It has been a quiet hiatus here on the blog (work and other commitments), as we had the pleasant interruption of Superbowl finally making its way into Philadelphia.
I haven’t watched an NFL (National Football League) game in two years now (will explain why at a later point). So, I write this entire post from the position of an amateur and a long time center-city resident in the City of Brotherly Love. Like Thanksgiving, Super Bowl is perhaps a uniquely American cultural event. I am not alone in thinking that most Americans watching on TV were rooting for the Eagles, who were fighting against unforgiving odds. It is perhaps safe to say that the support for the underdogs, exceeded any previous historic support that one side of any issue had ever garnered.
Celebrations in the Wisps of Time
The spontaneous celebration that broke out in the city right after the game was indeed a joy to watch.
Losing streaks are heartfelt. Lurid despondency of fans wallowing in sorrow for a franchise is unique to sports-dom. Mathematical notions such as mean reversion, stochastics of random walks, and the inherent parity in the NFL simply cannot capture the angst of the history bottled in the lives that are lived during a losing streak.
So, men and women, both old and young fans, both old and new, were out on Broad Street in numbers past midnight. Impromptu fireworks, salty slogans of the inebriated, squeals of delighted children, and off-key fight songs were all drowned in the overwhelming levity of very human smiles.
That moment was a joyous escape from the perpetual sense of foreboding loss preserved from the 70s, 80s, 90s and the aughts, and for many, it was also a release from the drudgery of the year. There was an unspoken realization that the most valuable thing that anyone on that street had was time. At least, nothing seemed to matter more than the time spent. There was never going to be a second chance to genuinely feel this first-time moment.
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I always find it whimsical when any city plans a shut-down for a private team. While the post-game celebration was lovely exultation of unrestrained glee, the parade was an exquisite orchestration of numbers and positions, fittingly much like football itself.
We went out to watch the parade. I pondered why the crowd that gathered were treating the event as once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Just because we waited long, doesn’t mean we will wait long again in the future. Does no one expect the Eagles to repeat the win soon?
Then, looking at the grandparents with grandchildren, parents with their young kids, I noticed:
These fans were giving experience to others more than living the experience themselves.
At some point in our adult lives, we start counting down. How do we pass on the distinct memories of our own meager lives? Thanksgiving days and Christmases come every year. Our seventh and eighth birthdays eventually dissolve and vanish into recesses of future memories. But, the parade and the celebrations — particularly the first ones ever — will live on their distinct lives.
Cities Change
Philadelphia sports fans get a lot of flak. Many of the sporting stories precede my decade-long stay in Center City Philadelphia, by decades.
These complaints are easy to understand. They are crutches that deflect our shortcomings. Men with hammers see nails everywhere. We want to freeze moments and re-frame new stories in the stasis of the past. It is a curious trait for a nation that adores the spirit of innovation, and predominantly unsentimental about changes in business and society.
The recalcitrant image of Philly fans entrenched in the past is therefore not an exception. A lot of water has flown in the Schuylkill over the 40 years since the mythical Rocky Balboa ran up the museum steps. I remember a lady who was wrongly worried for my safety — I saw her brows curl, and her face slowly morphing into an ashen concern — when I mentioned to her that we lived in Philadelphia downtown. The media loves to stretch legends by talking of snowballs on Santa, rowdy fans on falling awnings, and broken windows. Tired of explaining, most denizens just shrug. We know that Philadelphia is a city that is perpetually in the shadows of New York, Boston, and DC. We have indeed naturally stopped wondering how it is constantly incorrectly perceived.
The parade went off smoothly with fans and families joyously gathering in an American city that has a proud history and a bright future. Despite the unbounded joy after the game, and during the gathering of hundreds of thousands of fans, the crowd was endearingly and strangely well behaved. This gathering was beautifully summarized, better than anywhere else, in a recent New Yorker article. To those who are considering joining Penn/Wharton or Drexel, living in Philadelphia (center city and surrounds) is a delightful additional bonus.
Creativity is Practice?
While many fans delighted in the schadenfreude of Tom Brady, it was also true that he kept the Patriots in the game, till the very last second. I am not a fan of the fawning adoration that is offered to athletes, but it is amazing that everyone expects him to be back next year, aged 41.
After 18 years with the team (17 of those in starting position), working with the same coach (Belichick), how does one remain creative?
Outside of marriages, there are indeed very few working relationships with day-to-day interactions, in professional careers that span this long. I can think only of a singer-songwriter or performing duos, but those duos do not have to work within an enveloping organization, constant attention, and ever-changing Rolodesk of dramatis personae.
As an Operations researcher, I wonder if there is a system that explains how to preserve creativity and generate fresh ideas, in such repetitive, long-running, frequent interactions.