The Super Bowl
If you wanna hit-and confirm- your stereotypes of Americans all condensed, you have got to experience the Super Bowl. On Sunday, February 7th took place the NFL (National Football league) final, aka the Super Bowl, that saw The Colorado Broncos battling the North Carolina Panthers at the Levi’s Stadium. Whether you like football or not, the super bowl is more than a football match; it’s the half-time show, it’s the latest commercial, it’s the after-show, it’s ribs and hamburgers.
Friends gather together to celebrate while watching the game-some of them just stop at the celebration part of it- and, as a try-to-fit-in Italian in America, I arrived to my friend house with a jersey and a cap (a New York Yankees one, but let’s pretend). I thought I could bring some snacks, and I came there with veggies- baby carrots, cucumber, and celery with some hummus. My friends had slightly different ideas than mine: frozen pizza, frozen chicken wings, chips, chips and chips with dips of every shape and color. Dang it, why I am always different? Didn’t I know the “Super Bowl diet”? Who wants to munch a baby carrot while Peyton Manning, Broncos quarterback, is scoring the final touchdown? No worries, I will. The living room was organized as an amphitheater and the excitement for the game wasn’t as crazy. The reason is that there were only two Americans, while the rest of us were Euros with no clue on what was going on in the field whatsoever. As a result of it, they even ate few of my baby carrots. The real climax in our “Super bowl Euro Party” was the halftime show, with a performance of Coldplay, Beyoncè and Bruno Mars. We reached the attention’s peak. And it was dead silence.
Half way through the second halftime I left the Euro Party and went back to my place, where my roommate from New Jersey had few friends over for the game, his words. I had to park down the street because our parking lot was full. I guess he forgot a “quite” in front of “few.” I start smelling the trick: there are people, a lot of people, two dogs scuffling, beers spilling on the white carpet, ketchup coming off the burgers at every bite and screams of pure joy or deep disappointment. I guess this is Super Bowl. I helped myself with ribs and I realize how they swim into BBQ sauce, my biggest frustration when it comes to meat in America- but that’s a topic that deserves its own page.
Long Story short, my apartment is still there, as well as the BBQ stains.
God Bless America and its white carpet in the kitchen.