Andy Rooney_ 60 Years of Wisdom and Wit - Andy Rooney [95]
“Run-and-Shoot” and the “hurry-up offense” are big these days, just the way the “flea flicker” pass and “the Statue of Liberty” used to be, but you can bet those phrases will be put out of their misery just the way “red dog” was. It’s the kind thing to do to an old dog.
In spite of my failure to be chosen as an All-America during my playing days, I have great memories of it. Football locker rooms are good places. The talk is good, the feeling is good. Even the smell gets to you if you love the game.
When I go to the stadium, I bring either a small black-and-white television set or a radio. I don’t watch the television set but sometimes, depending on who’s doing the broadcasting, I prefer it to listening to the radio. Other times I stick with radio exclusively. All of the announcers broaden my knowledge of the game I’m watching by pointing out things I didn’t see. Of course, I often feel like pointing out to them things I saw that they didn’t. “Hey, Pat!” I yell to Summerall in my mind. “You missed the block Elliott put on so and so.”
In addition to the radio and television sets with earplugs, I bring a small pair of good binoculars, a tuna fish sandwich on rye, and a thermos of chicken soup when it’s cold. I am indifferent to the weather. I come prepared, and, except for a few early games when it can be too hot, I don’t care what the temperature is.
When Sunday dawns cold, gray, and rainy, I invariably am asked whether I’m going to the game anyway. For forty-five years I’ve had the same answer to that question. “Why wouldn’t I go?”
Rain or snow are of no concern to me at a game. I actually enjoy sitting there, properly dressed and shielded, in a cold rain. The only minor problem I have with rain is that water tends to run up my sleeves when I hold the binoculars to my eyes for long periods.
Having sat with 70,000-odd strangers every Sunday for all these years, I think I understand fans better than the players do. Players seem to take fans more seriously than fans take themselves.
While it has become popular to suggest that anyone who spends time watching someone else play a game is an idiot, I happily profess to being one of those idiots. The Super Bowl is one of the highlights of my year.
If anyone here at the game is one of a small but inevitable number of people who come to every Super Bowl game, not because he or she wishes to but because a husband or friend had an extra ticket, you may wonder why some of us derive so much pleasure from a mere game. I ask you to look for a minute at the headlines in your newspaper any day of the week.
“RAGING FIRE KILLS 16!”
“AIRLINER DOWN IN MOUNTAINOUS AREA. ALL 237 ABOARD BELIEVED LOST.”
“BANKRUPTCIES RISE AS ECONOMY FAILS TO RESPOND.”
“PARENTS ARRESTED FOR CHILD ABUSE FOR THIRD TIME.”
“AIDS EPIDEMIC ON INCREASE.”
Do these tragic events make your day? Does the recent local murder make you happy all over for the rest of the week? Is reading about a raging flood or of corruption in government your idea of a good time?
It’s for relief from such depressing world events and from the daily pressure of living our own lives that we turn to sports for entertainment. For many of us, there is nothing in all of sports quite as diverting as football . . . and no sporting event as much fun to watch as the Super Bowl.
The Urge to Eat
Ice Cream
Because of the seriousness of our national and international situations, I’d like to say some things about ice cream.
The three things I have spent the most time thinking about and working with are words, wood and ice cream. Of those three things, it is possible that I’m best with the last.
Several times a year I fly into a rage as I’m reading a newspaper or magazine article on how to make ice cream. You may notice my hands are shaking this minute. The August issue of a good magazine about food called Bon Appétit arrived in the mail, and I’ve been reading a long feature story in it.
On the cover the story is called “The Best Homemade Ice Cream.” Inside, the story is called “Ice Cream Greats.” Magazines have gotten in the habit