I’ll be thinking about this on Sunday, as will lots of other people. I’ll try not to politicize my friend’s Super Bowl party—Debbie Downer with a scowl over by the stockpile of pigs in a blanket. But the temptation will lurk. I’ll be tempted to point out that none of the boys at the gathering are going to play the game, the one their fathers love but are finding harder to defend in its current form.How long will it remain comfortable to know everything we know about the sport, acknowledge that it’s become a game only for other people’s sons, while devouring it with the same hunger? I won’t bring up how money and disregard for people’s health—and the facts about who benefits long-term from the insanely lucrative industry—always remind me of who populates our military and who does not. I don’t have to say any of that. Everyone who will be there knows already.
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