Friday, January 31, 2014

Mr. Cope's Cave: Super Bore

Posted By on Fri, Jan 31, 2014 at 10:51 AM

Tell me, Mr. Cope, will you be going to a Super Bowl party, or are you watching the game at home?

Ooooh no. Nope nope nope nope. No Super Bowl party. No Super Bowl. I wouldn’t watch the Super Bowl if they threatened to flay me with a weed whacker if I didn’t. I wouldn’t watch the Super Bowl if it was the only thing to stop me from going blind. I wouldn’t watch the Super Bowl if the only other option I had was listening to Justin Beiber songs all day. I wouldn’t watch the...

Don’t you like either of the teams? Are you a Pats fan, perhaps? Or Packers?

Let me say it another way. I wouldn’t watch this or any other Super Bowl if they had my testicles in a clamp and were going to...

Exactly what is your problem, Mr. Cope? Everyone watches the Super Bowl. It consistently draws the biggest television audiences, year after year. People who don’t see another football game all year watch the Super Bowl.

Put me down as one of those who don’t see another football game all year, and who don’t watch the Super Bowl, either.

But football is America’s No. 1 pastime.

And?

Don’t you think it’s peculiar that you could be so dismissive of the No. 1 thing Americans choose to occupy their spare time?

“Peculiar?” Maybe. But I think it’s even more peculiar that Americans choose to occupy so much time with such a crappy pastime. It doesn’t surprise me though. More and more, Americans are occupying their time with whatever’s loud, whatever’s obnoxious, whatever’s cheesy and whatever’s meaningless.

Meaningless!?

Yes. Meaningless. Meaning it’s empty of meaning. Meaning that people have to pretend there’s something significant about football, or they might come to understand just how much of their existence is going down the crapper because they’re paying so much attention to it. Meaning that the industry of football—yes, the industry of football—has to fabricate this elaborate facade of faux significance to make it easier for people to pretend there’s really something to pay attention to. Meaning that the less real significance there is about the game, the more they have to disguise that reality with stuff like pre-game blab and post-game blab and cheerleaders and season tickets and team paraphernalia, and half-time extravaganzas, etc. etc. Meaning they have to fool people into believing they actually care about who runs the most yards or completes the most passes or causes the most concussions. Meaning they have to encourage people to believe it’s a big deal when a player announces he’s gay, or is being bullied, or is moving to a new team, or gets caught in a nightclub with a gun in his pants, or smashes his 'Vette into a tree during a drunken rampage, or marries somebody from an equally meaningless field like fashion modeling or reality television. Meaning they insist that some indecently overpaid coach is a great man or great role model or great member of the community, even when the guy skips out like an itinerant used-car salesman for an even more indecently overpaid position. Meaning that simply because your team of choice or proximity or color scheme did relatively well during any particular season, that success somehow translates into you... sprawled out on your futon before that RC Wiley’s big screen, snorting up buffalo wings and nachos... being special, too. Mean. Ing. Less.

My, Mr. Cope. You’re certainly putting a lot of meaning into the word “meaningless.”

“Meaningless” doesn’t mean there aren’t many aspects to it, and nowhere is that more apparent than in this great overblown, endless erection we call “football.”

And how would you reply to the argument that football is the most American of activities? That it reflects our common cultural atmosphere more accurately than any other one thing?

Who makes that argument? You’re going to have to tell me, because I can’t imagine myself listening to anyone who would ever say such a stupid thing.

Well, I say it... for one. And I’m sure there are more. Anyone who loves football would say the same thing. Probably. In fact, I sort of remember John Madden saying it. Or was it Terry Bradshaw?

Ah, let me think here. Uuuuh, yeah. Now that I think about it, I can sorta see your point. Let’s say, for instance, a porked-up bully asshole, defending his vile, demeaning, abusive trash talk as a matter of style... who might we be talking about? Richie Incognito or Rush Limbaugh? Or how about another, supposedly intelligent, man screaming into a television camera like a demented maniac, claiming it’s his way of being passionate about something he loves so dearly? Richard Sherman or Glenn Beck? Yeah, I can see it now. Definitely. America... football... same damn thing, by golly! I get it! They both turn their biggest annual events into an excuse to inundate the gullible with commercialism ad nauseum, whether it’s the Super Bowl or Christmas. They both offer every opportunity for their fans to hoot and holler like drunken baboons for no other reason than a field goal attempt is good or a smart bomb blows the bejesus out of another Mid-Eastern city. They both compensate the least deserving with the biggest rewards, the most admiration, the highest accolades. They both are run by super-rich team owners and/or corporate moguls who stick the middle class with the cost of their stadiums and their bailouts. They both...

Mr. Cope, please. I would love to listen to you go on endlessly about all the ways you hate football and America, but I have a thousand things to do before the game starts. So if you could wrap up your little dissertation here, I would greatly appreciate it.

Oh. So sorry. I know how much you football people dislike being told there are more fulfilling ways to spend your time.

Really? Such as?

Golly, where to begin? Well, for starters... there’s always raking dog shit off the lawn. Not so much fun in the traditional sense, but still more fulfilling that watching football. And of course, there’s getting a haircut. In fact, I’d go get a haircut this very Sunday, if I didn’t think the barber would have the f***ing game on. Then there’s eating dried prunes and waiting for the result. Oh, and don’t forget crossword puzzles and learning to play the accordion. And I’d have to include...

Thank you, Mr. Cope, for your time.

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