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About a Bird

The Super Bowl, "The Big Game" sits like a turkey glistening in the oven on Thanksgiving morning, tempting many a hungry child with its promises of indulgence. Society, its mouth incorrigibly watering, has picked at the plucked bird. It has yanked out the gizzards -- homophobic tirades and drug accusations and mashed together enough filling -- pretty much everything else -- to last until Christmas. It has prepped side dishes of celebrity spunk, of press conferences yielding impromptu renditions of the national anthem, of advertisers tripping over each other to promote their million-dollar promotions. It has set the table, carting out broken-down body after broken-down body of the heroes of Super Bowls past, inviting them to flow with songs of empty praise and a chance to plug their products and charity events.

But society always keeps one eye on the bird browning to perfection as the throw-away seconds melt around the holiday. With great anticipation, it waits for the moment the turkey, in all its juicy glory, hits the table. It waits for kickoff, the pinnacle of sports and culture. It waits for a feast of Americana.

Society has no time to congregate at the table in unison. No time, that is, except for the Super Bowl. For four hours, everyone takes a bite of the bird. Generations gather together, from across the political spectrum and the pay scale. At the feast, the only language is football, and even the least-trained tongue can find a reason to savor the turkey's juicy goodness.

No, the turkey isn't the healthiest of meals. Too much can ruin the heart. Ignoring, say, the green beans beckons unfavorable consequences. But once a year, when society gathers around the glistening bird, participating in the pinnacle of sport and gorging on the tasty fat of culture, it's enough of a reason to give thanks.


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Feb. 2nd, 2013 07:10 pm (UTC)
You say "turkey," I say "wretched excess."

But that won't stop me from watching the game and having pizza and beef on weck sandwiches on hand for halftime.
Feb. 2nd, 2013 08:32 pm (UTC)
"Wretched Excess" sounds like a good name for a punk band.

In remarkable irony, as I played around with this piece, I found out that I'll be working in the office during the game...
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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