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Part 1:  Prologue

Four weeks ago, my life changed forever.

As I shoveled snow off my deck that afternoon, I knew the moment of glorious transformation was imminent.  I had replayed it in my mind at least a thousand times already, but this would be the moment that those dreams would morph into sweet reality.

My heart pulsated, and my veins were laden with anticipation.  After scooping for the briefest amount of time, I craned my neck for any glimpse of the truck that would be carrying the instrument of my bright new future.  Finally, a rumbling…a view of the front cab…gigantic wheels…and a turn signal that sealed the deal!

I abandoned the shovel and with what in idealized retrospect seems to have been a single bound, I cleared my deck railing.  With another, I put my backyard fence a good distance behind me.  I sprinted to the gorgeous big rig hugging the curb in front of my house, and yelled for my kid brother to join me.

We watched as the driver slid the trailer door upwards, revealing a box large enough to house an Egyptian sarcophagus.  Several of the thousand times I had imagined the scene unfolding in front of me were variations of the leg lamp scene from A Christmas Story.  Although the outside of the box revealed no sign of the word “FRAGILE” (“It must be Italian!”), this was indeed my major award.  The truck driver helped us lower the beast onto the ground, and as he offered me the delivery papers to sign, it was all I could do to resist enveloping him in a giant bear hug.

There it sat—what would be the coup d’état of my post-college consumerism:  a hot-off-the-shelf LG brand 55” LED backlit flat screen television.

Part 2:  The thereafter and a bit of Super Bowl party prep for good measure

My first days of having cable television since college passed, each filled with vibrant color of fantastic films popping off my television screen and into my living room.  Other days saw football players diving for passes which seemed intended for me, the ineligible and slothful receiver lying on my couch.

Coworkers and friends, long having inflicted me with joke after joke about my 6’6” albino frame reflecting sun in their eyes, now marveled as I sported the finest electric tan money can buy.  I left my blinds open at night and watched cars on my street flash their brights at what they imagined was inconsiderate oncoming traffic.

And then one night last week, while basking in the majestic glow of theatrical entertainment, it all began to wear thin; the man-cave in which I had been hibernating contentedly alone suddenly seemed starkly empty.  I needed my man friends to join me.  I needed a plan.  But how would I ever lure back the man friends whom I had alienated so long for my 55” LG Electronics girlfriend?  Surely, they wouldn’t just come just to see the TV, which by now they probably resented.  I needed a plan.  I needed an event and something to bring the boys to that event.  I needed THE SUPERBOWL.  I needed THE SUPERBOWL and JOHN MADDEN’S ULTIMATE TAILGATING, a literary treasure published in 1998.  John Madden provided turkey-leg-counting entertainment on many a Thanksgiving Day for the men of my family.  He would be just the person to consult for advice in winning back my man friends.

Today, as I await the fruition of my win-back-my-man-friends plan on Sunday, February 7^th, I am comforted by the words the sage entertainer and big man wrote in that book:

“I divide the world of tailgate food–make that all food–into floaters and sinkers,” he writes. “Floaters aren’t tailgate. Salad is a floater. Sushi is a floater. I have never eaten sushi. It’s light. It stays up there.”

“Tailgating food is all sinkers. Chili is a sinker. Pork chunk stew is a sinker. Burritos are sinkers. They sink down there and keep you on the ground.”

My guys like to eat, and they will appreciate that.

Time to get cooking—but first, another episode of The Office.

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Work Cited:

Madden, John.  John Madden’s Ultimate Tailgating.  New York. Viking, 1998. Print.

About the author: Andy Herrmann

Andy is an oh-so-inquisitive twenty-something living in Hastings.  He had a quarter-life crisis early, at the age of 23. He is an avid moviegoer and a fan of things like books, parks, music, food, road trips, and any interesting combinations thereof.