Pittsburg was the Watchword.
I stepped into yesterday more than a little oblivious about the event on everyone elses minds. I had a dim inkling that Pittsburg was the watchword, but it took some time for me to even connect to the idea that the Superbowl, and all its consumerist indulgence was nigh. And so, I cobbeled together a revised resume and pondered whether or not I cared enough to go through the motions. I was ambivalent enough to skip out on the whole shebang, but Mr. Krim called and bade me come down to a Superbowl party the Boys were (no doubt rowdily) throwing. I grabbed a bottle of red, slipped on my sandals and soon found myself diving headlong into the festivities of Superbowl Sunday. Friends from out of town barked assertions I couldn't find it in me to refute about players I'd never seen before. I'd cast my eyes around the room as I fingered the edge of my wine glass and smile at the reactions of others. Some pass would be completed, or go off with a slight hitch and we'd be treated to hyper-technical criticisms barked at the top of lungs. What I found interesting was despite the fact that things were definitley coming together for the Steelers in a major way, the fans in the room couldn't quite get past their own pessimism to allow themselves to feel good about it. Two of the host's less integrated friends cringed through amusing half masked mortification as the guy launched into strings of explicatives. I forced a smile and gulped more wine. By the end of the game, the ladies were chewing their nails with anxiety, and Jason had taken refuge outside in the cooled air with me. We smiled, more winced at the intensity, and generally enjoyed the game. Have to say, the Superbowl this year was more interesting than the commerficals for a change. (But as dorky as it sounds, I really want to go see the G.I Joe movie now.) Animated partygoers included. :)