Mildly Interesting Bowl

As part of my final block of writing for that Creative Writing degree I keep forgetting I have, I created a non-fiction piece based on a game of American Football I’d recently watched. Specifically, this game was known as Super Bowl XLVII (that’s 47 for those who don’t speak Ancient Roman [a line which I may have just recycled]). Even more specifically, this particular bit of writing took the kind of polemic form that I shove up here every so often, with less of a focus on the actual game and more on my own bemusement at being a British person watching this sport for the first time.

Despite the obvious lack of focus, the bit of reading material was generally well-received in a workshop of my peers. Some aspects drew some constructive criticisms, however, most likely due to the obvious lack of focus.

At one point, I likened my understanding of the game to the concept of the game Portal – a mind-bending physics-based puzzler that I’ve never actually played, but understand to contain blue portals connected to orange portals and several references to cake. With blue and orange start and goal lines superimposed onto the screen, I was proud of myself to use this analogy as, in my mind, it was accurate enough to be true and obscure enough to match my writing voice. Others, however, just felt it was obscure. They told me it might be best to change it so that it would suit my audience better.

That’s where I sort of had an issue. Okay, I wasn’t specifically writing a blog post to go here, I was constructing something for tutors or examiners to read. Technically that was my audience. Although, whenever I write this kind of crap normally, my audience is actually just me. Anyone else getting a kick out of this is just a bonus.

Going back to “in my mind” again, in my mind I did it right the first time, because I got it and I’m the only one I was really trying to appeal to. Hell, I even spent a good few paragraphs rattling on about a stadium power cut, arbitrarily backing a team for shit reasons and Beyoncé’s half time booty-shake-athon. A fair bit of this centred on how she also dragged her former Destiny’s Bandmates back from historic obscurity and proceeded to upstage them entirely. It was three years ago now so I’m foggy on the details, but I believe it was during the part of the Single Ladies dance (the greatest of all time as described by the gospel according to Kanye) where she keeps twisting her hand round and chanting the bardic lyric: “whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh”.

Three years and four Super Bowls later, I resolved to devote this week’s ramble to doing something similar, however it occurred to me around 1am that this particular Bowl wasn’t particularly Super. If anything, it was simply Mildly Interesting. Not exactly what you’re hoping for at a milestone game like its fiftieth.

Mildly Interesting Bowl 50 (or just L if you prefer to speak in Ancient Roman) had all the same elements of the first one I watched: alcohol, sleeping on someone else’s couch, not really following the game but suddenly being an expert on everything that was happening, Beyoncé. So it’s odd that for a game as hyped as Mildly Interesting Bowl was, I effectively didn’t really care much about it.

That’s not to say I was let down as such, more disconnected from it with no emotion evoked whatsoever. My original anticipation didn’t really get to the end zone, but instead lingered around outside the stadium, not really bothered if the whole thing even happened. I’ve resolved that I’m just getting older. Not in a get-off-my-lawn-you-dang-kids kind of way, but in an I-don’t-really-get-excited-by-much-any-more kind of way. That sense of giddiness and child-like wonder frankly left me about three Christmases ago and it’s gradually taking the rest of my annual joy supplies with it.

Before starting, the initial point of this was going to be a bit of British buffoonery and flabbergasted-ness of such an overblown American tradition (example quote: something like “it’s called Football, but they’re running with it in their hands? Like double-yoo tee eff?”). Now though, it just seems that all I can manage is a bit of British stoicism and bumbling conversational tones (example quote: “get-off-my-lawn-you-dang-kids”).

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This song pretty much just advocates going out and getting pissed with the almighty B. I’m sold.

Coldplay feat. Beyoncé – Hymn For The Weekend