The Super Bowl

The super bowl has become somewhat of a national holiday for the North American culture. I happened to be fortunate enough to be walking through the corridors of grand central station during the time the commencement of the monstrous event should have been taking place. An eerie stillness filled the vacant train station as a rushed onto track 25 to New Haven, with moments to spare. My few fellow passengers met the hour and ten min train ride with reluctant dissatisfaction as they periodically examined their watches counting the minutes they were missing, as well as well as making their own concessions due to the trains inability to travel at the warp speed they would probably prefer. It became quite clear to me on this train ride, the super bowl is obviously a pretty big deal. I looked for an explanation as to why something so simple could be blown up into the commodity it has become. If we look at the event for what it is, it should be no different than any other sporting event that we ritually stop to gawk at the highlights for during our normal journey through the hundreds of channels our Verizon Vios won’t let us watch. Is it really all that entertaining to fuel our inner caveman through the testosterone oozing sport of grown men in tights navigating their way’s up and down 100 yard field. For most of the northeast, the two teams in question are of no consequence to the ego trip of patronage one feels to “his team”. Basically all that’s going through my mind is “why the hell is the man next to me cheering at every text he receives on this train?” I arrived on time and entered the train station to escape the bitter cold night as I anxiously waited my ride. I was however fortunate enough to catch the halftime show on the 10 inch television behind the ticket window just as The Who strummed the opening b-minor of the song Pinball Wizard. I felt my heart sink into my chest as the sound of Pete Townshend’s big body resonated through me. I could feel the chords at my fingertips as I played the very same song six years ago with my father and brother at our first live gig, a backyard barbeque in Hicksville, Long Island. I could see my father looking to me for cues for harmony’s as my brother needed to kept his eyes closed to keep himself from erupting in laughter as we stumbled along the piece. I watched as thousands of people in the Miami arena cheer for the very same emotional reaction they felt. Recalling old girlfriends, long rides to no where, and the few times a year you disband with your routine music play list and turn up The Who to get lost in your own vision of the Teenage Wasteland. Roger Daltry was in top form, looking crisp and nailing every note, (even if he needed to scream to do so). Pete Townshend, though now weathered and well into his years, still danced across the stage like he was 20 years old again. The show was a reminder of how powerful a song can be. These songs weren’t just catchy, they are the background music of our lives. We don’t just remember how awesome The Who was, we all remember how awesome that night was, how great that movie was, how pretty that girl looked that night. That’s why the live performance will never die. It allows the audience to re-connect with the moments of our past and present and for a few short hours, relive those moments with an immanent tangibility.