Most sports fans in America are a fan of two sports, football, and any one of the others. I know I’m generalizing, but it is certainly the most popular sport in the USA. Living abroad, the NFL season appears out of nowhere. We are not subject to the onslaught of misleading preseason games, training camp dramas, draft day projections or constant SportsCenter coverage. It’s not to say I wasn’t unaware that it was approaching, it just wasn’t in the forefront of my mind. Football is the opiate of the masses in America. It is the great pacifier of the American male. As long as they have NFL games on Sunday, they could never assemble into government attacking militias, and I think those powers that be understand this fact. They would never have allowed that strike to happen at a time when unemployment is high and houses are being foreclosed. It is a desperately symbiotic relationship.
I watch the games onDemand through the Internet. The season opening game of defending champs NY Giants and the Cowboys of Dallas began as most games do, with the national anthem. It is the rallying cry for unity in the stadium and in the homes before the brutal, concussive combat and geographical animosity expressed by the colors of the jerseys turns average men into anxious Romans at the Coliseum salivating for violence on God’s day of rest. We know the feeling of testosterone surging and the way we catch ourselves gritting our teeth on 3rd and long or 4th and 1. We know the way we hate a player and know he is a disgrace—until he plays for our team. We know that Sunday is for football; it is comforting. The national anthem is that unifying moment where we all can remember it’s just a game and that it’s freedom that makes it possible. What is a little too symbolic is the flyover.
“Please rise for the singing of the national anthem…followed by a flyover of three Blackhawk helicopters,” said the announcer. Queen Latifah had a cool, new, hip-hop version of the song, which surprised and slightly annoyed me at first, but quickly grew on me. I like that it can be updated. And any excuse to repeat the favorite line of armchair singers “…home of the brave,” will be a desired change. The helicopters flew over the giant, glistening MetLife stadium in North Jersey after the last goose-bump inducing line was delivered, and a wild roar surged from the crowd. I realized they were cheering because those flying machines were on our side. They were cheering for how safe having those flying machines make us feel. They were cheering because war, and the elements of war, makes us feel something. It makes us feel a strange humility bred with arrogance for our great nation. Americans alive today have grown up on warfare and only had a handful of years when some foreign war was not involving the USA. We have tacitly given consent over the last half-century into the military-industrial complex. It is our economy. We produce beautiful celebrities and beautiful weapons. I’m not quite sure where it’s leading us, but being involved in two wars, the purposefully endless War on Terror and the fact that Hollywood will never run out of a pretty face to manipulate, makes it a safe bet that behavior continues. Beyond the subliminal jingoism of a flyover, it also reeks of an unintentional indoctrination though. It’s as if some invisible powers are telling us: “These jets and helicopters make this game possible, so don’t worry about the inconceivable amount of tax money we spend to keep them shiny and updated, and just enjoy the game.”
It’s completely natural to respect your country’s military. It’s natural to feel a bit of flag-waving patriotism when you see the might that is our arsenal. Somehow it just felt like a commercial when those helicopters flew over the Meadowlands.