Which box is it anyway?

Which box is it anyway?


The holiday season does not end the day after New Year’s. It ends the day after the Super Bowl. The game is as much about eating as it is about watching.

Every year, I make an effort TO WATCH the game because I purchase 4 boxes in the office Super Bowl pool. It increases the odds of a win in at least one quarter. Over a week before Super Bowl, I asked Steve if the boxes had been filled and he said “No” and I said “If you see Steve L., (head of the SB pool), mention I’d like a box.”

On Monday, a week ago, Steve L. came around and told me I could purchase a maximum of 2 boxes because the people in the weekly football pool got premier dibs. I inscribed my initials into 2 blank squares and reminded him to come by when I could buy 2 more. And in the midst of planning our annual Super Bowl fete, we have also been trying to get the back room into some type of order and cardboard boxes are indispensable. Steve has been bringing them home periodically. We are progressing.

Just before we left work Thursday evening (this was the crazy week with the blizzard that sort of deflated as it hit New York), Steve called to ask if I wanted any boxes.

I said “No”

He said “Are you sure?”

I said “Yes”

He said, “OK”

We hung up.

The Friday before Super Bowl, the 100% filled-in football pool was on my chair. Steve L. came in to collect for the 2 boxes and I asked him “Why didn’t you tell me when I could buy new boxes.”

He said, “Steve did”.

“No he didn’t”.

“Yes he did I was standing right there. He called you yesterday and asked if you wanted any boxes and you said “No”.

I play-backed the scene and blurted out “I thought he was talking about bringing home more cardboard boxes!”

It’s logical, my Steve=Cardboard Boxes and Steve L.=Football Boxes. Separate and discrete roles.

Regardless of boxes, I sat through kick-off and like every other year, promptly exited to attend to my chicken wings. I cannot focus on football but ensuring that those chicken wings are saturated with just the right amount of buffalo sauce and baked to a delicate crisp is endlessly engaging. I serve them in shallow bowls with a dollop of blue cheese on the side so that no one has to peel their eyes away from the action.

At half-time, we watch the spectacle performer outdazzling last year’s spectacle. This year Katie Perry entered on a mechanical tiger. I’m a rock ‘n roll failure so I find her predictability difficult to embrace.

And the ending of this tale of Super Bowl Sunday:

Less box is more. I won the final quarter in the pool!