Alex Churchill

To me, the NFL is a carnival of incredibly athletic, steroidal, overpaid meatheads endlessley prognosticated upon by a phalanx of overly blow dried, self-important, narcissistic, jock sniffing… meatheads. It’s not that I dislike football, quite the contrary. At various points in my life, I was an active poolie, had a favourite team and would thrill to every John Facenda NFL Films growl and snort on off days in the days before pre-game shows started the previous Sunday. But what I liked most about the NFL was the whole meatheads on meatheads thing. It’s kind of like why women watch The Hills. Only with beer, Y chromosomes and farting.

However, now, I simply don’t give a shit. Never intend on giving a shit again. Again, it’s not that I dislike NFL football or the hype surrounding it (quite the contrary) – I simply think life’s too short to spend listening to a bunch of morons talk to about a group of other morons who they used to work with. It’s kind of like when women finally stop watching The Hills. Only with less Pinot Grigio and hopefully no Amy Tan novels.

Before you get all spazoid about how my decision is going to impact the welfare and ongoing financial status of Pacman Jones, Jeremey Shockey and Rae Carruth (scratch that, he doesn’t have to worry about feeding himself – we have to worry about feeding him), take note: It’s OK. The NFL will roll along just fine without me. In fact, the NFL will roll along just fine without me and the millions upon millions of other North American males who are ambivalent about, hostile towards, indifferent to or otherwise unfucked about the NFL.

Which brings us to whom the NFL will NOT roll along without, people who may – at some point in their lives – consider acquiring a product with the emblem of their favourite NFL team emblazoned upon it. Some branded items are close to the game of football (a Redkins BBQ has a firm grasp on the experience for instance) while being others are very, very far from it (internet access, health insurance and pet items).
There are people who don’t really care how close to the game their crested items are. Me, I can understand – though I never would – buying an NFL branded cooler. Beer and football go together. What I can’t understand is buying New York Jets flight insurance, or Phoenix Cardinals sunscreen (OK, perhaps a bad example but you get the idea). True football fanatics see no problem with any of this. If you stick a team logo on it – they want it.
These people live and breathe fuh-ball. They tailgate in the rain. They don’t see the ridiculousness of a full-sized pirate ship in a sports stadium. They will be overheard arguing with great conviction that the NFL is so popular “because it’s all about the game” rather than because of the ease at which one can gamble on said game. They spend Indian summer Sundays in Minnesota inside an enclosed building named after Hubert H Humphrey.

In short, the type of person who would at some point in their all too short time on this mortal coil, acquire a random product slapdash with the emblem of their favourite NFL team does not need to be told when they are being talked to about football for the simple reason that no matter what they are being talked to about – like the dog in the Far Side cartoon “blah blah blah, Fido, blah blah blah, Fido” – EVERYTHING is about football from the smallest glance to the biggest oversized foam hand.

Except – and here’s the catch – these freaks, these fanatics, these Cheeseheads, these citizens of Raider nation, these Purple People Eaters, these inmates in the Dawg Pound, these leaves in the Steel Curtain, these members of the Fearsome Foursome and seatholders on the New York Sack Exchange want to be part of a small, exclusive knowledge group – one that doesn’t require a bouncer because poseurs are kept at the gate by the their lack of knowledge and inability to identify every reference in this paragraph and a great many more like it.

Christians used to draw a fish in the sand with their toes to identify one another. It’s turned out to be arguable the most effective advertising campaign ever. If we can show get NFL fanatics – the only people who will ever even consider buying this product – to see us drawing the West Coast Offense in the sand with our toe, we’ve got them. They may be meatheads, but they’re not stupid.