You know, I know more than a few people who got exposed to high-pressure indoctrination from religiously-inclined family, friends and acquaintences that has left them with a deep-seated loathing of anything even vaguely religious in nature, particularly if it hints of the religious persuasion of those trying to indoctrinate them (and, in North America here on the cusp of the One-And-Twenty, we all know the most likely candidate there). Some of them have moved past the knee-jerk reactions this produces on an intellectual level, but still, on some level, the conditioned response is still there.
Mention "angels" to kolchis some time.
So I am with football.
In my youth, I had far too many people insist that I should enjoy the game, that if I didn't, I wasn't "normal". In school P.E. classes, no effort was ever made to actually explain the rules -- you were assumed to just magically know, because, after all, you'd been watching it every weekend of your life, and if you hadn't been, what the hell was wrong with you?
Understandably, of course, I rebelled. Oh, I can sit down with my stepfather and follow a game -- mostly because he is actually willing to explain the game and point out the strategies involved. In fact, when I lived a few miles from my folks and would regularly do laundry at their place on Sundays, I found myself fascinated by the tactical intricacies.
Left to my own devices, however -- and happily married to a woman with as little interest in the game as I have myself -- I've backslid into happy heathenism. The gridiron -- and the diamond of that other National Pasttime, for that matter -- has graced my television screen only for as long as it takes me to ascertain that it has once again pre-empted something I actually wanted to watch (usally accompanied by a stream of vocabulary usually reserved to sailors and truck drivers).
Strangely, despite all this, I look forward to this particular day.
Traditionally, I've made a point of doing the geekiest thing I can think of on Superbowl Sunday, something as antithetical to the High Holy Day of the Pigskin Cult as can be. By preference, that's gaming -- pull out the ol' polyhedrals and spend the day romping around some fantasy world. Alas, one of the members of my Ironclaw group must work today.
Instead, hinoki is coming over. We'll be setting up a web site for him, explaining the basics of HTML, grilling up buffalo and ostrich burgers, and... hooray! ...watching Bad Movies.
The slated marquee includes:
- Willow: decent acting, but lackluster plot and a setting so generic as to be nonexistent.
- Dungeons & Dragons: terrible acting and another lackluster plot... in a setting more interesting than any of the settings they actually publish for the damned game. (Yes, I like this movie as much or more than I do Willow. Sue me.)
And best of all:
- Roger Corman's Fantastic Four. A movie made by a studio that had no intention of releasing it, strictly to avoid losing the license. I've only heard of this marvel, never seen it -- but the cheetah has somehow scored a copy. I love the FF, I love Corman, and I expect this to be oh so very bad.
I can't wait.
AAAIEEE!!! He's HERE already! And we aren't even DRESSED yet!