It's All About The Spectacle--And Food!

Sometimes sporting events aren't only about the event itself.  Rather, the event becomes a platform for all sorts of communal rituals and spectacles, if not outright marketing.

The Super Bowl, which will be played tonight, is the perfect example of that. Two out of every three Americans, according to one poll, plan to watch the game. Of them, 45 percent don't care which team wins.  

Part of the reason why so many people have no interest in the outcome of the game is that they don't have a rooting interest in either the Denver Broncos or Carolina Panthers,the two teams that are contesting the match.  Another, possibly more important, reason is that many will not be watching the game as football fans:  They are attending or hosting Super Bowl parties in their or friends or family members' homes, or in sports bars.  

Really, the Super Bowl has become like another holiday that is an excuse to get together with friends and/or family to eat, drink and let loose.  Just as the American holiday of Thanksgiving has such traditional foods as turkey with stuffing and pumpkin pie, Super Bowl Sunday is associated with chicken wings (barbecue or Buffalo style), pizza, tortilla chips with guacamole and beer. 

Also, plenty of people will watch the game to see the halftime shows and, most of all, new commercials that will debut.  On one hand, it's distressing to think that some of the greatest and most creative minds in this country are employed to sell colored sugar water and cars that will be in landfills long before they are paid for.  On the other hand, the commercials can be fun to watch because they are imaginative and sometimes whimsical or, on occasion, beautiful.

So why am I talking about the Super Bowl Spectacle on a bike blog?  Well, I am reminded of the hoopla surrounding the stages of the Tour de France I attended (including the finish of the 1980 edition).  People camp out along the route and spend the day cooking and consuming all sorts of foods and, of course, drinking.  They play music, some dance; everyone is in a good mood.  Before the peloton whizzes through, caravans of Tour and team sponsors' vehicles roll by with various floats in tow.  Music streams from those vehicles; some tow stages on which musicians and dancers perform, or screens that flash scnes from the previous day's stage of the race.  And, from those trucks, vans and cars, drivers and passengers toss all manner of schwag to spectators:  keychains, mini-dolls and such with teams' and sponsors' names on them; one even threw packets of Mini-Babybel cheese nuggets!

Ah, yes--It's always about the food, isn't it?   Just like it was on a bike ride the Central Jersey Bike club used to run on winter Sundays (including Super Bowl Sunday) to a rural firehouse.  The ride itself was pleasant and calming, though not challenging, even for those riders who were in their mid-winter doldrums: about 50 or 60 kilometers round-trip, as I recall, through flat countryside.   

The real "event", if you will, was going to the firehouse, where they had all-you-can-eat pancake breakfasts for three dollars, if memory serves.  You could also have all of the coffee, tea, orange juice, scrambled eggs bacon, sausage or ham or hash browns you wanted. Being young and poor, I was usually hungry, even before riding, so that breakfast, I mean ride, appealed to me.   

I'm sure other club members, as well as many of the local people who went for the breakfast, were also there to fill themselves up for not very much money.  But for them, and for us, it was a social event as well:  We talked, we gossiped; some of us boasted and made challenges, but we came together for a comforting meal on a cold day.  Then we got on our bikes and rode back to Highland Park, just as the locals got in their cars and went home.   They--and we--would return for the next pancake breakfast in the firehouse, just as many people will, today, return to familiar haunts with familiar faces and consume familiar foods and drinks, the Super Bowl on a screen as their background.

When "Can't" We Ride?

It's Saturday.  The snow that fell yesterday morning and turned to slush in the afternoon is mostly gone now.  It's a couple of degrees warmer than normal for this time of year, and the sun has just set.  

All in all, we had pretty good (especially for this time of year) riding conditions.  But I didn't get on my bike.  Why?  Well, I've felt tired and my nose has been dripping like a faucet that needs fixing.  And I have been nodding on and off throughout the day.

In my younger days, I might have tried to "pedal it away". That usually worked with a simple cold or other minor ailments.  I am convinced, to this day, that I once rode long and fast enough that a flu couldn't keep up.  Or, perhaps, it couldn't hold on.

Almost anyone I know who isn't a cyclist would say that I "can't" ride today.  Perhaps my cycling friends and acquaintances would say as much.  And there are times we ourselves say we can't ride.  Sometimes it's a matter of health; other times it's because of other commitments we have, such as jobs and families.  Or some friend or relative we haven't seen in ages has come to town.





There was a time in my life when I would have said that there never is a time or place when one can't ride.  I even told people as much when they said they couldn't get out after work, caring for kids or whatever.  Of course, in saying that, I felt superior to all of those people who weren't riding 50 to 100 kilometers every day and taking a 150 or 200 kilometer ride on the weekend.  Hey, I wanted to feel superior about something.

Of course, I have changed, at least somewhat--at least enough that I can reflect on those times and ask the sorts of questions whose answers can change the course of humanity.  (Please, please permit me one moment of grandiosity!)  To wit:  Are there actually times when, and places where, we can't ride?  Or is it that, at least in theory, that such times and places don't exist--and that we only allow ourselves to be fettered by weather, commitments and "no bike riding" signs?

Dave Mirra R.I.P.

In this blog, I haven't written much about Bicycle Motocross, or BMX.  My omission is not out of disrespect; I don't touch on the sport very much because, having never ridden BMX myself, I know very little about it.  I have a lot of respect for the riders, as their sport requires a lot of bicycle, as well as other, skills that are gained only through a lot of disciplined work.  Plus, a double flip is quite the spectacle!

Dave Mirra was the first person to pull off that maneuver, in 2000.  Every year from 1995 until 2008 (with the exception of 2006, when he was injured), he won medals--including 14 golds--at the X Games.  It's been said that he is to BMX as Michael Jordan was to basketball; perhaps we could say he was to his sport as Eddy Mercx was to road racing.  Perhaps he was even more integral to BMX than anyone else was to his or her sport:  The first year he medaled at the X games was the first year they were held!



But it wasn't just his daring feats that made him a celebrity; his engaging personality made him a popular guest on shows like David Letterman's and a host MTV's Real World/Road Rules Challenge.  It's no surprise, then, that video games were named after him.

Sometimes he seemed invincible, as if there were no walls that could contain him and no boundaries he couldn't conquer. 

Until now.  Sadly, he was found today in his truck with "an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound," according to police in Greensboro, North Carolina, where he has lived for many years. 

Whatever the circumstances, his death is sad, especially since he is only 41 years old and leaves a wife and two daughters.  But if he indeed killed himself (he left no suicide note), it begs the question of whether his many falls caused long-term damage that led to the depression he was said to be suffering.  That question is especially valid in light of the experiences of former NFL players (like Junior Seau, who committed suicide in 2012) whose repeated hits to the head led to brain damage that resulted in depression.