Super Bowl Etiquette Goes Emily Post-al

The pinnacle of my sports involvement was cheerleading in 1965. Wearing an adorably short skirt and coordinating undies, I executed a perfect cartwheel at home runs, free throw wins and touchdowns. That was it, until ten years later when I married a sports nut and soon after was Mama to two boys.

As cheerleader to a Testosterone Trio, I gave it a good go until intolerably bored, I could no longer. My heart was in shoe sales, not sporting events.

For the decades I endured their sports’ interests, I inexplicably read the Denver Post‘s sports page, gleaning wisps of knowledge on Colorado’s teams, the Rockies and Broncos. Truth be told, that I cared not a whit for baseball, I never turned down the invitation to drive to Arizona for Rockies’ spring training, and the opportunity to tan my legs in March.

Given my sports ennui, it’s ironic that one of my favorite television shows is Real Sports. The vignettes are well prepared by a stable of talented reporters and always intrigue and always entertain. But for Bryant Gumbel, the supercilious host, the show is perfect.

Bryant’s hauteur was in especially high gear during last Sunday’s final commentary, a time slot reserved for his exclusive pontificating. With barely controlled eye-rolling, he admonished fans headed to his ‘hood for the Super Bowl to spend as little time as possible in Manhattan, leave their colorful team clothing home, and to not wear out a welcome thin as ice. I, who have never watched a Bronco game, was instantly incensed at his snark. How dare he be offended by a tsunami of bright orange and blue. His attempt to instruct Colorado folk on the etiquette of visiting New York City has me going Emily Post-al.

For a short space of time, yes, the thousands expected will inconvenient, overcrowding sidewalks, transportation and eateries. But while in your city, Bryant, they and their fat wallets will be having fun, immeasurably enjoying a well-earned rivalry by two stellar sports teams, and for just a smidge, forgetful of health care woes, foreign circumstances, the daily grind.

Let me apologize in advance for all Bronco fans, and especially those at the big game, for what is certain to be a lapse of their good manners. Because celebrating a Super Bowl win is no time to mind one’s Ps and Qs.

Newspaper Delivery a Daily Luxury

Every morning, I open the front door and retrieve the day’s newspapers. We subscribe to two, the local paper to keep up with what’s going down in southeastern Colorado, and the Denver Post, so we know what’s up in the big city. Our third subscription expired a year ago, when the Rocky Mountain News closed. I read in today’s Post there’s to be a one-year anniversary gathering Saturday of former Rocky employees…”to raise a toast or two.” Hopefully, the unemployed of a year ago are doing well, and the event will be more a festive reunion than cry fest.

I know my subscriptions can’t save the Pueblo Chieftain and Denver Post from going the way of the Rocky. And I get it that we could read both papers on line and save money and reduce our carbon footprints, but to relinquish the subscriptions for the ecological and financial good just isn’t a consideration.

I grew up with a daily paper at the breakfast table, the sections divvied up – sports to my brothers, the comics passed one to another, my dad reading the serious news, my mother the women’s columns.

Reading the daily newspaper was the main source of how we received information, and no matter how small the press or remote the subscriber, the newspaper delivered the world to our doorsteps.

Within the newspaper was something for everyone.

This 1930s tear provided a quilt pattern on one side.

And on the backside, three patterns for outer wear and lingerie, a hog production meeting,

and the fabulous reportage of mail delivered via a grasshopper:

Newpaper delivery via a google search provides a single-dimensional view of just the facts requested. There is no backview of unrelated articles of the ilk that, like a great joke, were repeated at the water cooler, gossiped over the backyard fence, clipped and enclosed in correspondence, helped break the ice, saved in a scrapbook.

A computer screen doesn’t encourage the reader to turn the page. That’s print’s domain, and one to which I will always subscribe.

Tie One On…an apron, of course!