RESURRECT DEAD ON PLANET JUPiTER

The essence of FOOTBALL. Read This to the Bitter END

Today John Madden was inducted into the Football Hall of Fame. Today is the Eagles first pre-season game of the 2006-2007 season. In honor of these two events, here’s a review I once wrote about John Madden’s Ultimate Tailgating Book. READ IT TO THE BITTER END!!!

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Since I was a little kid, I’ve loved football. When I was about 9 years old, my dad started coming to me on Sunday afternoons, sitting me down in front of the TV, explaining to me the rules of the game. Before too long, I began going to my dad on Sundays. It was our day. Week in, week out, we would sit, watch and despair at the Eagles. Moods were raised and more often crushed by the Philadelphia Eagles constant and unyielding ineptitude. I learned a lot about life on those Sunday afternoons. I learned that ideals are foolish, impossible and unattainable, but never, ever, to give up hope. The Eagles have never let me down in that belief and to this day I defy them to prove me wrong.

Football was not just about futile dreams and dashed hopes. My father also initiated me in football culture on those Sunday afternoons. There would be beer, snacks and obscenely large martinis. My father would give me the gin soaked olives. During my childhood I thought olives were supposed to taste like chewy globules of turpentine. But I learned more about football one October day, than I had in all my father-son Sundays.

I was a little older. Me and some friends decided to go down and see the Eagles play the hated Cowboys. We arrived at Veterans stadium at 11am, 2 hours before kick-off. We had a couple hours to tailgate. We had to drink a lot before kickoff, seeing as alcohol had been banned inside the stadium due to several ‘incidents.’ Like the time the fans pelted Santa Claus with iceballs or the time(s) of the rioting in the upper decks.

A friend had gotten the John Madden tailgating book. It told us how to drink, grill up some meat and paint our bodies like true football maniacs. We had a great time. With John Madden as our companion, we were instant pros. The book also told us that tailgating after the game was an effective way to avoid the traffic jams and the post game mayhem.

The Eagles beat the Cowboys that day. Michael Irvin was critically injured in the process. The semi-sober fans cheered as he was carted off the field, strapped to a stretcher. It was a true Philly sports experience. After the game, we all hung out in the parking lot with our beer and our John Madden companion guide. The book told us not to start driving until we weren’t drunk, so we had some time. At about 6pm, we were among the last in the lot.

It was then that we saw a luxury bus pull up a hundred feet from where we stood. Grease from my burger dripped from my lips as I spotted John Madden just outside the bus. I washed down the burger with a few gulps of Yuengling, wiped my mouth with my sleeve and shouted:

“Hey, that’s John Madden over there. Why don’t you go try to get your book signed Greg?”

My friend, Greg, grabbed his book and stumbled towards John Madden. We followed behind, eager to meet the God of football announcers. As we approached, we realized that sure enough, it was none other than John Madden. Up close he is a magnificent beast. His odor is a powerful musk. The wind whipped through his thin strands of white hair. He used no gel, this was the real thing. Stepping into his formidable shadow, Greg held his hand out to him as a greeting. A smile stretched across Maddens face, his yellowed teeth flashing in the sunset, just behind his thin, cracked lips. We introduced ourselves and struck up a conversation about FOOTBALL. We hit it off from the start. In fact we hit it off so well that Madden invited us out for a night on the town. Pointing to his book, he told us that we were obviously too drunk to drive home anyway.

What I remember of that night was great. We went out to a sports bar, drank and watched FOOTBALL with John Madden. When the days games were complete, Madden took us all to a Jersey strip club. I remember very little after that. Bits and pieces of Maddenisms I heard that night still come to me periodically. Madden is the Shakespeare of football. He is a football idealist. He believes in the essence of the game, the abstract and intangible elements of it. Madden balances reason and metaphor, always, always in the context of FOOTBALL. It was no Sunday with my drunken father. It was Sunday with a drunken John Madden at some sleazy Jersey strip club.

The next morning I woke in a dirty motel room. I was alone and could not find my clothes. I stank of cigarettes and liquor. My head throbbed, my eyes felt as if they were filled with lead and my throat was scratched and bleeding. What I saw next was pure terror and will forever be engrained in my mind. As an image, it has been stamped into my very soul, a memory to be carried with me until the end of time.

I stumbled into the motel living room and flicked on the light. Sitting on the torn up brown polyester sofa was Madden. Drenched in sweat, surrounded by empty beer bottles and completely naked. His massive gut covered his genitals although I could smell them. The odor stung my bleeding throat and I gagged a bit, my eyes still fixed on the beast. His wheezing became louder as he became cognizant of my presence. His head, previously slouched into his wet-hairy-man-breasts, moved. Grunts and snorts came from him as gas roared from his massive buttocks. A low groan, rife with the gurgling of saliva and phlem escaped his throat as his massive head turned slowly in my direction. His ice blue eyes pierced into my very being and a single bead of sweat dropped from his lower lip. The ceiling fan spun unsteadily, throwing rippled shadows of the morning sun in slow motion across the room in a steady, unbalanced rhythm. It was too much. My trance was snapped by that drop of sweat and I realized that my Madden was sitting on my clothing.

I ran naked form the motel. I stood somewhere on the New Jersey Turnpike screaming for help. Again I blacked out. I don’t know how I got home that Monday afternoon and I don’t care. I learned more about football that weekend than I may have otherwise learned in a lifetime of Sundays. John Madden takes tailgating to a whole other level. In a way, even with the fragmented memory, it all makes perfect sense. I recommend this book to any football fan. John Madden truly is the essence of FOOTBALL.

Never give up hope.