The cacophony, hype and commercialization of Super Bowl is a no mean task to achieve by all the players, and I do not mean just the ones on the field. It involves the most clueless to the most ardent fans of the game. Some of us are just there for the food and conversation, while some are there for the ads. And yes, the previous group could also belong to this one. A handful are actually watching, understanding and following the losses and gains.
When I first came to the country, the American football was deemed some cousin of the Indian football or rugby versions. Since I didn’t watch those with any passion, it was not required to immerse myself in the game, until the Super Bowl came around. It was as if I had been watching the world of football through a keyhole eavesdropping into the occupants of a room. Once you enter the room, it was a cult!
People were planning parties, weddings, wedding proposals, even funerals to coincide with this Very Important Date, and to commemorate their great love for the game with their other love.
Any self respecting fan was mandated to wear his/her team logo on some article of clothing, and if that were not possible, on person. Thus my first introduction to “face painting”! Even babies were not spared, although I have to wonder if they maintained their team affiliations once they were old enough to decide!
The media, as they do for any little thing, duly hyped the event whereby it assumed a life of its own, and engulfed even the innocent bystanders. You couldn’t walk into a store, a restaurant, a mall, or even a friend’s house, without something proclaiming your attention for the upcoming game. Giant, Mylar balloons, cake decorations, entire shops dedicated to team paraphernalia or a shrine to their revered player in a private home.
By now, my curiosity getting the better of me, and against my better judgment, I decided it was about time to do one of the many truly American things to do. So I subjected myself to watching the game. I was all set to follow the ball, and separated the players of the opposition by their team colors.
No sooner had the kick off begun, the ball disappeared under mounds of human flesh decked in some forbidding-looking gear, making it impossible to determine which team had the winning hand. The ball resurfaced as the human pile disintegrated and moved with remarkable speed and ferocity across the field, only to have “take two” of the moments after kickoff.
This series of events repeated several times, until the ball was somewhere deemed the 10 yards line. Now it really started to heat up, with the armchair players screaming into their TV sets in the earnest belief that their favored player would actually respond to their suggestions.
The field players seemed to be charging at members of the opposing team without much regard for the ball. The game reached its merciful end with one of the teams being declared the winner. It was quite obvious which one, just by watching the colors that stood out in the stadium crowd.
By now, the clueless had congregated in the dining room, with the ad watchers sheepishly joining in, and the die hards waiting to be served in their armchairs as they continued to debate the good versus the bad plays…loudly! So it repeats every year, as I go to Super Bowl parties, unashamedly to socialize, with no pretense of watching the game, and have converted to the ad watching group.
That, by itself, takes the same attention to detail as that required for watching the game, as, it is often hard to tell what the ad is about.
You would think they would get to the point to get the most out of the $3 million spent on a 30 second ad during the game, but they keep you guessing, and often the post game discussion involves the merits and demerits of certain ads, as much as those of the game.
Then, there is the Half Time Show, which, is as important as the game itself; made even more popular, not by the quality of performers necessarily, but by the faux pas of the past. The term “wardrobe malfunction” having been coined after one such episode involving Janet Jackson.
Archana Asthana
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