Missing the Super Bowl

I have never "gotten" football.

No matter how hard I've tried, the magic of the game has yet to tickle me just so.  Me.  The ragingly competitive, overly invested, and fastidious score keeper in almost any and every walk of life, has never bothered much over the sport.  I'd watch hokey, cheer on a soccer game, perch at the edge of my seat and enjoy a basketball game, I'd go to a baseball game, watch curling with great interest.  Shoot, I'd rather watch a marathon on the weird sports channel we get for free at my house, before I'd watch a football game.

I had a roommate once, in college, that was utterly appalled at my lack of football enthusiasm.  She would dress me up like in pep rally paraphernalia, adorn me with scarves and team colored hats.  She would point out rules and jump excitedly around with each play.  But, do you know what I remember most about those football games she forced me, under duress, to attend? I remember how stinking long the game was, and how stinking cold it was outside.

And, you have to stand. Like the whole time.

(I'm really earning my keep as "whiner-shiner" here, make no mistake.)

Anyways.  Today was the most holy of holy days to football lovers: The Super Bowl.

I realize that for many Americans, Sundays are a sacred day for watching Bowls (note: I was curious about the etymology of the word "bowl" to describe a football match, and was surprised to find it so remarkably mundane... but, here you have it, (per the internet): "The Yale Bowl started the name. It was a bowl-shaped stadium. The bowl games started with the Rose Bowl named after the stadium." Go figure.)

I can count the number of times I have had to widdle away a perfectly good Sunday with football, and I'll promise you that none of them were by choice.

I'll admit, however, that football gatherings do have some saving graces.  Those being: people, food, and beer.  Of course, all of those things exist perfectly well on there own, and need not suffer under the dictatorship of football to be enjoyed.

So, as you can imagine, it has been mildly entertaining the past few days, as people I know have offhandedly asked my "super bowl plans."  To each football enthusiast I have mournful explained that I HAVE to work.  Note the stress on the "have."

The askers eyes grow wide and they slump dejectedly, as if they had just realized that a poor soul might not be able to enjoy their most sacred day.  Its as if my inability to fully enjoy this American past time offends and depresses them greatly.  I can see in their eyes that they want to reach out to me, comfort me in some way for my loss.

And, on the inside, I smile, because this is the best excuse I've had in a while to miss a game.