Because strangers rose up against me. Ruthless men are aiming for my life. They do not put God above themselves. —Psalm 54:3
Sadly, I came across it when I was looking to buy an ironic jersey on eBay. Because I'm obviously trapped inside her 47 year old body and she's 11 years old. While searching for an ironic vintage Chicago Bears jersey (Curtis Ennis, anyone?), I came across the current incarnation of Hall of Fame-bound Bears legend Steve “Mongo” McMichael. He was part of my favorite team. -At the time (1985 Chicago Bears). He was a famous, strong and ruthless man. Now, McMichael is bedridden and in the throes of terminal ALS, waiting for the end.
I spent the better part of two decades forgetting about him, since I idolized him like a kid who looked at the NFL and the Super Bowl as the ultimate proof of an athlete's existence. For me, the Super Bowl was the only thing that would allow a human to live forever in his grainy NFL Network footage.
But even Super Bowl champions are forgotten, and even Super Bowl champions die from deadly, debilitating, body-destroying diseases. Time and opportunity happen to everyone.
Alongside this, I'm watching a four-and-a-half hour pregame show on CBS, a satirical parody of every pregame show ever, and a postmodern novel by David Foster Wallace. Much like the parodied NFL. Infinite Jest. Basically there. Giants backup quarterback Tommy DeVito is trying to sell me pizza. There's Travis Kelsey declaring his love for Taylor Swift, but he's actually declaring his love for Travis Kelsey. The whole incident was said to be in good fun, as evidenced by the canned laughter. Now Kelce is selling me her Experian smart money debit card.
Wayne Newton is apparently still alive, as evidenced by CBS' 4 1/2-hour pregame show.
My son and his roommate are going to be here in a few minutes to make fun of Taylor Swift and eat chicken wings. We will all go to school tomorrow, and by noon we will have forgotten most of this. I should care about this because I love soccer, but I don't. I didn't care about that for a long time.
This whole event promises permanence…immortality…but it will not be fulfilled. The world will forget Isaiah Pacheco and Patrick Mahomes and whatever they do tonight. The world will forget that Taylor Swift is mad about invading football season with his own brand of marketing as his life. It's becoming as natural to most of us as breathing. I don't know when it's alive or when it's selling.
CBS shows are full of ads that no one under 65 has ever seen or heard of. Gayle King is famous for being Oprah Winfrey's best friend. Brock Purdy came out for pregame warmups but paused to take a photo with his family. Television is a strange thing.
The Chiefs are proactively celebrating their “dynasty''. In reality, they are a bunch of wealthy young people, some of whom will be retiring and some of whom will be fired over the next year or so. Perhaps most of them do not put “God before themselves.” Football is (basically) a game of strangers and ruthless men. At the end, a group of wealthy young men don oversized his T-shirts and ball caps and pantomime their celebration together for a television audience, as many other teams have done before. I will show it off.
What I do know is that I miss “sticking my hands in the dirt” when I watch a football game. I miss being bruised and sore after games, driving home to eat pizza with my parents (high school), and walking across the street from my apartment to eat pizza with my wife (semi-pro). . I remember getting on a bus in France to go home after playing in a soccer game 48 hours after arriving (two broken ribs and a concussion; the French are tougher than I thought). It was all so forgettable to everyone but me. I don't care about that except that I wish I could play a soccer game.
CBS is trying to convince us that halftime act Usher was really important to everyone but his parents.
I can't stop thinking about McMichael. He was a symbol of strength throughout his career. Now he is a symbol of the world of sin and corruption in which we live, and our only hope in life and death is Christ. No amount of money, no Super Bowl, no Hall of Fame can protect a man from his fate.
Oh, how I wish I had Christ set before me. Oh, don't waste days or moments wishing for something you can't have or can't achieve.
