Superboil

The most generous people I know, Don and Colleen Stevens, owners of Bill’s Off-Broadway, threw the funnest Superbowl party I’ve ever been to that didn’t include the Steelers; I showed up right about the time some lady was singing “God Bless America” and stayed until right after Drew Brees took a knee in “victory formation” sealing the Saints 31-17 victory over the Colts, an outcome I was delighted to welcome, although the difference between this year’s game—which was all about celebration—and last year’s—where life and death was at stake—was palpable, at least to me, when I touched my belly and didn’t feel any of the butterflies I experienced in 2009 and 2007 when the Black n’ Gold were involved.

Instead, I got to enjoy the game and the festivities, which included something like 180 pounds of crabs boiled up in 60 gallon pots with potatoes, corn, onions, artichokes, and sausage, along with spice from a package that Harley said was called “Smack Yer Momma,” but which, however you might refer to it, made the spuds and kernels taste like the warm inside of a night in the French Quarter.

I watched the crustaceans being dropped into the roiling boil; frankly they didn’t seem all that upset about it; still, I preferred snacking on the boiled tubers than the overheated sea creatures, and more to the point, enjoyed washing down whatever I was consuming with one after another or mid-day beers, celebrating the closest thing we have to a secular holiday in this, the most Christian of developed nations in the 21st century West.

This time last year, I was still fielding calls from folks who thought it made sense to congratulate me for rooting hard for the winning side; tonight, I got to high-five a couple guys who were as much invested in today’s outcome as I was in last year’s, and as I will be next year, when the Steelers win again.