Super Bowl?!? Wait, how long have I been asleep? I can’t believe it’s that time of year. It’s the culmination of months of watching the fine art of getting a large object the size of a watermelon down to one end of a field, so that a player may bump his hips, dance and throw his back out in the end zone after scoring a touchdown.
It’s sort of like when you were growing up and someone in the neighborhood got a new car. Everyone ran out of the house to see this vehicle with something called air-conditioning. No more opening those small vent windows in the back that let in just a breath of air.
Only now the event everyone is waiting for is held inside the house, with a television the size of Russia, accompanied by a buffet that would rival anything on a cruise ship that holds a couple thousand passengers.
Unlike a fiancé, this a serious commitment made for a group of strangers who all wear the same color jersey.
Anyway, because we are in the age of social distancing, I’ve listened closely to the expert football analysts on television, so I can have some sense of why men as large as brick buildings end up mashing, stomping and crashing into each other over this watermelon thing. I do love a game, though, where there are plenty of parking spaces for ambulances.
First there is the player known as the quarterback. He passes the football downfield and then, as much as he’d like to hang around, basically runs for his life. Now the analyst uses a chart and a pointer to show how the players are lined up on the football field. And all the players who might catch the ball have very specific assignments, including where to buy the best diamond earrings. Mostly this consists of a lot of x and o symbols, which is actually the balance in his checkbook.
When the quarterback, that’s the guy yelling and pointing at other players, passes the ball, a series of events happens. There are players who cross in front, players who run to the back, players who zig-zag various patterns they have memorized and dart like gnats trying to avoid the windshield wiper on a car. All of this is meticulously diagramed. It has been studied by reviewing films and memorizing scientific signals from the quarterback that start with the word “hut.”
There may be a lot of confusion and whistleblowing on the field, with helmets being thrown and Gatorade splashing through coaches’ toupees, but it all works out in the end.
Now my idea is simple and cuts all of that out. You go back to the old street pickup game. You know, the one played in between a Buick and a beat-up Chrysler. That plan cuts down on a lot of time, and you don’t have to write anything on your wrist or listen to an earphone in your helmet that doesn’t work, but does pick up the local weather station.
All you have to do in my offensive plan is have a bunch of guys run down the field and jump up and down, waving their arms and shouting, “Throw it to me, Bubba.” Simple as that. And if it bounces off a car or someone’s head; hey, it’s still in play.
Sure, you’re thinking, but what about the defense? Fair enough. I’ve seen the intricate analysis of this also. This is how you stop them from getting that watermelon into the end zone.
It’s pretty easy. The defensive player just yells, “Look, there’s Elvis,” at the player trying to stop him. Either that or someone’s mother yells, “It’s time for dinner!”
What about the real game? If the television is in the trash can when you get up in the morning, that’s all you need to know. Stay safe and enjoy.
-
Nancy Katz has a degree in creative writing and is the author of the book, "Notes from the Beach." She has written the column Around Town for the Cape Gazette for twenty years. Her style is satirical and deals with all aspects of living in a resort area on Delmarva.
