So, tell me again, what’s a 3rd down and 5?

So tell me again, what’s a 3^rd down and 5?

We sent our correspondent David Collins to a bar in Chicago, IL to cover Super Bowl LIX. David is a regular visitor to the USA but his knowledge of NFL needs work.

 We tried to persuade him to call this article “An Englishman in New York” by the way but David wasn’t having it. Well, he is Welsh after all.

 “Happy Super Bowl!”

I mean, people in the USA actually say this, like we’d say Happy New Year or Merry Christmas. Yes, I watched a TV interview with Donald Trump on the day of the game and the interviewer actually wished Mr. President a “Happy Super Bowl!”

But, to the uninitiated, this just goes to illustrate the sheer size of this enormous occasion. I watched the game in a bar on the shores of Lake Michigan, not really close to the home of either team. The place was packed. Standing room only. Fair sprinkling of Eagles fans for some reason. Chiefs? Maybe one or two.

The history of this fixture is worth exploring.

The first Super Bowl took place in 1967 as Kansas City faced Green Bay. Back then it was called the AFL-NFL World Championship Game.

“World?” Let’s not go there.

Back then tickets to the game would set you back $12. These days? The cheapest tickets cost $6k. The most expensive? $100,000.

Honest.

In the Land of the Free, the Home of the Brave, all matters NFL are played for a Bowl. Super Bowl, Sugar Bowl, I even spotted a dog show on the day called Puppy Bowl.

I thought about this a lot. I suppose, I contemplated, it’s no different than everything being called a Cup?

FA Cup? Carabou Cup? Scottish Cup?

And there’s the rub. I learned a very early lesson here.

NFL is not soccer, or rugby, and definitely not cricket. You have to watch it out its own terms. Do so and, you know, it can be fun. Exhilarating even.

So cue here to my bar in Chicago. A boisterous, if not especially noisy, bar. It’s a TV show for sure, but with Trump and Taylor present in the crowd, this event had royal patronage in the most American way.

Fox had been over it all day. Think FA Cup Final in the 70s.

I am grateful here for the detailed prompting of my fellow revellers as this extravagant theatre unfolded. I learned much.

 So, the game itself.

I was in the Chiefs camp. It’s a Swiftie thing.

The Californian in me also saw me wearing my LA Rams top though. I wondered if this might be akin to wearing a Wrexham top at a Cardiff v Swansea game, but Chicago didn’t seem bothered. I tried teaching the locals football chants to match the unfolding events. That met with limited success.

But this game did not go well for me. Why would it? My extensive experience of disappointing performances by the team I support came into overdrive here. The Eagles came into the lead through something called a Tush Push. This seemed to me like a kind of cross between a rugby union maul and a scrum, resulting in an unseemly mass of testosterone shoving themselves over the line to give the Eagles the lead.

But there was no lack of panache about the touchdown from Cooper de Jean (33) as he sped over the line with all the arrogance you would associate from your least favourite opposition winger. Already, I hate him.

The second half was more of the same. The dominance of the Eagles –  40-6 with 8 mins on the clock – had diluted the atmosphere somehow. Coupled to this with the fact that the Chiefs simply hadn’t turned up, resulted in a slow end. In Chicago interest had faded. An energetic late show by the Chiefs added some hope and sparkle but, as we all know, in the end, it’s the Hope that Kills You.

Ultimately, this game did not match up to the hype. Does it ever?

The Eagles demolished the Kansas City Chiefs 40-22 to deny them that unprecedented third straight Super Bowl.

The Chiefs were playing in their fifth Super Bowl in six years and much of the pre-game attention had focused on a potential three-peat.

But the Eagles simply dominated proceedings in New Orleans.

Kansas City’s star quarterback Patrick Mahomes was “sacked” six times by the ruthless Eagles. In the end. Philly won.

They’ll be dancing in the streets of Philadelphia tonight. I told myself that.

I was almost pleased.

“My team” had lost. But that meant that I had skin in the game. I had become invested, enough to sulk in defeat and jeer the winners.

For 60 minutes, plus commercial breaks, I had become a fan. And isn’t that what’s sport is all about? Any sport.

Only a game? Yeah, right.

DAVID COLLINS