Early January 1969. Ten-year-old me roars with laughter. The cause of my merriment an unfathomable pre-game prediction. Courtesy of a cocky, brash, football quarterback named Joe Namath.
Yet, “Broadway Joe” then does the unthinkable. First, he guarantees a victory by his New York Jets squad over heavily favoured Baltimore. And then, after an MVP performance, delivers.
This game, Super Bowl III, remains one of the greatest upsets in the history of professional sport. 19-point underdogs, the Jets dominate throughout. Go on to win 16-7.
Indeed, the Super Bowl, at least since 1967, serves as the championship of every National Football League (NFL) season. Has evolved, certainly in the USA, into a de facto national holiday. The annual game itself, dubbed “Super Sunday”, now among the world’s most-watched single sporting events. Each pretentiously identified by Roman numerals, as opposed to the actual year in which it is held.
Flash forward to February 9, 2025.
To Super Bowl LIX.
A mouthwatering clash between the Philadelphia Eagles and the Kansas City Chiefs on the docket. The latter club carrying the mantle as America’s team, as MAGA’s (Make America Great Again) team, and in pursuit of its third consecutive title.
Over 135 million fans. all across the globe, wait eagerly to view what promises to be a titanic battle.
If only.
Alas, the much-hyped event, in every way, shape, and form, spectacularly flubs its lines. On so many levels, a mess both on and off the field.
The game itself is a non-entity as a contest. Full credit to the Eagles, who, from the opening kickoff, eviscerate the hapless Chiefs. Totally dominate on offence, defence, and special teams. Lead 34-0 before two late, meaningless touchdowns by Kansas City provide some gloss to a final 40-22 score line.
Unfortunately, the awfulness starts well before the action on the field.
Certainly, at least for the 83,000 fans personally in attendance at the New Orleans Superdome, the evening begins on a fittingly poor note. None, from their positions in the domed stadium, can see the traditional pre-game flyover by US fighter jets. The whole smozzle reeks of poor planning, even outright stupidity. An early metaphor of sorts for a country in serious turmoil.
Next up is the national anthem. Jon Batiste, a Grammy and Academy Award winner, takes the microphone. Sitting at a white grand piano, backed by a rolling snare drum, he offers up an overly breezy, jazzy, bluesy rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner. Amidst the flags and uniformed personnel, his attempted mixture of patriotism and New Orleans panache aims “to share an arrangement that lasts the test of time”. It fails miserably. To me at least, he sounds instead like a hotel bar piano man, serving up time worn cabaret numbers.
Of course, as the first sitting president to appear at a Super Bowl, Donald Trump does give the anthem his full support. Strutting, preening, no doubt inwardly smirking, lapping up the cheers of the pro MAGA crowd, he salutes as if a war veteran. Not as a man who, decades ago, actively dodged military service.
Trump’s very attendance at the game produces a weird energy. The NFL itself, initially a bastion against MAGA’s callousness and hate, reverses course. Under pressure, the league’s “End Racism” logos adorning Super Bowl end zones are replaced by those championing “Choose Love.” Hypocrisy at its worst, as the NFL buckles to a president bound and determined to chart the opposite course. Just ask the undocumented, the foreigners, liberals, and transgenders. Or anyone relying on Medicaid or USAid. Or anyone who lives in, or wishes to return to Gaza, yet fearful of ethnic cleansing.
Moreover, there is not enough space in this post to properly describe what else Trump, supported by his sad band of puppets and acolytes, manages in the past month.
A blizzard of punitive executive orders. He throws Ukraine to the wolves. Looks to gut the government. Undercuts congressional and judicial powers. Proposes high tariffs. Plans to seize Greenland. Threatens Panama, Mexico, and Canada. Frees the J6 rioters. Fires FBI agents. Pulls out of the World Health Organization. Promotes numerous questionable cabinet ministers, including an anti-vaxxer and former heroin addict to run health care.
And never mind the infantile decisions to rename a long standing mountain and body of water.
Mercifully, as the Super Bowl action deteriorates from bad to worse, Trump exits early. Perhaps embarrassed having predicted a Chiefs victory, he departs to “beat the traffic.” So missing Kendrick Lamar’s brave, if somewhat ineffective, half-time performance. The hip hop artist attempts to send anti racism and pro DEI (Diversity, Equity and Inclusion) messages via his hit single “Not Like Us”. At best, it plays to mixed reviews.
Still, in a delightful two fingered salute to Trump and his vicious anti DEI stance, two of the game's leading performers provide some delightful irony.
First, Eagles cornerback Cooper Dejean intercepts a Chiefs pass and returns it for a touchdown. It is a breathtaking example of skill, anticipation and athleticism. Yet it is not supposed to happen. Because Dejean is white, a race historically stereotyped as just to slow to play a position requiring blistering speed and agility.
On the flip side, Philadelphia’s Jalen Hurts also plays wonderfully well. Throughout, he is alert and sharp, in full control of the surroundings. Directs the game plan flawlessly. Wins game MVP honours. Yet, because he is black, though a two-time college national champion, he is stereotyped as unqualified to play quarterback at the professional level, labeled too lacking in intelligence.
Even better, Hurts entrusts his contract negotiations and general business affairs to a management team led entirely by women. While the Eagles' owner, on receipt of the Super Bowl trophy, intentionally gives kudos to hundreds of support staff. Many of them DEI hires, “those you will never hear about.”
Music to my ears, anathema to Trump and Co. The Chiefs’ pummelling all the sweeter.
Finally, any hopes of a slick performance by the Super Bowl broadcast team are quickly dashed. Fox Sports, in keeping with the overall event, botch several important calls. The panel of sideline experts underperform, almost drowsy in their response to the purported action. A rules guru takes ages to offer any pertinent commentary on contentious officiating decisions. Throughout, the graphics on offer clunky and chaotically presented.
And then there is Brady.
Quarterback Tom Brady is arguably the football GOAT, the Greatest of All Time. A seven-time Super Bowl winner, a deserved reputation for delivering time and time again in the clutch.
But, recently retired, the same magic is nowhere to be found in the announcing booth. Stunningly, given his complete lack of experience, Fox offers a staggering ten-year, $375 million contract to Brady for his insights.
His first season, capped by a shocker in the Super Bowl, is not pretty. Vacant stares into the distance, forced attempts at humour, noisy then increasingly squeaky voice patterns. A penchant for stating the blindingly obvious mixed with an inability to finish thoughts. Worst of all, rarely if ever anticipating situations or game swings of momentum. Reduced to second guessing. Never first guessing, telling the viewer in advance what is about to happen before it happens.
Only nine more years remain on his bloated contract!
Some six decades ago, I watched my first Super Bowl. Have seen pretty much all of them since.
Without question, the most recent edition ranks as one of the most forgettable ever. From the botched military fly by, to a seriously underwhelming national anthem, to Trump’s attendance, his salute, and his ongoing harsh, incoherent, brutal, racist policies. From a controversial half time show with political undertones, to a one-sided Philadelphia blowout, to a desperately disappointing TV broadcast.
As a ten-year-old watching the “big game”, I roared with laughter before, and as, an all time upset unfolded. Now, much older and hopefully wiser, I am the one upset. Unhappy with an unpredictable world lacking love and trust, full of pain, greed, suffering, and disharmony.
This Super Bowl, even if just a snapshot in time, in tiny ways a microcosm of a world listing badly. A world, in its present state, anything but super.
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