Monday Night Football

At first I was somewhat reluctant to call Monday Night Football my new safe sanctuary away from the daily strife that occurs constantly around me, hovering about, just outside my very walls (as has been so thoroughly advertised in the "Is it Monday Night Yet?" commercials, billboards, radio promos, etc.) and I wanted to enjoy this weekly participatory social encounter as just another excellent (albeit transparent) excuse to get drunk on a weekday which lands before Thursday (which consequently, I might add, has once again attained the "Thursday Night, It's The New Friday Night" drinking status. Glad to see that coming back in vouge). I mean, I watch Monday Night every week because I am a football watcher by nature, but I'm not ready to jump head-first into the MNF sideshow that always seems to be accompanied by pointless fanfare. With the one exception, of course, being the Falcons-Saints game which I watched with the rest of the U.S. as we collectively clutched our sides with honest joy when the Superdome erupted after that first blocked punt/touchdown sequence. That was universally powerful stuff. But I tuned in early for the overhead shots, for the before-and-afters, for the reminders, for the ability to believe in a brighter tomorrow and for all that other built-in stuff that the NFL played up so brilliantly. The game itself was just an excuse to have New Orleans on display which was timely, needed and appreciated. That's one thing, that affects the coping mechanisms of a nation, that's a cause. But what happens when the game itself is the selling point, the reason to care. Then is all this artificially generated hype enough to fuel the fire? Does an Average Joe care about who sings the opening number or who's in the booth when the game is a yawner?

Week 2: Jacksonville 9, Pittsburgh 0

Which set the record for times Joe Theisman reminds the audience that good defensive football combined with sloppy execution on offense is also fun to watch. Which made me slightly homicidal, but I'm over it by now. For the most part.

Week 5: Denver 13, Baltimore 3

The frozen tundra of Investco Field, bad weather conditions, two great defenses, two aging vets who throw into double coverage, needless to say, you get the picture. I listened to the second half on Westwood One because I needed a little Marv Albert in my life and it was more enjoyable than had I actually watched the game. The only reason I kept listening was because there were fantasy implications involved..

(Which actually reminds me how the phrase "fantasy implications" has now become this ominous word we men use in increasingly odd situations. For instance, two couples are out at dinner and the women begin discussing Eva Longoria and her split with Tony Parker. Then they talk about how they don't really like her Desperate Housewives character anyway and then they both decide that the whole show has been going downhill since the second season and they like Grey's Anatomy better... On the other side of the table, after hearing the Tony Parker news, the men immediately grab bread rolls and start gnawing on them pensively because they both have him in their keeper leagues. He won't be in a contract year until 2009, he's going to be chasing around NBA groupie pussy, he's going to get fat, slow down, dog it on defense, start settling for jumpers and slowly morph into Gary Payton. Those damn fantasy implications haunt us around every corner...)

Week 4: Philadelphia 31, Green Bay 9

The only reason to watch the Packers anymore is to bet the Over/Under on Brett Favre interceptions and to watch his postgame comments which usually stammer out, "Well, we're just not that good anymore, are we? We aren't there anymore and I, for one, don't know how else to say it. Not. Very. Good. It's what the facts are and those are the facts of the matter." The whole time he's wearing that affable expression, salt and pepper beard, an aww shucks! sincerity which is slowly driving cheeseheads mad... What can I say? It is to smile.





But then, MNF Week 6 happens. And everything I thought I knew or cared to know about this cultural phenomenon got turned on its head. I turned off my cell phone a half hour before kickoff because I needed complete concentration. I would be like the monks on high, attaining a level of ferocious effort, my mind balancing like a candle flame, striving towards truth and understanding. By halftime, I was two pitchers of Miller into things and elbow deep in a plate of buffalo wings. Enlightenment, indeed! To be honest though, I was worried and anxious and terrified that this 5-week Bears lovefest was over when the Cardinals trotted into the locker room up 20-0 at the half. I never wanted to turn on my phone again. I knew the Bye week was going to feel like forever with this Prime Time embarrassment hanging over us. I knew my SuperFans halloween costume replete with 19-0 shades (19 on one lens, dash, 0 on the other lens) would seem even more tragic and played out. I walked around the bar with a sullen expression during halftime.

The one moment of levity came when a drunken guy I never met before raised his hand to me, palm forward and yelled, "Vasher baby! Yeah! That’s a good one!" I tilted my head slightly in confusion and then he motioned to my jersey and the 31 that was scrolled across it. Then, understanding the situation, I turned around so he could realize that I was in fact wearing a Rashaan Salaam jersey (circa 1996). He crinkled up his nose and recoiled, lifting up his right eyebrow ever-so-slightly as he did, finally breathing out swiftly. He reacted as if I offered to smell his farts for a set fee per fart, which would be arrived at later after some lengthy haggling. And that's exactly the look I go for.

It still makes me proud to wear this thing, one of the biggest busts in Bears history which was all the more troubling because he showed so much promise with that 1,000 yard rushing rookie season. And then the fumbling began, and then the leg injury came, and then during a rehab stint he picked up a drug problem and then he faded into oblivion. The thing that kills me is that he won a Heisman Trophy and demonstrated that he was built to play on Sunday with the big boys. He had the tools to be the next Neal Anderson, but the drugs proved too tough to beat, but I'm not talking about painkillers or cocaine... No, he's a pothead. He's Ricky Williams Light. He should be in those drug awareness commericals instead of stoned teenagers in a drive-thru running over little girls on bikes. Rashaan bounced around in the NFL for a few years, tried the XFL and retired. Bottomline, I wear this jersey because I want that reaction from people. I want them to look and me and shake their heads and say, "Why?"

And I'll make a grand turn to them, look them square in the eyes, pause for effect, and say, "Why, indeed. Why...indeed."

Needless to say, we all saw what happened in the second half. How do I know that? Because it was on Monday Night Football, bitches. And that's the point of this whole thing. The games might be tough to watch or oddly marketed, but everyone watches them. It's like a cultural yardstick and I feel good that the Bears did what they did. They dispelled their mythic myth, displayed their mortality and made away into the dry Arizona heat with a comeback I'll never forget. I'm glad I understand once again. So MNF, like George Castanza, "I'M BACK BABY!"

I turned on my cellphone before I went to bed and these beauties rolled in as an eloquent timeline of the game. Enjoy...

Maloney - "The superbears going to let bearlaucher beardown so hard I'm going to have a bear-gasam"
Wags - "I love that Leinart is miked. This could make for great comedy."
Uncle Jeff - "Matt da bear killer?"
Hodnett - "M. Lienart... Golden Boy"
Kras - "WTF is going on with the bears?"
Hodnett - "Sexy Rexy"
Uncle Jeff - "Holy Shit"
Kate - "This game sucks"
TK - "What’s this ole bullshit?"
Beckwith - "I’m ready for some football. Is your team?"
Wags - "If I die tonite I will stand before my lord a humbled man."
Bauer - "Can you believe that SHIT?!?"
Mariano - "Holy Shit"
Stemmler - "Clean your drawers home boy, you shit yourself tonight"