When you all walk down the dusty halls of this thing called “life” do you cradle the seed of a great deity in your arms?
The football is not a ball, you can’t bounce it or throw it normally. Nor is it something that you really ever touch with your foot. The seed-like oblong if perfectly fitted to slip into your arms or slice through the air like the razor-tipped blades on the wings of an archangel.
And yet when I touch this “foot-ball”, as they say, I don’t feel like a god.
I don’t have the power to instantly make thousands scream and millions more groan.
I’m just some normal schlub, less than normal really, just some loser with a dream, and a football in my hands might as well be a trash can, a watermelon, a ball-ed up sweater or the decapitated head of Anne Boleyn.
And this is why, in theory, the football game means so much. It’s really our one earthly chance each week to maybe, for a brief moment, experience the divine.
To watch great men do great man things in a world where you can no longer conqueror nations, no longer formulate philosophy of the new, and no longer explore the frontier.
Our rulers are corrupt, our idols are fake, we toil away at jobs that were no different yesterday then they will be tomorrow, religions are hollow, the environment is toxic, and we are no doubt one alien invasion away from all becoming pets.
But we still have football. Though the team owners may scheme to twist events for their greedy needs, the front office perpetuates it’s power-hungry version of the truth, and the feminisation of our global culture seeks to turn the sport into one big game of tag, for the moment we can still believe in the men that go out there and run around that field trying to just get that ball, and thus giving us all that cathartic release of epic accomplishment that so escapes us in the monotony of life.
That’s why it’s so goddamn disappointing when these motherfuckers go to the Super Bowl and play one of the worst piece of shit games of all time!
After the conclusion of a generally compelling and exhilarating NFL season, the two week build to the championship game between the two conference winners, the Denver Broncos and Carolina Panthers, was one filled with cliches, boredom and dread.
The media tried to spin a triumphant redemption story out of the supposed last game of journeyman quarterback Peyton Manning, when in reality the Broncos fell backwards down the stairs of the season, with their superior defence dragging Peyton along to the Super Bowl like this was a remake of Weekend at Bernie’s!
With the worst statistical season of any quarterback to make it to the Super Bowl, no one should have been buying that there was some final, epic performance coming… and there wasn’t.
The media also desperately tried to mine controversy in the dancing of Panther’s quarterback Cam Newton, implying vaguely that he was arrogant or racist or something, while of course, choosing to ignore the very real accusations that the whole team berated a potentially closeted opponent with the f-word throughout an entire game earlier this season. Nah, that’s not news, but let’s imply that the dancing black guy somehow doesn’t know his place compared to his composed and commercial-friendly redneck opponent Manning… great work Twitter, thanks for destroying the credibility of all news sources forever!
Still, there’s nothing better than seeing a guy who over-celebrated in the face of the other team when he got a first down in a regular season game, sulk like a teenager when he lost the championship game.
But yeah… the game was super lame. The Broncos did what most feared: their defence went right out there and shut the Panthers down, destroying all fun in the process. We got to watch creaky Peyton slog his way through some half-assed throws that generally might have gone faster if he’s tried to roll the ball on the grass.
In the end it was really only worth watching to see if the league would have the gall to give Manning the MVP of the game award, since they’ve pretty much been rimming this guy’s asshole since the day he got drafted. They didn’t though, but instead almost went one better by giving the award to Von Miller. Cool, let’s celebrate this guy, who was suspended for 6 games after admitting to trying to tamper with his urine test to hide what we can only assume is a positive PED test result. So Miller is basically on record as having unnatural ability and physique, leading him to miraculously play better than everyone else in the biggest game of the year… and the crowd cheers!
Oh, but let’s not forget that fans once again found a way to shit on Tom Brady at the game. During a ceremony to honour the all past MVPs, one of the most celebrated players in the history of the NFL and from 6 incredibly exciting Super Bowl games, was boo-ed by the live audience because we can only assume the campaign of lies of corruption at the highest levels in the NFL and ESPN that painted him as a cheater that since has been disproven by basic middle school science. Classy.
But, ah well… there were at least all those cool commercials. Ugh. When most of the people on earth are tuning it to sit through a game in order to get to see some commercials, then you know something is seriously fucked up around here.
We were robbed of our rightful, annual purge. Instead we got a bunch of sappy retirement pablum fork fed to us, a wimpy challenge from a chorus line offence to a strong drugged-out defence, and Coldplay!
Fine then. You wanna give me that horrible game, then I’ll give you this!
Despite what I said before, football is not everything. That’s right, there are other things I can watch. Like, uhm, sports fishing! How about that? It’s gotta be cool right? Or maybe jai alai? No one would dare fix those games like they do pro-tennis these days, right? I heard there’s this really hot team is rolling through town next week called the Harlem Globetrotters, apparently they’re blowing out their opponents! There are other ways to get my fix of the pure glory of game, so don’t feel so safe NFL.
Good… we cool then? Alright, now I want all you players to get into shape, start studying up and be ready for the fall. We’re all counting on you, so let’s just agree that you’re gonna try to do better next time.
While you’re doing that I’ll be over here binge-watching episodes of Pretty Little Liars and gorging myself sick on the new Taco Bell Quesalupa until then. But don’t be fooled by my particularly unique good life, I’m still gonna be real angry if you fucking guys don’t kick ass next year!