American Football

Football reveals just about everything wrong with America (and with me).

Now that NFL season is winding down, I want to talk about American football (not soccer) and its contribution to both my individual madness and the collective madness of American culture.

It may seem like I’m departing from the usual, more serious subjects I tackle (pun intended) in favor of a meaningless staple of American entertainment—but you’d be mistaken. Football should be taken seriously by diehard fans and uninitiated snobs alike because football is America in a lot of ways.

It has all the familiar warts of a fading empire: Unchecked greed, materialism, gross inequality, incompetent leadership (Jerry Jones), violence as spectacle, arbitrary rules, unequal application of said rules, nationalism (with teams as a substitute for nations), and co-optation of cultural capital (Taylor Swift).

As an egotist with no patience for losing—who supports a team that chokes in the playoffs every year—I have nonetheless found it impossible to give up watching NFL football. I promise myself, my mother, and my wife that each and every disappointing game I witness will be my last, but this is never to be. The best I can to do is wean myself off the sport, skipping a Sunday here and there. I can't seem to go cold turkey—not even on Thanksgiving.

I have struggled with this socially acceptable addiction for at least the last ten NFL seasons. This time around I've decided that if Kansas City makes another Super Bowl, I will smash every TV I own with a bat (there’s no football-related item that’s good for smashing things, and I like baseball too). But I made the same pledge about New England in the Tom Brady era (and repeated it when he joined the Bucs), so I’m likely going to break yet another promise to myself (by not breaking any TVs).

It’s strange how much I identify with catastrophic losses suffered by my home team. Even the euphoria that results from a big win doesn't compensate. My feelings of anger and disgust after a loss only lead to stronger feelings of shame for acting like a baby because of some goddam team whose players, coaches, and front-office personnel have no connection to me whatsoever. It wasn’t my failure: I’m no gambler. So, why do I give a fuck? If losing isn’t possible, winning is meaningless. Plus, for all I know the whole thing is fixed—because the real game is maximizing profit. I’m convinced that NFL officials (and possibly opposing teams) do everything possible to let the Chiefs win. The bullshit is real whenever they play.

The manipulation isn’t just about betting lines and appeasing fans in larger media markets, however. It goes much deeper than that. While Americans love underdogs (the Lions fit the bill at the moment), they also love heroes and tight, uncomplicated narratives. To the casual fan, the 2024 NFL narrative is simple: Can anyone dethrone the Chiefs? The narrative can never be: Which team will leverage its unique blend of analytics, in-game coaching, player development, talent, and luck to prevail in highly competitive contests? This is not a sport for intellectuals, even though a shocking amount of intellect goes into it. Like everything else in this country, football is dumbed down (intentionally) for the sake of easy money: If you make people think too much, they don’t consume. I, for one, think all the time and don’t consume jack shit. (I wore a sweater yesterday I’ve owned since 2004.)

But I admit that I—like millions of American consumers—need to know what will happen. Even if football were a scripted TV series, I would still need to know. This is the power of simple narratives and emotional manipulation. This is why so many of us on all sides of the political spectrum remain obsessed with Trump. This is why millions voted for him (again) and would do so in 2028 if they could (but probably won’t have to). Americans are not reasonable people: We’re emotionally driven suckers who love a familiar tale—even if the ending is predictable. America is my grandmother watching endless reruns of Matlock and demanding I shut up until the commercial break. Andy Griffith is Kathy Bates. Mahomes is Brady. Reid is Belichick. The Chiefs will continue to win until the story gets stale or until Swift starts dating someone on a different team. Rinse, recycle, repeat. Again, the bullshit is real—and we can’t get enough of it.

Beyond the narratives and the need to know, I worry that the football field is analogous to my reality. My inability to accept losses proves my preference for a life of ease, where great plays (and great luck) come when they are most needed, and everything is always under control. I project on my favored performers my own fears of failure and inadequacy, and I know I'm not alone. We have, in this country, an epidemic of vicarious living. Many of us hate the Mahomeses of the world—with their froggy voices and prepubescent faces—but secretly wish we were them.

The problem with football is not about watching the players too closely but identifying too closely with the players. We should see it for what it truly is: A brilliant form of distraction—rivaled only by American politics.

Does it really matter who wins? No, it doesn’t—as long as we keep consuming the bullshit.

But fuck the Chiefs anyway. They even wear the wrong color. I hope they fall harder than the Dems in 2016 and 2024 combined.