My non-observance has become my personal holiday. I’m something of a rare case. A Vox survey from this week estimates that two out of three Americans will tune in this weekend. I can’t speak for what the other one in three of us is up to (working the Sunday shift?), but for me, the details of my ritual vary from year to year. The theme is always the same, though: I’m not having fun in spite of being alone. I’m having fun because I am alone.
It is the one Sunday a year I’m free to enjoy all the trappings of Washington without the bros, crowds, lines, and parking fiascos I’d otherwise encounter in the precious final hours of the weekend. For me, Super Bowl Sunday isn’t quite a three-day weekend, but it’s more than the extra hour that comes with the return to standard time. It’s a magical evening where I’ve tricked the laws of time to my advantage.
Besides the fact that I empathize so hard with this, I must also commend Sarah Turbin’s delightfully whimsical illustrations for the essay. My own plan for Super Bowl Sunday is to snag a choice spot by the fireplace in one (or more, if I migrate around!) of the local coffee shops. Then I will do much homework.