Seattle—which has been tumescent with football fever since being declared capital of Sportugal or whatever happened while we were busy not paying attention—is downright scary today. People seem to have grown mullets overnight and are shouting "Go Seahawks!" at one another in the streets with testosteronic vigor. Our Super Bowl party host, who has "never been interested in football" and is "not clear on some of the rules," has been doing research on the internet and is trying to explain what's going to happen today.
Honestly, Party Crasher still has no idea how to play football. We got that there are things called "downs" and "plays," but we were too busy drinking "beer" and eating "delicious tortilla chips" to comprehend the nuances. Our host's family proves to be endlessly entertaining—his oldest daughter tells us that her choir appeared on television with "Mayor Greg Pickles," while the youngest son talks about his imaginary friend, who's named "Pussykoo."
More partiers arrive, including someone who actually knows how to play football, but the game isn't the focus: the commercials—with their twin themes of animal attacks and celebrities embarrassing themselves for piles of cash—provide more entertainment. During the game itself, conversation wanders from the cinematography of Sergio Leone films to the all-Esperanto movie starring William Shatner and Adam West. Someone says "First and 15... that's good, right?" And it's all great fun, just sitting around the tube and chatting, sharing the same vague sense of community excitement without getting too hung up on the particulars. n