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Living abroad as an expatriate can be a slightly disorienting experience and one of the ways of keeping one’s equilibrium is to surround oneself with the vestiges of home. Some expats take this to the extreme - making little replicas of their homeland wherever they go (this is why there are so many English pubs in Spain and why you’ll find an American in any McDonalds in the world). I’ve always taken a more moderate tack - I keep track of a few of my American TV programs, stock up on one or two special foods (Jiffy corn muffin mix, Stove Top stuffing and beef flavored Rice-a-Roni) and try and tune in on the big American cultural events - but otherwise try to live like a native. This week’s calendar features two of those big events - the Super Bowl and Super Tuesday.

I’ve no regrets about becoming a likely permanent expatriate, but every now and again I try to commune with my homeland and its people. For the past three Februarys the Super Bowl has afforded me an opportunity to do that. The decision to watch the Super Bowl while living in Greenwich time is not a trivial one, as all the non-Americans that I’ve invited over the past three years who haven’t turned up can attest. Pre-game coverage usually starts around 11 p.m., which means the game doesn’t end until 4 or 5 in the morning. The commentators that the British networks select appear to be random Americans they found wandering around near the studio at game time assisted by one of the British rugby commentators. The worst thing is that there are no Super Bowl commercials. I could cope with this except that the British network still has to fill that time gap and they do this by repeating the same commercial for “fun” ring tones and soft core porn over and over and over. By the time the second half begins you find yourself praying for an act of god just to end the game so you can get a few hours of sleep before work in the morning. Inevitably, Super Bowl Monday is spent stumbling around work trying to stay awake for eight hours - English bosses just don’t appreciate the importance of the “world” championship of American football.

As a political junkie, Super Tuesday is actually a little bit more exciting to me this year than the football. I’m a fan of neither the Patriots nor the Giants but I’m a big supporter of Barack Obama. Thus, there is a big part of me that would like to watch the results come in on Tuesday night to see how my guy fares. I did this in 2004 - stayed up to watch the election returns come in on the BBC. I should stay, I intended to stay up - I saw the early states, the easy ones to predict like Massachussetts and Georgia. When I next became aware of the television the commentators were talking about what went wrong for John Kerry. I was in such a state the next morning - from lack of sleep and the reality of another four years of President Bumble Dumble - that my boss actually sent me home for the day. They don’t get the importance of the Super Bowl, but they get it when your country re-elects an incompetent imperialist.

One of the most important things I’ve learned as a fledgling parent is the true value of a good night’s sleep. Well, this year I am standing - or more appropriately lying - firm: no Super Bowl, no Super Tuesday for me. In fact there will be nothing super for me thidd week except Super Sleeping. I will happily snore away the fourth quarter of the big game tomorrow morning blissfully unaware whether the Patriots achieve a perfect season. I doubt if I’ll toss or turn in the wee hours of Wednesday morning as the pundits speculate about the meaning of the exit polls in North Dakota. Maybe it’s a factor of being in my fourth year away from the States, with no imminent plans for return, but these things have just lost their relative importance. Or, it could be that I don’t have a dog in the fight in the Super Bowl (two northeastern teams just don’t excite me) and that I fear my hopes are going to get crushed on Super Tuesday. In either case, I’ll read the post-game analysis and be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Monday and Wednesday mornings.

Oh, and as for the image at the beginning of this post, even if they Patriots win tonight they’ll never be as cool as the Chicago Bears Shufflin’ Crew - “Runnin’ the ball is like making romance…”

The Dandy Warhols’ “Thirteen Tales from Urban Bohemia” is available from and Amazon.

 

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