Super Bowl L

I started watching the National Football League obsessively as a sixth grader in 1975 (at the same time I was listening to David Bowie, The Eagles and Jefferson Starship on AM radio). That year, the powerhouse team trying to repeat as Super Bowl Champions was the Pittsburgh Steelers. Pittsburgh was fortunate to host the 1975 AFC Championship because had the game been played in temperate Oakland the Raiders would likely have won and then been the ones to pummel the Cinderella Cowboys in Super Bowl X. As it turned out, playing on a field of iced green concrete in temperatures below 20 °F, the Steelers survived 16-10. I watched the game by myself at my grandmother's apartment in Mountain View not far from Moffett Airfield.

Today's Super Bowl, Super Bowl L, the golden anniversary, takes place at Levi's Stadium, about ten miles and 40 years from where I sat alone as kid watching the Raiders and Steelers beat the shit out of each other.

Times have certainly changed. The thing that snaps right out of the YouTube above is the human scale of the game. Money doesn't pulsate from the screen as it does now. Three Rivers Stadium looks like something you might find in Kazakhstan or Balochistan. And the fans aren't all decked out in pricey franchise bling. Solidly working class, yes. It is Pittsburgh after all. You don't see a lot of obesity. And on the field there is plenty of athleticism on display. Note in the first offensive series of the game how fast Oakland linebacker Phil Villapiano is in shooting into the backfield to drop Franco Harris for a loss. Also, look at how quickly and crisply the offense comes set in its formation. Why don't we ever see two running backs lined behind quarterback anymore? This is the way teams ran the ball in 1975. Now whenever there are two running backs in the game at the same time, unless it is one of the few teams like the NFC Champion Panthers who can run the read-option, it is in the I formation, and the fullback, usually some 250-lb. former lineman, is obviously there only to block. In 1975 both running backs lined up three of four yards behind the quarterback and were parallel or roughly parallel to one another, making it harder for the defense to read who was going to get the ball.

Looking at the video of the 1975 AFC Championship Game, which was played in January 1976, the conclusion that I draw is that while we might be wealthier in toto as a nation -- there is certainly more money in the financial system now than then -- it has come at the expense of the working class and equality in this country. Are we better off now with all our bright shiny lights and digital whistles or then, at the outset of the neoliberalism, when there was less inequality and more humanity?

I started on this 1975 AFC Championship jag because I have been thinking about Ken Stabler. In the run up to today's Super Bowl there was a story this past week about how Ken Stabler, the Raiders quarterback in the 1975 AFC Championship who would go on to win the Super Bowl the following year, had chronic traumatic encephalopathy (C.T.E.). He died last summer and his brain has since been dissected and studied and the results announced. That's what caused the bad press, like Ken Belson's "Roger Goodell Insists Football Is Safe: ‘There’s Risk in Life’," for the National Football League in its gala week leading up to the big game:

It was disclosed this week that two football greats, quarterbacks Ken Stabler and Earl Morrall, were the latest of dozens of players found to have had a degenerative brain disease linked to repeated head hits.

Yet N.F.L. Commissioner Roger Goodell, when peppered with questions about player safety on the Friday before Super Bowl 50, gave one of his most earnest endorsements of the safety of the game.

Most of his comments echoed previous statements: that the league is changing its rules to reduce risks, has adopted new equipment and technology, and is spending millions of dollars on research.

But near the end of a 45-minute question-and-answer session with reporters, Goodell seemed exasperated. When asked whether it was safe for young people to play football, Goodell said that he was glad he was able to play tackle football for nine years before college.

“If I had a son, I’d love to have him play the game of football,” Goodell, a father of two daughters, added. “There’s risk in life. There’s risk in sitting on the couch.”

Goodell’s comments came amid a renewed focus on whether football was too dangerous. By the N.F.L.’s own account, the number of diagnosed concussions rose by 31.6 percent this season over last season. Several former players have posthumously been found to have had the degenerative brain disease chronic traumatic encephalopathy, or C.T.E., including Stabler, Morrall and Tyler Sash, a former Giant who died at 27. At least seven high school football players died last year. 

When asked about these statistics, Goodell often focuses on what the N.F.L. is doing to make the game safer. He bristled at the suggestion that more N.F.L. players were retiring because they were worried that extending their careers could increase their risks of brain damage.

The NFL is the premiere television product in the United States, really the only guaranteed "take it to the bank" eyeball draw left in our culture. As Mark Leibovich reports in "Roger Goodell’s Unstoppable Football Machine":

Put it on TV, and people will watch; put it on a jersey, they will wear it. The N.F.L.’s total revenue in 2015 ($12.4 billion) is nearly double that of a decade earlier ($6.6 billion). The price of television ads during the Super Bowl has increased by more than 75 percent over the last decade. This year’s conference championship games set yet another viewership record for the league: 53.3 million people watched the A.F.C. game on CBS; 45.7 million watched the N.F.C. game on Fox. Goodell talks constantly about ‘‘growing the pie,’’ finding new revenue streams and ways to make the N.F.L. a ‘‘year-round’’ experience rather than just during fall and winter. He has said he wants the N.F.L. to achieve $25 billion in gross revenue by 2027. No league is as relentless when it comes to growth and making cash for its billionaire cartel. It’s reminiscent of a shark that will die if it doesn’t keep moving and ripping little fish to shreds.

The NFL has made changes to try to reduce the number of concussions. But the tendency of the rule changes has been to enhance the overall speed of the game, which increases the impact of collisions. So there hasn't been any big bonanza of reduced injuries.

A lot of commentators compare the NFL to boxing, a blood sport that was enormously popular at one time only to sputter into irrelevance. But boxing's demise had nothing to do with its brutality. Look at the popularity of mixed martial arts today. Boxing lost its broad popularity because all its big fights went behind a paywall. If the NFL gets so greedy that it shunts more of its games away from broadcast TV, then something similar could happen I suppose; that combined with a loss of talent from parents preventing their children from participating in the sport.

In any event, the National Football League is who we are in the United States. And in 1975 it was also who we were. Today in Super Bowl L I like the Carolina Panthers. For the Broncos to win Peyton Manning would have to play a perfect game, matched by a perfect game by the Denver defense. I see no miracles today. It is Cam Newton's year.

NFL Week Eight: Carson Palmer Stands Tall

Week Eight began well with the home-team Broncos notching a solid win over injury-weakened San Diego. With no running game to speak of, Philip Rivers was unable to mount sustained drives, as he did last year when the 'Bolts traveled to the Mile High City.

This was the last Thursday night NFL game to appear on nationwide broadcast television for the remainder of the season; tonight the Thursday night platform reverts back to the NFL Network. For eight weeks the "unwashed" of the nation like myself who have no cable and choose not to frequent bars basked in the television's glow every evening on Thursday. I despised Phil Simms when he quarterbacked Parcells' Giants, the bête noire of every self-respecting 49ers fan at the time, but I must say he is by far the best analyst on television today. I'm going to miss these Thursday night CBS broadcasts.

Denver looks formidable: a strong defense, Ronnie Hillman developing as a potent ground-gainer, topped off by what is easily the NFL's top passing attack of Peyton Manning throwing to Emmanuel Sanders, Julius Thomas, and Demaryius Thomas. I think the Broncos offense can be stopped by the right defense, as the Seahawks proved last year. The problem for other teams around the league is that defense does not exist midpoint of the season.

The Cardinals D looked stout enough against the Philadelphia Eagles. But the difference in that game was the quarterback position. Nick Foles' numbers, 36 completions in 62 attempts for 411 yards and 2 TDs, surpassed Carson Palmer's 20 for 42, 329 yards and 2 TDs, but the Raiders castoff impressed me to no end. He stood tall in the pocket and never appeared rattled by the Eagles pass rush. You could tell he was seeing the entire field, and of course his game-winning bomb to rookie speedster John Brown was a thing of perfection.

NFL Week Eight Sunday began for me at 6:30 AM with the Fox telecast of the Lions-Falcons game from London's Wembley Stadium. Golden Tate had a huge game, helping the Lions overcome a 21-point halftime deficit to defeat the freefalling Falcons. If the Seahawks had a do-over I'm sure they would keep Golden Tate and deal Percy Harvin prior to the beginning of the season, though the rumor that Tate carried on a tryst with Russell Wilson's wife that culminated in the pair's divorce likely would have made the plucky wideout's departure inevitable.

Game #2 for me on Sunday was Seattle vs.Carolina. The Seahawks finally ran into a team more snake-bit than themselves; plus, the defense finally, in the fourth quarter, found its pass rush. A cocky Cam Newton, cocky in the first half despite the inability to hit paydirt -- he ridiculously celebrated every chickenshit first down he scrambled for -- was not cocky by game's end. Seattle tallied a necessary win when Wilson, overcoming numerous mistakes -- a fumble, a pick, missing a wide-open Cooper Helfet for a touchdown -- connected on a pretty pass to Luke Willson, who actually held onto the ball this time, for the game winner.

Now Seattle has a chance to regroup with Oakland in town on Sunday. The Raiders dominated the Seahawks in the final preseason game. So this isn't the walkover that Vegas' 15-point spread says it is. Still, with a win on Sunday, and another win at home next week against the Giants, Pete Carroll will have bailed out his leaky, listing vessel and gotten back on course.

Game #3 was the aforementioned bird bash, Cardinals vs. Eagles. Then it was on to game #4, the Sunday night Packers-Saints match-up. By this time I was on my fourth straight game. I only made it to halftime. The score was tied 16-16. I was convalescing from a lingering flu. The rest and recuperation that such a televisual NFL smorgasbord afforded was welcome.

You can fool yourself and be who you imagine yourself to be. For a spell at least. Then things change. And you're not so strong.

I had not called in sick for five years. So my ego encrusted around being an "iron man." Strong and always showing up to the job and working hard. When I called in sick Monday before last I had to adjust the self-image. Arriving to work the next day I asked myself, "Who am I?" The answer I received was not pleasant. I am a jester, a fool, a clown.

But such is life. The ego is always being amended, buffeted this way and that like a toy boat in the foamy surf. Better not to pay too much attention. Best just to accept that health is the anchor and leave it at that.

Seahawks End Preseason Poorly + Saccharine Trust + Minutemen

Quickly some housekeeping at the outset of this holiday weekend. The Seahawks, minus Russell Wilson's quick scoring drive to open the game, looked poor last night in the last game of preseason against the Raiders in Oakland. It was the defense -- mostly starters, not scrubs -- that collapsed. The Raiders offense led by rookie QB Derek Carr and some hard running by Latavius Murray shredded the Hawks. It verged on the embarrassing. Not a good way to enter the NFL regular season opener.

Two songs from the golden age of SST Records. Saccharin Trust's "A Human Certainty" off Paganicons (1981), the last track on the band's debut EP. (Note how this cut prefigures the Sonic Youth sound of the mid-80s.)

And a live version of Minutemen's "Sell or Be Sold," off the super-historic What Makes a Man Start Fires? (1983):

Thanksgiving NFL Games

For many years, after I had given up on living with a woman but I still maintained a girlfriend, I rigorously defended my right to spend Thanksgiving alone. I refused all offers from friends, family, girlfriend and girlfriend's family to share their table and give thanks collectively in favor of spending the day alone in my studio watching the Thanksgiving Day National Football League telecasts.

I have fond memories of these Thanksgivings. The apartment building would be quiet, deserted; the other tenants, gone elsewhere to celebrate the holiday. I would go out for run in the morning, and then spend the rest of the day cooking, eating a meal and watching the games. A small slice of nirvana.

This Thursday the games on tap are less than ideal. The first Thanksgiving game is always hosted by Detroit. This year it features the wounded Packers with high-priced castoff Matt Flynn almost certainly to start. The Lions have difficulty with Green Bay; lately Detroit has been playing unfocused football, losing to Pittsburgh and Tampa. The line has the Lions three-and-a-half point favorites, and they're at home. But I consider the game a toss-up. It's Flynn for Stafford. I've got to go with Stafford. Take the Lions.

The next game, which is now the second game since a night game has been added to the Thanksgiving schedule, is always hosted by big D. The Raiders -- perpetually wounded, perpetually suffering -- arrive in Arlington six-and-a-half point underdogs. The Cowboys looked decent against the Giants (giving me my only loss in games that I have picked so far this year). New York was not able to exploit the absence of middle linebacker and defensive signal-caller Sean Lee. Bruce Carter played well. Romo was solid. But Dallas has a nasty habit of playing poorly when the team is a favorite at home. While I'd love to see Oakland win, I think it would be a huge upset if they did. Take the Cowboys.

Finally, the Thanksgiving evening game on NBC features two perennial powerhouses each now staggering in Week 13 at 5-6. Pittsburgh deserves credit for scratching its way back into contention. Baltimore appears to be a shadow of the team that last year put together one of the most remarkable playoff runs in NFL history. This is another toss-up. Ray Rice appears to be running better in the last couple of games, but Dennis Pitta is still on injured reserve. The Steelers receivers are coming into their own. Pittsburgh is on a three-game win streak, but the Ravens are at home. I'm sitting this game out. May the best team win.

A word on Week 12. I threw in the towel on the Sunday night game at halftime. I figured that the Patriots were cooked. Twenty-four to zero with no evidence that Brady could thrown in the wind and the Broncos running backs racking up big yardage on the ground, the game, for all intents and purposes, was over. I felt shameful for having picked New England at home. But in the end, plaudits for Belichik's Patriots, a team I loathe, for hanging tough and coming back to win in OT against a formidable Denver team. It's a kind of win that could loom large for New England come the playoffs.

Super Bowl XI

I am recovering from yesterday which was spent all day in a Red Lion Hotel banquet hall. The occasion was the biannual membership assembly of my local union. As the day gave way to night I excused myself from the political action committee auction fundraiser that was proceeding at high pitch to hunt down some coffee. Finding none, a hotel attendant guided me to the bar where a young woman offered to put on a fresh pot. I sat down at a circular high table and watched the three large screen TVs playing simultaneously at one end of the room. On the left screen a UFC bout was finishing up by brutal TKO; on the center screen, University of Oregon basketball was about to get underway; on the right, an old-fashioned big screen TV was playing the NFL Films highlights of Super Bowl XI, Oakland versus Minnesota.

What was strange about sitting there in a hotel bar waiting for the coffee to brew surrounded by sullen men eating dinner alone was how old that January day in Pasadena thirty-six years ago looked. I remember exactly where I was when I saw it. I was in seventh grade and I was alone in my friend A.J.'s home. He had been picked up by his father earlier. A.J. and his little brother Nick lived with their mother, who recently had divorced his dad, in a condo across the street from Fisher Junior High in Los Gatos, California. My father was supposed to have picked me up at the same time, but he was a no show. A.J.'s mother waited around for my father to arrive, but she had a place she had to be; so slightly agitated because she didn't want to leave me alone, she too left. By the time the first quarter kicked off I was sitting alone watching the Super Bowl on a small color TV next to the kitchen table.

The condo was new. Marge, A.J.'s mother, was an interior decorator. Everything was new; everything was shiny and suburban 1970s solid. On television the Rose Bowl grass seemed unbelievably brilliant and perfect. It was a beautiful sunny day both outside and on TV. The Raiders and Vikings uniforms looked crisp and cutting edge. I remember Biletnikoff's catches and Clarence Davis' runs; I remember the Vikings getting steamrollered. Those are the images I still hold in my head. Yet there I was four decades later looking at the same images and they looked truly dated, ancient, from another era, buried beneath an ocean of time.

The nice young waitress brought out the fresh pot of coffee and filled my stainless steel travel mug. She insisted there was no charge, but I left two dollars on the table. And then, as Sammy White jogged up to the line of scrimmage, I turned my back on this little happenstance Saturday night collision with Geistesgeschichte.