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I went to a Super Bowl Party today. Although I'm not a huge NFL fan and didn't have a strong rooting interest in the game, the quality of the contest made my evening easier. Part of me didn't want to be there. And that part was using every tactic at its disposal to prevent me from attending. I lingered at home, deglazing a pan just because I suddenly felt it would be a crime to waste the burnt onion pieces stuck to its bottom. I took an inordinately long time shaving. Once I was nearing the location of the party, this recalcitrant "it" snuck up on my inner navigator and blindfolded him, leading me to circle dusty back roads in confusion, my destination in sight but seemingly impossible to reach.
I was on the verge of turning back in frustration. But then I remembered that the person holding the party had gone out of his way to remind me about it, urging me to attend with great warmth. So I mustered the full force of my Belgian endive-hued will and pressed on. Once inside, I contemplated feigning a crisis so that I could leave right away. Yet I stayed, hoping that my nerves would eventually settle.
In the end, I think I acquitted myself well in extremely trying circumstances. Had the game been a blow-out, however, I might have been asked to sustain conversations that were too tense to bear. Similarly, had the halftime act been someone lame, I would have struggled to make it to the second half. Let me then commend the Steelers and Cardinals for deviating sharply from Super Bowl tradition, like the Giants and Patriots did last year, and the Boss for keeping the party-goers around me focused on the television screen. And, while I'm at it, let me commend myself for showing up in the first place.
Ion Square by Bloc Party from Intimacy
