I'm really looking forward to the Super Bowl. Not because it's a time honored titanic
struggle...a clash between two superior teams of finely honed athletes risking life and limb to achieve the zenith of athletic
perfection. And not because my husband will lose consciousness for the better part of the afternoon allowing me to do an end
run to Nordstrom without him knowing.
No, I look forward to the Super Bowl for only one reason: to hear how the play-by-play
and color commentators will describe this superlative event- The awe, the reverence, the comparison to mythological epic battles,
the individual sacrifices and personal demons afflicting each and every player, adding to the drama of whether they will,
in fact, be able to actually recognize their teammates, let alone the ball.
All this for a group of guys who get together
once a week for a few hours and throw around the bloated remains of a pig.
I'd like to see a little respect and enthusiasm
for the group of us who go out once a week, every week, 52 weeks of the year to play a little game called grocery shopping.
For us, the "Super Bowl" begins at 5pm, Thanksgiving Eve.
"Hi, this is Al Michaels along with John Madden here at
the Food Bowl where it all comes down to this one night. After 52 weeks, this is where it all counts. The team is pumped up,
fired up and they came tonight to win."
"Al, it's been a tough year for the Franklin family. The team has been relying
on Mrs. Franklin to quarterback and, with her pressing job schedule, she's pretty tired. Her wide receiver, Mr. Franklin,
will be coming off the injured list for his first game in over a month. It's doubtful whether he'll remember the shopping
list. The rest of her team are rookie preschoolers with limited attention spans who get stuck in the candy aisle so the Franklins
will be playing short tonight."
"And John, this won't be an easy game. Even though the Franklins have the home field
advantage, the stores have changed their starting formation so everything will be difficult to find and in limited supply.
What else do you see, John?"
"Al, Mrs. Franklin will be coming off her nightly commute, so she'll have to focus early
and she'll be playing injured tonight as well."
"Yes, its her time of the month, so she'll be playing with cramps
which will kill her patience level."
"Well, Al, she's had this problem before."'
"John, she's a woman!"
course, after the pre-game Oprah segment, a few commercials for diet soft drinks and post-holiday clearance sales, we would
get the incredible play-by-play that will exhort us all to new levels of frenzy.
"OK, Al, Mr. and Mrs. Franklin have
come out of the huddle, and they're going right for the screen option! Mr. Franklin's heading towards the bakery aisle for
pumpkin pie and Mrs. Franklin's going right to dairy."
"Oh, that's going to cost them, John. Mr. Franklin has to take
a number. They may not have any pie left. What should they go for here, John?"
"I'd go with an option play, then,
BOOM, right up the middle..."
"It looks like Mrs. Franklin's looking for her tight end..."
"I think she lost
that shortly after she turned forty, Al."
"She's going for the quarterback sneak! She's bypassing dairy and heading
right up the middle towards fresh turkeys! I haven't seen a run like this since Mrs. Franklin's midnight run for Children's
Tylenol last flu season."
"Oh, another bad move! She's sacked! All the 14 pound birds are at the bottom of the pile."
"I think they have to go with a pass, here, John."
"And that's exactly what they're doing! Here comes Mr.
Franklin with the long 'Hail Mary'. It's the last package of herb stuffing! Right into the basket! Right in the numbers!"
"That's an important score for the Franklins. They got thrown for a loss on the pumpkin pie earlier and had to settle
for the frozen apple. I hope they'll go for some short yardage in the produce section."
"John, Mrs. Franklin is down!
Looks like a monstrous cramp!"
"You know, Al, we hate to see this kind of thing happen. It's just so tough on an athlete
to be doing so well, and then get sidelined by an injury."
"We're nearing the end of the game, John, what would you
"I'm not sure they've got a choice..."
"They're headed for checkout lane eight!"
clear, Al. There's a man guarding a full shopping cart; his wife must be running back with more items. They're not going to
make it. ..It's a bootleg! They've faked and gone to check stand five! It's brilliant! They're in the clear! They've won!"
Of course there'd be the usual loading of groceries and the post-game wrap- up in the parking lot. But I imagine the
viewers would have already headed for the refrigerator.
Nancy Franklin. All rights reserved