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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones

The Superbowl.

I proclaimed that I did not care about the Super Bowl this year. Who cares about the New England Patriots (regional team, not even belonging to a proper city) and the Carolina Panthers (Expansion team, right?) If it had been the Chicago Bears or the Indianapolis Colts or even the Denver Broncos, I would have cared and watched with energy.

But the Patriots and the Panthers? Come on, boring. And it was, wasn’t it? Until the 2nd quarter. I wound up at our Super Bowl party for the res hall in the first floor lounge. I (sort of) helped the RAs cook and microwave, but really I just ate chips and veggies waiting to take a plate out to the sharks, I mean, students in the lounge. During the controversial half-time show, I was at the front desk dealing with students and missed Janet Jackson’s unveiling. (Weren’t she and Justin dating for three days last year?)

Then I went back to my apartment, to watch anything but this Super Bowl. I kept checking in, though. Flipping from BBC1 showing Bloody Sunday–a 1970’s movie about a terrorist plot to bomb the Super Bowl. Then to BBC4–showing Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologues. Then to some other show somewhere and back to the Super Bowl. Watching the Super Bowl on British TV is like watching the Super Bowl on Lifetime. The announcers were American and were explaining every single rule and play in very basic terms. Any televised game is an educational opportunity for the NFL to bring American Football to England.

But, I got sucked in during the final three minutes. What a final three minutes they were, huh? For a game I didn’t care about, I was glued. By the last 8 seconds I really wanted the Patriots to blow it and for it to go into sudden death, but no. The Patriots were not up for any more excitement. My Boston kids went crazy when the clock wound down, whooping and hollaring and making sure the whole building and neighborhood knew that the Patriots had beat the Panthers.

And I swore I wouldn’t watch the game this year.

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