Of Superbowls and chicken fingers

When Bruce Springsteen came on the Superbowl he asked everyone to put down their guacamole dip and rock and roll. It reminded me of my first exposure to the Springsteen brand.
I was doing the classical program on WRSU, the voice of Rutgers University. The program was

preempted by a football game. Incidentally, this was in the pre big time football era at Rutgers. I had to audit the game and make sure the program had no problems, do the transmission tests, etc. even though my show was preempted. It's called being a team player.

Sitting to the left of the turntable was a new album called "Greetings from Asbury Park". It looked interesting so I potted it up so I could hear this new guy, Bruce Springsteen. Then somebody burst into the studio, put the game on the speakers and said, "if you want to hear the Springsteen album okay, put it on the small speakers. You're hear to audit the game, not audition records." Bruce Springsteen got me into trouble. And it involved football.

Last night he was the halftime show. Not bad. He's put on a few pounds since I saw him at the Ledge but so what.

The Superbowl has become America's annual party. It schlock but a football game should be schlock. Guys who landed planes in the Hudson River. A guy in charge of the armed forces in Iraq. A woman who's family was murdered but can still belt them out. It's the Superbowl. And the commercials. You hated to go to the bathroom because you might miss a great commercial.

And the game itself. A seething cauldron of violence. Guys pulling off other guys face-masks. Guys hitting other guys when no one is looking. John Madden said that the penalties usually go to the second guy who does something. He must have said "big, strong" men or arms ten times during the game. No wonder he's the dean of football broadcasting.

Still it was fun. In these times fun is worth something after all.