Left Cold In America: The Super Bowl

What should have been a celebration of America's most popular team sport, a unique combination of rugby, soccer (Euro-football), and warfare (think of the ball as a bomb to be detonated inside enemy headquarters, for points), turned instead into an obese, bloated display of American––and English––idols at last night's Super Bowl. The National Football League (NFL) is a wonderful franchise, bringing a fantastic product to American fans during the regular season from coast-to-coast, only to ruin that product at its premiere, season-ending event.

Please, I am not a killjoy, nor am I a sore loser. Congratulations to the Pittsburgh Steelers (helped, as they were, by that Third Team, the Officiating Stealers, in the worst officiated game in history). Nor am I a prude, all shrivelled and malcontent, finger-wagging at the young people having a good time. I will just wag my finger at the Rolling Stones, who surely have proven the falsity of the old adage: Rolling Stones do gather moss, lots of moss. Paint it black, indeed, mascara black. Mick Jagger thinks he still can't get no satisfaction? What about us? Mick might find what he's been looking for by simply leaving the stage--for good. And surely all would agree that no one proves more definitively that Rock-and-Roll is for young people than do Mick and Keith. After all, Rock-and-Roll at one point in its history was about rebellion. It still is: it's about rebelling against the Rolling Stones. What, pray tell, are the Stones rebelling against, good taste? (One wonders what edited lyric the Stones might draft that declares "Shut me up! You'd make an old man go..."?)

But if Wild Horses still can't drag Mick away, Clydesdales sure dragged the Stones out of the "best in show" spotlight. There were no great commercials, but the one stand-out commercial that represented the best in values was the heartwarming, sweet, Budweiser tribute to pride, family, youth, dreams--and passing things on to the NEXT generation--as a young horse is given a little help from those who preceded him.

Violence off the field and on the commercial spots was indeed thematic, though I confess, I was breathless with laughter one time, because it caught me off guard: "My cell phone ... has a crime deterrent feature." Sorry. But that ad was too surprising, and too simple, not to compliment with a laugh for its cartoonish look at male one-upsmanship. It was clear that the restrained competition that preceded the men's entry into that clubhouse locker room had finally reached breaking point. I just didn't expect the point to break quite like that.

It really was a Stupor Bowl though, perhaps even a Torpor Bowl. It suggests so much that is true of many though certainly not all Americans. We are not all consumed by lust for babes, beer or brutishness. We are not all dulled to inanity by consumption; dulled to be idolaters of our own successes. We do not bow to the (rather funny) "Magic Fridge." Most of us hate college frats or frat-boy humor. The Torpor Bowl would have outsiders think America's sports holiday is mere permission to display our staggering emptiness.

As a sporting event, this Super Bowl, and many of its predecessors, was empty. It is as if middle America runs the NFL perfectly well until the playoffs, and then Madison Avenue takes over the party and it all becomes a gratuitous pomp-fest on a Hamptons' summer evening. Unlike Jesus' miracle at Cana, where the best wine comes out last, the Super Bowl is the dessert that makes one wish for appetizers.

What America's Bowl Game needs is an injection of youth; of innocence. The 60's rebels and (former ?) potheads now in charge need to look beyond their own self-interests and reject Super Bowls that celebrate English bad-boy rock in the heart of Motown. American culture is not so anemic that it requires U2 (2002), Paul McCartney (2005) or the Stones to make a missions trip to the United States' big game. I'd give anything to see a half-time show displaying that true American phenomenon, the college football marching band; for there is really nothing cooler, or uniquely American, than a great half-time repertoire given by the best marching bands. Rock-and-roll is not connected to the heart of football as are these wonderful bands. Bring the crème de la crème--the very best marching bands--to the Super Bowl, and give us something intrinsically American. But as it is, Madison Avenue will soon have David Beckham entertaining us during an American football half-time break.

It is hard these days to find things that make me proud to be an American. Clearly my pride is rooted in things not portrayed in most of the media. I am disappointed that the Super Bowl is a thing that makes me ashamed. After all, it is supposed to be a game. What should I expect?

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.