Prologue
It is a fact, that the game of football, in particular professional football, has an adverse effect upon most males.
I have written about this before, however, it bears repeating. Within each male, there are a X and a Y chromosome. This we know from biology class. However, there is also present within the nucleus of each male cell what I call the “dumb gene.” It reveals itself when professional football (read this as either American Football, World Football (soccer), and maybe Rugby) is played. Scan the crowd at the typical American football game. The most gaudy, outrageous, and ridiculously dressed and worse behaved among the spectators are generally male. I was once one inflicted with the effects of the gene, so much so, that it would raise within me most displeasing behavior and a tendency to use all the curse words the Benedictine monks taught me in high school (words I usually only used while working on the plumbing of my home).
The Cure for the Dumb Gene
Ashamed, I was at the point of seeking out a 12 step group for those afflicted by this gene. I came to regard Viking football games as a near occasion of sin that should be confessed to a priest (though, knowing a number of priests similarly afflicted, they would agree with my reaction and not regard my outburst as a sin.)
Over time, I found ways to try and thwart this sin. It was my lovely bride, Ruthie, who came up with a marvelous way of doing this for myself, and my sons, Andy and Luke (who are also recovering Viking fans). Food. In short, she found that good food eaten during a Viking game takes away the shame of poor play, poor coaching, and many defeats.
Over the years, my lovely bride, Ruth, use to make a smorgasbord of wonderful, delightful food to digest, while we were swallowing another miserable loss by the Vikings. Buffalo wings of various degrees of spice, cocktail wieners, cheese and crackers plates, vegetable trays with ranch and dill dip, chips etc have all been served. Frozen daiquiris use to assist in this endeavor until age and the heartburn effect of rum started to rear its ugly presence. Nowadays, water and the occasional Long Island Ice Tea are the likely beverages to help wash down the wonderful food to disguise the taste of bitter football defeat.
Chili
Yesterday, my beautiful bride once more surpassed her culinary skills in creating a wonderful batch of chili to be consumed as Kansas City was defeating the Vikings. Along with my 24 ounces of water, I made myself a brandy Manhattan (two cherries) to drink. Mexican wisdom states that water chases the fire created by spicy foods, hence the alcoholic drink … that’s my story and I am sticking to it.
Ruthie did not spare the spices. It was clear that red cayenne pepper was, indeed, very present. It was delicious, so much so, that I treated myself to a bowl and a half, with occasional sips from my brandy Manhattan. Even though the Vikings found a way to lose in the waning seconds of the game, the chili gave me that pleasant feeling of fulfillment.
Granted, after watching the Vikings fail time and time again, cynicism is a part of one’s constitution to such a degree that the constant defeats have a numbing effect and come no way near being as crushing as they once were because one totally expects the team to screw up and lose. When they actually win a game, it approaches something akin to winning the Super Bowl.
And yet in death, alive …
However, the particular hot spices of the Chili have a way, like food from McDonalds, to continue to make its presence known long after it has been eaten. It is reminiscent of a recitative sung in the PDQ Bach’s cantata, “Iphigenia In Brooklyn.” “And lo, she found herself within a market. and all around her, fish were dying. And yet, their stench did live on. Dying! Dying! Dying! And yet in death alive! Dying! Dying! Dying! And yet in death alive! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die. Dietee dietee dietee dietee dietee die! And yet, yet, and yet, and yet, and yet in death alive.”
And, so, Ruthie, Luke, and I settled ourselves in for an evening of Twins baseball, which, win or lose, never necessitates food or drink to enjoy. To aid in my digestive discomfort, I took my evening dose of omeprazole, which did take the edge off the chili a little bit for a little while. However, judging by the belching and passing of wind (as the British delicately phrase it), I felt a bit like one of the cowboys eating beans around the campfire and farting and belching in Mel Brooks classic comedy, Blazing Saddles.
Initially, I think the dog was rather impressed by my display of gaseous output, but she, along with the rest of the family soon tired of it. I chased down my night medications with a glass of milk, and settled in for what I believed would be a restless night of sleep.
I awakened six hours and thirty minutes later with my gut quoting dialogue from the movie comedy, Major Payne. In one of the beginning scenes, Major Payne holds a 45 revolver to the terrorist leader’s butt stating to all the terrorists around him, “I can clean your colon out quicker than…one of them burritos with extra guacamole sauce.” (Note: there are very memorable quotes from this movie, one other quote the response of Major Payne to one of the recruits who asks him to have some sympathy. Payne’s response is, “The only place you will find sympathy is between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.”)
Attending to my need, I remembered a similar Sunday Viking meal of buffalo wings, Ruthie prepared, with a spice pack she had never used before. Andy brought those buffalo wings to work for lunch the next day and shared them with his co-workers. One of whom remarked to Andy the following morning, “Damn, Andy! I thought they were hot going in! But, damn, they were hotter going out!” Truer words were never spoken.
Conclusion
I am sure that there may be some whose delicate constitution might find this reflection in bad taste. However, most who work in the medical profession (of which Ruth and both of my daughters are and who never had a filter when they shared work stories of bodily fluids etc during supper), many women married to men with the “dumb gene”, and most guys (as defined by Dave Barry in his classic, “Dave Barry’s Guide to Guys”.), will utterly agree with this reflection.
I find the chili eaten and its effects and epiphany, a grand gastronomical symbol of Viking football over four decades.
The lesson learned from this weekend’s Minnesotan sporting events. 1) The Gopher Football team is not very good. Fleck likes to inspire them to “row the boat.” Well, Fleck, row the boat faster and bail at the same time. The boat is sinking faster than the Titanic. 2) The Vikings, in the words of Butthead, “Suck like nothing has ever sucked before”(from the movie, Beavis and Butthead Do America.”). And, 3) the Twins rule! Oh, and 4) either refrain from a bowl and a half of very spicy chili, or eat far, far less of the stuff (even though it tastes really good going down). Or, 5) focus on women’s sports, like the Minnesota Gopher Volleyball team.
