I’m excited. I have been invited to a Super Bowl Party. So I called a friend (male) to get some basic information. He lives several states from here. I didn’t want to call somebody local and display my ignorance.
“That’s nice,” he said. “But why are you going? You don’t watch football. You don’t even have a television.”
“I haven’t been out of the house since it began snowing,” I said.
“I was just heading out the door to stock up on beer and chips for my own party,” he said. “Be prepared. The game will last at least four hours. Sure you can do this?”
“It’s not like I’ve never been to a Super Bowl Party before.” I thought about it a moment. It was back in the mid-'80s. “The last time I went to one I got married.”
That shocked him into silence. “Not at the party,” I explained. “Do you think he’d give up football for a wedding? It’s where I met him. We went together for a year before we got married.”
My friend on the phone wanted to know what teams had played that year.
“Why would I remember that? That’s guy stuff. I want to know who’s playing this year. The Green Bay Packers? Yes, I know who they are. I spent two weeks in Wisconsin in the autumn, football season, 1973. I loved it. People there are all about the Packers. Who is the other team? Oh, Pittsburgh. Steelers, huh? So what are the colors of the uniforms?
“Green and gold for the Packers. I remember that. Black and gold for the Steelers. That should be easy enough for me to keep straight.”
He went on to inform me that this was the forty-fifth Super Bowl, pretentiously spelled X-L-V, for those who flunked Latin. Oh, yeah, I remember that, I told him, rolling my eyes. He offered to look up Super Bowl trivia so I could dazzle everybody at my party. I declined, sensing the imminent danger in displaying too much information when I don’t know a goal post from a putting green.
“Hey, if you want to show up in person, you can still get tickets,” my firend said. “I looked on-line. The cheaper seats are going for a mere $1,985 today. If you want to sit down front on the fifty-yard line, they are a bargain at only $23,729.” Again, I declined.
“I’m still not sure why you are going to a football party.”
“It’s about being with friends, talking and laughing, eating and drinking, isn’t it? I think I’ll make soft pretzels and hot mustard to take along.”
“Who are you rooting for?” he said.
“Green Bay, of course. I’ve never been to Pittsburgh.”
(Sondra Ashton graduated from Harlem High in 1963 and left for good. She finds, after returning, things now look a bit different. Join her in a discussion of her column at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com.)