SuperBowl-ed Over

Last night was the XLIII SuperBowl. (For those less versed in the calculations of Roman numerals, that is "43.") It was a battle between the Steelers of Pittsburgh, and the Cardinals of Arizona. I am not a huge football fan, as hockey is my sport of choice. I was, however, happy to see that the gods were shining down on me, and there were enough altercations on the field to make the game more interesting in the eyes of a blood-thirsty soul such as myself.

There were several reasons I choose to dedicate a few of my finite hours on this earth to this particular event. One: My good friend owns a bar and is a huge Steelers fan. It was more of an opportunity to share his night than anything. Two: I am in love with Ben Roethlisberger. He is the quarterback for the Steelers. He is "drag-me-in-the-cave-by-my-hair" huge, and makes me want to renounce my morality in a myriad of ways. All in all, it was a night I felt no qualms in taking part in.

As I was watching the game, I found it was not so much the television I was watching, as the goings on around me. I watched a room full of grown men run the gamut of human emotion. There was fear, joy, hate. love, evil, envy...everything...and it came with a six pack of Bud Light.

Accompanied by these men on their emotional journey were there she-halves. These women also wore the jerseys of their favorite players. They had gone the extra feminine mile of adorning their hair with bows in the color of their favorite team. They screamed and yelled, but it was only after the end of the 4th quarter that I really fully grasped the reason they were there. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying women can't love football. Shit. I live for the Detroit Red Wings. I'm saying there is an emotional agenda with women. There always is.

Football, to this observer, is a sixty-minute homage to all that is the American Male. It is a sweat-soaked, grunting, crashing, hetero-ass-slapping, land acquisition game that is drenched at its happiest moment in faux orange drink. Essentially its a game of, "This land is your land, this land is my land, but I'm gonna take your land...yard by yard." It stands firmly upon what this country was founded on. Taking other people's land. Historically there was much less dancing in joy on that land, but you get the idea.

Men, being men, can not help but feel the joy of those doing the conquering. It is in their DNA. There is a suspense that builds during a close game. Will the home team prevail? Will there be a happy ending. Will the cowboy ride off across the range without fear of a scalping? This is football. It only makes sense that at the end of the journey there be great joy, and a wild celebration. Enter the female agenda.

Last night, as I watched the spectacle both on television and within 20 feet of me I noticed something. These women, as soon as they reacted to a play or incident in the game IMMEDIATELY look at their other half. It was not a look of "should I like this?" It was a look of "what the hell kind of mood will he be in?" They cheering was just as much for their favorite team as it was for the fact that there may be nookie and perhaps even a load of laundry in their near futures.

As soon as the game was over, and the Steelers took the podium to accept their trophy, I again picked up on an interesting phenomena. Within minutes of this event I witnessed no less than FOUR of these couples making out. Was it the joy that a successful season had been marked in history with a 6th ring on the hand of the Steeler Nation? Was it the fact that the tension of sixty people in a room had all lifted at once, and the great cosmic orgasm of the group dynamic had lifted to the cigarette and cuddling aftermath? I'll never know, but it was there, and I saw it, and suddenly I knew: THIS is why women watch football. It's not for the game...it's for the post-game wrap up. Literally.

That having been said, I can only hope that Ben Roethlisberger's post-game wrap of was worthy of his amazing season...but I know I could scream louder than any bitch out there if it came right down to it.