The NFL Experience, America, and Pam Oliver
1. The National Football League is more American than America. Really. NFL football represents the best and worst that our culture has to offer. Fast-paced collisions between freakishly large humans, fireworks literal and figurative, beer and heart-attack inducing culinary fare, lots of loud music and people screaming, foul language, soaring hubris, and lots of fat people squeezed into mass-produced jerseys. America, f--k yeah!
This is why the NFL is so godblessedly awesome. Walking into the stadium yesterday, I had to wait in a line with about 4,000 people drinking, trading Kevin Kolb jokes, and berating the handful of Saints fans that peppered the masses--at that point, I was re-thinking my decision to wake up at 8 a.m. and drive 3 hours to Philadelphia. But once we got in the stadium, it was kickoff time, and the place was just buzzing with adrenalin. Everyone shouting at the top of their lungs as the players emerged from the tunnel, "Firestarter" blaring from the PA system, and just before kickoff, two fighter jets exploding through the sky above us. Just an unreal amount energy.
There are plenty of things to nitpick the NFL for, but when it comes down to it, a live game delivers an experience like none other in sports. Maybe soccer matches one-up our passion, but I’ll stack up the sensory experience of a football game--standing among 80,000 rabid fans, fighter jets screaming over our heads, fireworks shooting from the edge of the stadium, and players going apeshit on the field below--against that of any soccer match in the world. We see your plastic horns and raise you some effin fireworks, Euros.
There are downsides, too. Opposing fans (my friend was wearing a Saints shirt) are treated like feces for sixty minutes. We were sitting among friends and family of the Saints, but even walking around the concourse in Philadelphia, we were called: “faggot, pussy, homo, faggot pussy, and jackass.” Creativity is evidently not a strongsuit among the Philly-set. That, and when you consider the amount of money poured into the NFL experience--from the league and fans, alike--is really a pretty absurd excercise in excess.
Still, did you see those fighter jets? BOOM!
2. Cowboys Jerseys. Standing in line, waiting to get admitted to the stadium--thank God the Philadelphia security does patdowns--I struck up a conversation with an Eagles fan, and before long, we were bemoaning the guy two lines over that was inviting all sorts of negative taunts from the Philly faithful. I'll just quote him: "Why does he wear a jersey like that? Really? Is that necessary? The Cowboys are playing 8 hours from now. I f---ing Dallas hate fans. He's probably not even from Texas. That guy just wants attention, and it pisses me off." And when you think about it, he's 100% correct.
(Note: I’m not from Texas, I’m a Cowboys fan, and I’d planned to wear a Dallas jersey just for the sake of inciting animosity. To be clear, this makes me no better than That Guy I was ridiculing. I am That Guy and very much part of The Problem.)
3. The Colston Family. When I planned this excursion with a friend, I figured I'd be entertained for the entire game by a bunch of Philly's finest fans, slobbering on themselves, calling Kevin Kolb NSFW names, and generally living up to their atrocious reputation. But after milling around for an hour or so before the game, I'd had my fill of that set, so it was a welcome surprise when we found out we'd be sitting with fellow friends and family of the Saints. Marques Colston's friends and family, to be exact.
And that was far more entertaining than anything Eagles fans had to offer. Because the Colston clan was vocal, but severely divided in their loyalties. Most of them were native Philadelphians, so natually, they were Eagles fans. But then, close ties to Colston made the Saints’ success a top priority. In the end, the rooting interests were split about half-and-half.
What ensued was all sorts of back-and-forth trash talk between friends and family, and hilariously awkward half-celebration whenever Colston scored for the Saints. Their hometown hero scored! But at the expense of the hometown team!
Most of what was said can’t be printed, but after one of ‘em gave a standing ovation to Desean Jackson after his first quarter, 71-yard touchdown catch, a Saints fan among them yelled, “You want to be an Eagles fan? Good! Be an Eagles fan, but do it at home on your Goddamn couch! Marques got us these tickets, so we’re from New Orleans today!” It was like being in the middle of an entertaining family barbecue, made more heartening because Marques Colston absolutely dominated the Eagles yesterday, and everyone became increasingly jubilant as the day went on.
4. The Magic of the Family Pass and Pam Oliver’s Ass. At halftime, my friend and I decided to take advantage of our “family pass” which granted us access to the “visitor’s family lounge.” Having no idea what this entailed, we flagged down a security guard to escort us, and as we all got off the elevator, we ran into the charming striped gentleman pictured below.
Flabbergasted, we realized we were standing next to the Saints locker room, and down the hall from the Eagles. I cannot overstate how awesome this was. Hearing a football team get fired up for the second half--none of which is remotely appropriate to be reprinted here--is just about the coolest thing ever. Hearkening back to item one: football is extremely badass.
From there, we were escorted to the family lounge, where we encountered three security guards hanging out on couches, eating chips, and talking football. We entered and they immediately struck up a conversation.
Security Guard #1: Now, you don’t look like much of an ass man, but did you see Pam Oliver in the tunnel earlier?
Me: (Completely clueless as how to respond. Do I defend my credentials as an “ass man” or simply move on and say that I saw her?)
Security Guard #2: Aw, hell yeah! I saw her. She put on some weight but that girl can carry it, man.
Security Guard #3: Man I don’t know how she got the job, but I can tell you that’s how she gon’ keep it!
Me: (Nervously enters conversation) Seriously. You see why players talk to her?
Security Guards: (in unison) AW HELL YEAH!
Guard #1: Somewhere up in Fox there’s some lucky bastard that just gotta follow Pam around all game. Call it the Pam cam. Just following that ass around for 60 minutes.
The conversation gets more inappropriate from there, tackling topics from Beyonce’s skinny ass to someone named “Buffy Da Body” that will apparently blow my mind. In any case, my halftime interlude was highly entertaining, with a slight markdown because I was too much of a wuss to steal one of these yellow jackets and try to walk onto the field. Maybe next time.
5. Responsible Living and Authentic NFL Jerseys. It's understood that if you're a football fan going to a home game for your favorite team, you really should be wearing a jersey. This phenomenon leads to all sorts of entertaining fashion choices. Do women go for extra small and/or kids' sizes, or wear a large, and treat it as a dress? (The answer to that question implies a whole lot more, for what it's worth.) For men, choosing a player's jersey is like choosing an identity. For instance, a Redskins fan that wears a Cooley jersey is making a far different statement that someone wearing a Santana Moss jersey. This is why jerseys are so much cooler than a t-shirt, there's all sorts of coding there, and it only makes sense to sports fans.
But nothing is more perplexing to me than the fans that wear authentic jerseys to games. Swear to God, I saw five different people wearing authentic Brent Celek jerseys yesterday. Keep in mind, a customized authentic jersey goes for $259.99 on NFLshop.com, so it's not like these are just casual purchases. And yet, all across America, you see thousands of fans rocking authentic jerseys to games. How is that worth the money if you're not a rapper?
And given that 90% of the people wearing these authentic jerseys look like fans of lower income, how is it that they can afford to meet other life expenses? Like, $150 tickets, per se. These are the questions I was pondering in the fourth quarter yesterday, as New Orleans continued to pound the Eagles into submission, and c--- became an increasingly prevalent slur among the fans.
6. Drew Brees, the NFL Behemoth, and Jeff Garcia. With the clock winding down in the fourth quarter, and suspense having been removed some time earlier, we made our way down to the locker rooms. And like our experience at halftime, it couldn't have been much better. We stood in the tunnel as the Saints ran through, and among a host of lasting images, Dree Brees was the most memorable.
The last to leave the field, Brees ran into the tunnel to a mix of cheers from lingering Saints fans and intense booing from bitter Philadelphians, but he hardly noticed either. Instead, he had his hands in the air, his thinning hair flopping in the wind, and a grin from ear-to-ear plastered across his face as he ran full speed into the locker room.
Without getting too mushy, it was a pretty amazing image of a quarterback that so clearly loves his job, and had just done it extremely well. Brees may not have the name recognition of Brady or Manning, but he’s continued to prove that he’s every bit the quarterback they are. And talking to one of the players after the game, he said, “Drew is a freak, man. He’s in there before anybody else, and four hours after everybody leaves, he’s still in there watching film. I mean, I watch film, but Drew? Drew watches film, man.” It certainly paid off yesterday.
Beyond that, another indellible image emerged as we were standing outside the Saints locker room. We were waiting to meet up with Jo-Lonn Dunbar, the Saints player and former Boston College star that had graciously invited us to the game as his guests. As we stood waiting, just the enormity of the Saints staff was astounding. Every two minutes, it seemed like a different coach emerged from the locker room with a different gigantic bag of equipment. Then, they placed it on a mechanical lift, which put it in the back of an enormous moving truck parked in the hallway.
While this was going on, players shuffled out of the locker room one-at-a-time, with expensive luggage and designer sunglasses, bound for the team bus that would eventually take them to a chartered flight, that would eventually put them back in New Orleans. Within a few minutes, the Saints owner entered the mix, and began handing out stat sheets from Sunday’s game to various family members and media. Intermingled, what appeared to be a Saints public relations director was fielding requests and sending reporters in-and-out of the locker room.
It sounds chaotic, but it wasn't; instead, we saw a series of bit players (team personnel), power brokers (Tom Benson), and superstars (Reggie Bush), going about their business and doing their jobs. (Reggie and the rest of the Saints post game chores? "Look as badass as possible, and indulge in these nearby groupies at your own risk.")
The NFL experience conjurs the image of this behemoth corporate entity that makes all this possible. And that’s exactly what the NFL is. But standing in the tunnel and seeing it up close, you don’t see an overwhelming juggernaut, but a team--and reporters, and medics, and security guards, and bus drivers--adhering to the fine-tuned mechanics of disassembly that it seems the NFL has perfected.
They put on a show, and then, everyone goes about their business and they go back to New Orleans, where they’ll practice for next week’s show. And in that way, the NFL’s like any successful entertainment: what looked glamorous and otherworldly and quintessentially American in the first quarter is essentially just a science that’s been perfected over time, where everyone has his or her (that’s you, Pam Oliver) specific job, and they do it with remarkable efficiency. And it coalesces to form this magnificent show, put on by a league that predominates the world over. Much of that may have been obvious, but to someone seeing it up close for the first time, it was pretty cool.
And finally, it should be noted that from the time I set out on this adventure until the time I got home, my friend and I had been telling Jeff Garcia jokes. He contends that Garcia’s the most underrated quarterback of all time, and wonders, “So the most hated player in the league calls you gay ten years ago, and after continued success and marrying a Playmate, you still can’t live that down? How is that fair?”
In any case, it’d been a running theme from the day’s activity, and right as we were about to leave, we ran into Garcia and his wife (who is shockingly beautiful, by the way). After speaking to him for a moment, I got to take this picture, of Garcia and his biggest fan (my friend):
And last of all, a gigantic thanks to Jo-Lonn Dunbar for making all of the above possible, because I can’t think of any better way to have spent my Sunday. Pretty awesome.
