superbowl49: party of a lifetime

This was America’s version of heading to Mecca. A ride to the Stadium that should have been twenty minutes was an hour and a half. It wasn’t the drones I had to fear, it was the crowds. In the end, the Seahawk’s cheerleaders were kind, subdued but ticked by that last call, but reasonable.

Should I feel bad for the cardboard signs with people attached on the side of the road: “father and son looking for two tickets” or “two real fans looking for two real tickets”. Or were they going to resell them for $24,000? That was apparently the highest purchase of resold tickets.

The pre-Super Bowl party with Tostitos (product placement) and barbecued pork and beef and free Bud Lite, le Dulce de leche empanadas and enough churros to pad my belly for winter… with a cover band of Journey, Neil Diamond, and Kesha, and two stepping to Zac Brown Band, we had crazy fun. I stood feet away from Emmett Smith. Americans know how to party–make Canadians look sedated.

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We argued out who deserved the bar seats in the Arizona sun more, them or us. (The Arizona sun finally came out on Super Bowl day). Turns out they are from a town only an hour away from our home.

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It was worth the show. I am now a reformed ‘disinterested football trophy wife’. That was a crazy fun football ride, watching Seattle and New England play ping pong in the last quarter. I’m guessing my husband was a little surprised by my intensity. Were we watching the same show?

The halftime show was amazing. Though I think your visual memory would be better than mine if you were watching it close up at home. Certainly my photos aren’t better.

Halfway I told my husband I felt bad cheering so heartily when the other side is losing. Naturally, he was in disbelief, and told me to imagine them as Satan, it would make it easier. But then I couldn’t stop nervously twitching in the last quarter, hoping Seahawks wouldn’t lose momentum when momentum moved in favour of New England. Pray Seahawks fans, I wrote. Later, I’d remember that God loves cheaters too.

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Our private charter bus was one of dozens, hundreds maybe. 72,000 in attendance, and they all parked at the mall.

Americans know how to take advantage of supply and demand. $6 water bottles? $6 pretzels? My only gripe, which I happily air, because it’s a sincere gripe, is listening to the forty old woman behind me whine about how long the charter took to get out of the parking lot after the event. And whine, and whine, and whine. My third world exposure might heighten my reaction. I wanted to turn around and tell her to be quiet. Do you know the privilege you must have to be able to attend an event like this? Suck it up. Anywho, minus this most unsavoury example of first world problems, and first world spoiledness, we were whisked home (two hours travel time) to discover the resort restaurant was overrun. I stood in a McDonald’s car line to discover that won’t serve me without a car (my husband did tell me that). Dinner was a microwave warmed gas station hamburger. And more minibar M&Ms. And I won’t complain.


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