The Big Game
halftime snacks and shared experiences
To me, sports have only ever been an excuse to eat.
I was not an outdoor kid. But my parents insisted I play sports growing up. I hated yelling, I hated physical contact with strangers, I hated when people broke rules, I hated not discussing actions before execution. Sports and I were never going to work out. I savored the small parts I enjoyed, like halftime snack time.
Everyone else’s parents brought the coolest halftime snacks. Cosmic brownies, Snickers, cupcakes! Except my parents. My parents brought orange slices.
I thought we were all pretending to have a good time. I hated how hard my teammates tried to win. Didn’t they understand that the more games we won, the more games we had to play? If we lost, we got to eat the rest of the cosmic brownies and go home.
Yet, I looked forward to the Super Bowl every year. My dad cooked up a plethora of rich appetizers. Pigs in a blanket, eggrolls, shrimp cocktail, and more! I didn’t mind the game droning on in the background as I stuffed my face.
As I’ve gotten older, I still don’t understand sports, but I get sports. I don’t understand what the lines on the field mean, but I get the sense of camaraderie when someone makes an unlikely score. I don’t understand the positions, but I get the obligation.
I don’t watch the big game closely, but I know when to look up, when everyone cheers, when someone groans, when it’s time to refill my plate.
The big game gives people a reason to gather, to linger, to feel like they belong to something. A table full of food does the same.
I love you from my head tomatoes,
Gareth