to The Black Sheep today for a huge 30-70% off SALE. I need some polished cotton thread for a project, so I am going to join the stampede of housewives.
Anyway, our TV is in the guest room, and the guest room has Matt in it, so we don’t watch TV anymore. Sometimes I’ll sneak in there and watch an old movie on the DVD player, or sometimes we’ll be invited to watch a movie with Matt. (He likes movies with explosions; we like movies with Irene Dunne, and so we try to come to some sort of middle ground.)
And that’s Super Bowl Sunday at our house. Meet me in Red Square, Ivan!