What a topic of ambivalence. This ambivalence is captured in the tongue in cheek commentary of American ‘humor columnist’ Dave Barry. Capturing the absurdity of this year’s events, he concludes, “…repelled by the drainage ditch that our political system has become, we turned for escape to an institution that represents all that is pure and wholesome and decent in America: college football” (oregonlive.com, 2 January 2012).
It is a violent game, in which young men are regularly physically damaged for life—something I deplore. I recall Australian and American men debating whether rugby or American football was the more dangerous (greater prestige going to the more dangerous, of course). I remember the look of shock on some of my European colleagues’ faces when I acknowledged, a few years back, that I actually enjoyed watching it. It certainly glorifies the physical strength of men, over women—again, something I deplore. This year there’s an obnoxious ad on TV, shown repeatedly during breaks in the game, about Dr. Pepper (soda). It explicitly excludes women: ‘This is not a drink for women’. The actors, dressed in military camouflage, driving jeeps, engage in a variety of ‘manly’, violent, outdoor activities, further exemplifying men’s purported preferences.
Overseas, many consider the game bizarre. One year in the late-1990s, my husband and I were invited to a showing of the Superbowl on a special TV link in Bogor, Indonesia (where we lived at the time). We got up at some ungodly hour in order to see it live, drove across town, and joined an international group of folks who also wanted to witness this infamous all-American event. In attendance were Indonesians, Filipinos, Irish, Australians, quite an array of folks from other countries, besides the American host. The non-Americans were mystified by the game, and amazed both at the spectacle itself and at the routine stoppage of play, due to minor infractions of one rule or another. The second-by-second alterations between play time and discussion of rules and infractions struck them as quite peculiar (and not particularly enjoyable). This experience made me think a little more deeply about something that had been such a familiar part of my life.
I’ve now been back in the US for the last three football seasons, and the centrality of the game in American life has struck me anew. In some sense, of course, it’s been with me from birth: my father and brother were avid fans. Mom basically bid adieu to Dad in August as the pre-season games got underway—pretty much until football season was over. Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners had to be scheduled around the big games of the day. One year my father abandoned us during one of these ritual meals. The meal had unavoidably overlapped with a game, so he just retired to the TV room—shocking us all! Later in his life, when he was invited to teach in the Middle East—Al Ain or Dubai, I forget which—he negotiated firmly, and ultimately successfully, with the sheikhs in charge: he wanted to remain in the US until after the Superbowl. Such was the power of football.
In my brother’s case, we could always count on a welcome reception of ‘San Francisco 49-ers’ football memorabilia for Christmas or birthday gifts. One year, in his youth, I made him a giant red and gold pillow with the 49-ers’ motif on it; another year, it was a waste basket with the same symbol; yet another year I did a needlepoint version. He was, and remains, an avid sports fan. My son in law is equally passionate about the ‘Philadelphia Eagles’. Last year he gave my brother a red snuggly covered in the 49-ers emblem for Christmas—football mania continues.
I’ve lived overseas much of my life, so American football was neither available, nor in fact did I seek it out. But in September of 1992, my father was diagnosed with a deadly cancer, and a year later, when it was clear that he was going to die, I returned to the US to be with him during his final days and help my mother care for him. During that fall, I watched more football than I had in all my previous life combined. Dad and I would sit together in the TV room, watching game after game. Dad explained many of the rules to me, and I grew to actually enjoy watching! It now both holds memories of my father and, with greater knowledge of the complicated rules, it’s simply fun to watch.
When, in 2002, my husband and I came back to the US for a year’s sabbatical at Cornell University, I again voluntarily watched football games. One of my American friends had suggested checking out the players’ bums, an element that had not occurred to me—I took her advice and began noting these as well. Over time I identified some real favorites (teams, players). On the East Coast, the San Francisco 49-ers, my family’s favorite, were rarely shown, so I developed an interest in the New England Patriots, the Jets and Giants of New York. I remembered my father’s distaste for the Dallas Cowboys (he was from the neighboring state of Oklahoma), his resentment of the successes of the Green Bay Packers (a northern team).
Now that we actually live in the US, we’ve become somewhat more avid fans, watching particularly ‘religiously’ at this crucial time of the football year—the bowl games, the upcoming Superbowl. The University of Oregon Ducks have developed a fast-paced kind of play, and they have become our special favorite—surely also influenced by my own long association with Oregon. I realized the strength of my husband’s new-found devotion to the sport when he almost turned down a dinner invitation that he feared conflicted with a game on TV. The other night we watched the Cotton Bowl in Dallas, Texas (Arkansas vs. Kansas State; the Ridgebacks vs. the Wildcats), and I was struck by several interesting social interstices in these extravaganzas. In proper Texas fashion, a gargantuan, rippling American flag was laid out over the entire football field as the Star Spangled Banner was sung; the first President Bush was in attendance; there were beautifully uniformed bands from both universities, playing rousing music during the game and providing even more elaborate entertainment at half time. The drama and pageantry (and expense!)—though typical of bowl games—were remarkable, when one thought about them (somewhat) objectively.
Here we have a wondrous confluence of drama, education (in the broadest sense), and politics, playing out both traditional American sex roles and some of our ideals: competition, youth, teamwork, playing by the rules. These recurring rituals—the games—are watched by millions of Americans every year. They provide a nexus around which people from across the nation, of all ages and ethnic backgrounds, and even, to some extent, both genders, come together. We are reminded of our love of country, our shared American citizenship, through the symbolism of the flag and routine reference to politicians in attendance. Players stand solemnly on the field before the game, with their right hands over their hearts, as they sing along with the national anthem (led by one famous personage or another), lined up in their respective teams. Nor is the private sector neglected: industrial magnates play prominent roles in ensuring that the games continue, through their funding and organizational efforts. One such magnate (never a woman, to my knowledge) typically performs the coin toss that determines which team gets the ball first—a moment of tension and excitement for all.
The game, as played here, clearly links the actions of brave and strong young men, willing to risk life and limb for fame and accomplishment, with a university education. My father insisted that football players were ‘smarter’ than other athletes, that they had to be because of the complexity of, and strategy required by, the game. Whether my father’s generalization is true or not, surely the glamour of college games draws many young men to higher education, as they aspire to this dramatic combination of adoration, prestige and—if they are good enough to ‘graduate’ to the pro’s—ultimately wealth. Conceptual links between teamwork, competition, excellence on the one hand (so beautifully illustrated in these games), and a man’s ability to provide for his family (a strong traditional value), on the other, are clear and desirable in the minds of many Americans. Additionally, beautiful, graceful, and sexy young women can be seen briefly from time to time on the TV screen, urging the players on from the sidelines—in traditionally appropriate wifely fashion. The commentators, all male and many of whom are ex-football players and coaches themselves, keep up a running dialogue, explaining the action on the field, commenting on the players with promise, interpreting the referees’ rulings. They, along with the actual coaches on the sidelines, function as the ‘elders’. The drama, excitement and pageantry of these events highlights this epitome of a traditional, ideal, American masculinity—most obvious in the person of the quarterback, the ‘leader of the pack’. The temptation for an anthropologist to analyze these varieties of symbolism (animals, colors, gender, power, age, and more) is nearly overpowering!
I, like many of my compatriots, find it quite impossible not to be impressed with the speed, agility, strength, and strategic talents of many of these young men. Football games are exciting, wonderful spectacles. But I also find myself ruminating on the messages they convey—some I like, some I don’t. I’m sure I’m not the first to ponder the parallels with the circuses of ancient Rome—distracting the populace from the important, political issues of our time.