It's Super Bowl Sunday in America. A day to celebrate with slothful behavior, eating unhealthy food and swilling cheap beer.
Typically, I am disinterested in football. As was the man, for most of his life. That has changed over the last few years, and he now enjoys watching a game here and there. Except that he never takes any of it seriously, which is not the case for the average football fan. Like my crazy ex-husband, whose mood was totally dependent on the outcome of a game. Ridiculous.
I now enjoy watching the occasional game with the man. Not that I actually understand what's going on most of the time. Hey, everything looks good in high definition, right? Since we are both San Francisco Bay Area natives, we like the 49ers.
My dad was a lifelong fan of that football team, from the moment the franchise arrived. Through seasons of glory as well as massive defeat, he was right there. He wasn't your stereotypical fan, since he was the dean of a college, loved spending time in Paris, and did not indulge in cheap beer or Buffalo wings. But he loved the team as much as any overfed, undereducated fan did. Perhaps even more so.
Last season, the 49ers came so close to making it to the Super Bowl. Alas, it was not to be. Dad was disappointed, but hopeful for the next season. A season he would not be around to enjoy. I find it bittersweet that his beloved team is playing in the Superbowl today. He'd have been thrilled beyond belief.
So... I'll watch it later today, when the man is home from the farmers market. But it just isn't as exciting as it might have been, had my father been alive to yell and scream at the television. Since I do not believe in the afterlife, I won't pretend that he is "up there" watching. What I will do is keep him in my heart, and root for his team. Even if I rarely comprehend what the hell is going on.