Thursday, January 31, 2008

Goodwin's Fuckmissle


Over the past two weeks I have entered a quiet sector of my personality. This new world of peace and sulking has been a welcome change from normal "balls deep" initiatives and a sense of quiet has been both pervasive and comforting. Even still, I have probably had thousands of conversations in the past two weeks, with at least a quarter of them dedicated to the spectacle of the Super Bowl.

I hate having the same conversation twice. Upon hearing the words "you already told me that" I feel a deep sense of shame. I never want to speak to that person again. I have bored them. I no longer matter.

I feel this same way about the Super Bowl. I long to see Eli conquer his demons, Moss to go all Owens, and Boom Boom to Boom Boom, but at this juncture I plum don't give a fuck. I have rearranged my schedule to watch the big game but I know as soon as I sit down in front of the screen that my thoughts will go elsewhere. Instead of concentrating on the game I love, I will focus on the pizza I'll be cooking and the electric bill that has yet to be paid.

Such is the nature of expectancy. Build something up enough and it's bound to be a disappointment. You can't look forward to/plan/ or anticipate greatness. You won't be living out life, rather straining to fulfill preexisting expectations. I would rather get high and watch Koyaansisawadssaiquatsi on a whim than plan a skydiving trip. When you have no idea what the fuck you'll be doing, you tend to soak in the moment a little bit more. I want to marinate in the juices of the unknown, but that might just be because I love marinating. Chicken, beef, you name it, marinating improves everything.

When I was younger, my world lacked the full array of tangents that currently fill it. The Super Bowl was even bigger, fueled by the God-like presence of God-like Kurt Warner. I wanted to see the game more than anything, I longer to sit down with my Dad and just let the game hit me hard, where it hurts. That was the problem. With two weeks before the game, my nerves frazzled, and I began to jitterbug. I would misbehave in school, trying in vain to rid myself of gridiron demons. I would fuck around at home. I would be disrespectful to my dear, sweet mother. The scope of these transgressions were all encompassing and then I would be threatened with the punishment of...

... NOT BEING ALLOWED TO WATCH THE SUPER BOWL

For three years running I was banned from watching the game for separate reasons and incidents. My entire family would gather in the den while I strained to watch the game in the reflections. This worked well enough but the occasional reaction would blow the lid off my cover. They would find me, scold me, and put the blinds down.

The old days of analog technology gave me a backup plan. I would tape the game and cover the VCR display screen so my parents wouldn't find out. I would avoid the game, my parents, and wait until 3am in a land of feeble distractions before creeping downstairs into our unheated deb. We lived in Michigan and since the den was built as an add on to the house it had no heat. To warm the room, one had to utilize a cacophony of space heaters and other heat conjuring devices. Because of the noise and risk of getting caught I couldn't turn on the heater. I'd sit in the cold, bundled in my best winter gear, and watch the game while fast forwarding through commercials (because coming down with a cold would give me away.)

After staying up so late, I was useless the next day. Middle school friends would chatter away about the heroics, halftime shows, and commercials but I would be too tired to contribute.

I won't be punished this year. I'll be able to watch the game and wallow in the fact that it's a fucking disappointment. The Super Bowl lacks the lessons, imagination, and fun trivialities of the average sporting spectacle. It isn't happening organically. The drama is not of the football ilk, but out of sheer magnitude. The Super Bowl isn't what I love, even though i appreciate it's role as the apex of the American sporting calender. During a close 4th quarter a thought will pass through my head that I am already ashamed of.

"I wish I was studying right now."

At least an episode of House is on after the game.

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