“G-Men! Money Line. G-Men! Money Line.”- Brooklyn Resident yelling to no one in particular the day before the Superbowl XLII.
I watch Manning get sacked and my heart stops. But then, inexplicably, he isn’t. He runs free, away from the pocket and throws an almost-spiral to the middle of the field. The confidence on that ball means a reception. So my heart stops again when I see Rodney Harrison jump up, grab Tyree’s left hand and reach for but miss the right, which is pinning the ball to the receiver’s helmet. Inexplicably, Tyree, with Harrison attached, falls 8 feet out of the air, hits the ground, and still has one hand and one helmet on the ball. Jim screams, “He caught it with his BRAIN!”
Two more perfect completions, four desperate heaves (the last with the big-play pie in my mouth), and the game is over. Me yelling, “Is that it? Is tha it?” as crumbs fly out.
The story that was supposed to be did not happen, and once again the random nature of existence triumphed over the structure of expectation.
I couldn’t believe it, and I was going nuts not just because the team I love won (and for the first time in a long time I remembered what it felt like to be an overweight suburban 7-year-old fascinated and worshipful of the raw determination and unstoppable will of Lawrence Taylor), but also because the opinions of a nation were made null. The story that was supposed to be did not happen, and once again the random nature of existence triumphed over the structure of expectation.
Most humans live boring lives. And even if we never complain about it outwardly, most of us feel it, and it gets to us. We talk about how we want to shake things up, try new things, give it a whirl, test our limits. But at the same time a huge percentage of our attention is devoted to making sure we are never surprised by anything. There is a reason the weather report is at the end of the newscast. People will be more likely to sit through a retelling of the day’s events in other parts of the world/nation/state if eventually there will be some insight offered into whether it will be better to wear boots or sneakers in 12 hours. Right now, during the election season, polls dominate the headlines/talk shows/blogs even though we’ve seen so many pollsters (I’m looking at you Zogby and ARG) put up such inaccurate numbers. It’s hard to see the difference between them and the typical astrologer (except for the swimming pools full of cash they spend their days lounging in).
I admit I’m as guilty as anyone. I’m addicted to Daily Kos. I constantly monitor RSS feeds for the latest numbers, and on the evenings of primaries, I’m fixated on results from any state with more than 10% reporting. I even have money riding on Obama winning both the nomination and the general election (Vegas was actually giving Clinton better odds after Super Tuesday!).
I wasn’t always like this. At one point, I decided the responsible thing was to be an informed citizen of the world. So, I started going easy on the fiction and imbibing a healthy dose of current issues. As I read the weeklies, dailies, and blogs, it became apparent that I wasn’t incredibly informed, so I read even more. But somehow the more I read, the less informed I felt and the more I needed to know. I clamored for fresh opinions based on the most recent events. I delved more and more into analysis and prediction, and shortly after, recent events became increasingly less interesting. What really mattered was what would happen tomorrow. Now it’s to the point where nothing surprises me. Somewhere there was some analyst who saw it coming, whatever it is, and more likely than not, I got that take.
So, I’m giving it up. I am going to work towards being stunned by things again. I want to not be concerned with what’s coming around the corner. I want to live in the present.
I felt so much joy on Superbowl Sunday, more than I’ve experienced in years. Mainly, I felt joy for the young man who for years was trashed by an entire city, mocked for looking like a dope, and accused of not being a leader of men. In less than a month, I watched him become what everyone said he was not. With one spectacular completion, he transformed himself from a heel into a legend, and no one saw that coming. That’s what this whole thing should be about.
Andrew Williams lives in Brooklyn and battles entropy in Manhattan. He enjoys epic sagas and bicycling.