Super Bowl Traditions Remembered

Every year at this time, members of our family would inevitably be doing one thing. If you wanted to locate us, just look for the house with three of four cars in the drive and a television set blaring loudly. We would be watching the Super Bowl.

American football bowl time. This year the Super Bowl is forty four years old. I’ve not seen all of those games myself but was old enough to remember the very first one being played and I do remember watching quite a few. There are many “Bowl” games these days but the Super Bowl is the one that all players and coaches aspire to reaching, information for those of you who don’t live on earth. In Europe, and in fact most of the world, they have soccer “Cups”. It’s none of my business but I can’t help but wonder why a huge cup? Far too large to drink from. A Bowl can be used for many things, putting your winnings in for instance (sorry Europe, South america, Asia, uh... the whole world, I'll make up for this later).

I’m sitting here watching alone today; the other male members of my family live far away or have simply passed on. The tradition for my immediate family is mine alone to carry forward, at least until grandsons arrive. Don’t get me wrong, girls can be part of the tradition as well, in fact within my extended family the women are a very important part of Super Bowl day.

The gathering of the clan for the day was like a family reunion, but different, this was more like the feeling one might get from wandering down to the field outside the castle for an afternoon of Jousting. Sure the whole idea for the observer is entertainment, but with the added spice of the fact that your home team might be playing. Sharing the experience with those we feel part of our group, our family, that’s the important bit.

Today I felt like reminiscing about that feeling of “family’ the Super Bowl gave to me. I was very young when introduced to the tradition; memory places me at about 12 years old I think. Excitement would build up for weeks before the event. To my cousins and I the main event was visiting one or another of my uncles’ houses, a strange house offered multiple distractions for the younger boys. The game was/is an excuse for the adults to have fun as well I think, although some seem to think it duty, in Northern Alabama football is a very serious business. Our family were not drinkers so the “high” we got from the game was actually the pure pleasure of each other’s company in a common interest, which is a real high.

There were no rules stating so but there were activities to which groups of certain ages and sexes would partake that day, a part of the tradition which made the day progress smoothly with a minimum of conflict. The host for the day would organise the seating in the TV room to accommodate the adult men, and those older boys who aspired to manhood. The mothers would make the kitchen and any convenient adjoining room their domain. The older girls would congregate in the bedroom of one of the host girls, with the younger girls attaching themselves as best they could, in the hope of learning the secrets of becoming a woman. It was not that the older girls in the family were close to becoming women themselves, just that they thought they were. To us younger males, this latter group would play an interesting part in our day.

Since February is cold in that part of the world, the kids would start the visit indoors exploring the nooks and crannies one finds in strange homes. The uncles house that had a large basement or garage, was always good for hours of imaginative games. While fathers cheered the players we called our home team, although they may be based hundreds of miles from where we lived, the mothers would swap recipes, and gossip about those relatives not attending, stirring a pot now and then literally as well as figuratively. The younger females could always be heard giggling about some poor boy whom they had latched attention onto that week. The youngest girls hanging onto every word and trying to flick their hair in that nonchalant way the older girls did.

Those of us who really mattered would be spending some time trying to throw a football across a garage or basement which would be littered with summer stuff left wherever concrete had been visible last fall. The shout of “go long” resulting in one or two steps and a softly thrown ball. Light bulbs hanging from the ceiling had little chance of surviving the day.

Every now and then one person or another from the women’s group would walk through the TV room and act as though they cared, “who’s winning” always seemed to be answered with a moan, or if the moment was not just right a loud “get out!”. The wives would have the best information though, constantly delivering soft drinks and chips to the masters. When a commercial break was on, the rush to the bathroom was like a crowd movement on a railway station when the train arrives. The young boys didn’t bother, those yellow stains in the snow outside the backdoor do not just happen.

Lunchtime would add a little something to the insanity, delivering sandwiches and soup to the men, the women would drive the kids into groups where spillage would not matter greatly. Unlike most family gatherings, food did not seem to play a great part in the day’s activities; it was just something there for consumption at the right time, that is except for the fried chicken hot dogs potato chips... okay, food was important.

As the afternoon wore on we “middle” boys often turned our attention to annoying girls, this is something boys of all ages do, just aks the wife. We once found a mummified lizard which had apparently wandered into the basement during summer but not out. Getting it to the girls’ room without attracting attention was part of the game. Mothers seem to have some kind of radar for these things, “what are you boys up to” is a demand not a question. The thrill of being able to convince a mother especially the mother of someone else, that innocence is your middle name is a high point. Lizards do well at creating squeals and shouts, so do threats to dolls and diaries.

Regardless of the game’s outcome, the day would end with all of us a little closer having spent the day doing something together, sharing common interests. I guess you could call it bonding, it sure felt good. I hope that one day my children and grandchildren can experience the same family closeness. On days like this, there are no richer or poorer relatives, no differences at all, just sharing.

JAWhite                                                  Return To Main Page
February 2010

Photo Courtesy Paulo Cavoto, flickr Photo