Last week was the Annual Super Bowl Gathering at the Long Beach Casting Club. I look forward to it every year, but not for the game. I’m not much of a football person, but I do enjoy trying to figure it out each year. I’m told there is strategy involved, but all I see is a bunch of men pounding each other over a fat cigar shaped ball. My main reason for participating in the gathering is the food. These men really know their way around a kitchen. The measurement of a Super Bowl party is not the game being played, but the food on the table. That’s the real superbowl.
Each year we get together about an hour or two before the game and watch some golf tournament. None of us play golf, but none of us are interested in the pre-game stuff either. Actually we don’t even watch the golf. All we do is talk about fishing. After all, that is what our club is about. We are fly-fishermen, and that is what we do. Even during the game our attention is more focused on fishing or food instead of who has the ball and what they are doing with it.
This year, I must admit, I found the last few minutes of the game quite interesting. Ecstasy, agony, ecstasy, agony. Winning, losing, winning, losing. Quite an ending. I just wish I understood what happened.