Super bowl fever hits Mount Allison

Last week I was invited to my first Super Bowl party. I was hesitant as I imagined walking into a room smelling of old socks and beer, immediately being overwhelmed by the sense of men attempting to affirm their masculinity.

Despite this, I heard there was going to be snacks, so maybe it would not be that bad.

Hoping to get a sense of what to expect from a Super Bowl party, I talked to a few people about what they most enjoy about the event.

Several people, eyes glazed over in a sort of trance, told me that the Super Bowl was more than just a big football game. Second-year fine arts student Marissa Cruz explained that “It’s like a collective. Although I’m not part of it, I can join it – it’s pretty accessible. And the snacks are great. It’s more of a food-social experience than a game-social experience,” she said.

Fourth-year history major and football player Mitchell Macaulay explained that it was the atmosphere associated with spending time with family and friends that made the event special to him.

After hearing these thoughts on the special cultural value of the Super Bowl, I was ready to watch the game.

Right before the party, however, I found out that not only was Tom Brady a Trump supporter, but that the owners of the New England Patriots were as well. Seeing that I am a firm believer that Donald Trump is actually Satan, I was fuming. However, with a newly invigorated sense of hatred for the Patriots, I felt like I was a real football fan.

Arriving at the party with neither alcohol nor food, I hoped to get away with taking everyone else’s. Walking into the living room, a sea of backwards baseball caps and crew-cuts awaited me.

Everyone’s eyes were either firmly glued to their phones or the TV, and there was a strong sense of concentration in the room. A huge flat-screen TV had been brought from another apartment because the one that had been in the living room was too small for the Super Bowl. Somehow it took three trips to get it there.

Only one of two women present, I asked the dudes if they had ever cried during a football game. Disappointed with their quick answer of “no,” I headed to the snack table.

Huge trays of nachos, homemade subs, wings and donuts awaited. Frankly, it was overwhelming, and I could tell others thought so as well.

After eating almost an entire shrimp ring to myself, I settled down to digest in front of the TV.

Many things happened in the game – many things that I did not understand. However, by joining in with the random grunts and shouts at the TV, I really felt like part of the gang.

Luckily for me, there were a few other outsiders. When asked what he most liked about the game, fourth-year student Garrett Muir said, “I’m not here to watch football, I’m just here to look cool.” Same, Garrett, same.

There were also the commercials. After several dozen commercial breaks, I came to the realization that the Super Bowl is a compilation of capitalist America’s greatest hits. I’ve never wanted to drink a coke or buy several tons of washing detergent more than I did in those moments.

Deciding I had my fill of football after the half-time show, I waltzed home, tummy full of chicken wings, high on the fact that the Atlanta Falcons were miles ahead and confident that Trump would go to bed not getting his way for once.

When I woke up this Monday morning in a cold sweat, I knew something was wrong. Reaching for my phone, the first thing I saw when I opened Facebook was that the Patriots and their messiah, Tom Brady, had won. With a sharp inhale, I shook my head and realized Trump really has ruined America.

Delanie Khan-Dobson