Last night was Super Bowl XLV. In the basement screening of the McEwen School of Communications, a group of nearly two dozen gathered to eat pizza, talk and watch the game on the big screen. This room coincidentally shares a wall with the temporary office of The Pendulum.
Super Bowl parties are about sharing a good time. For many, their cherished teams were out of the running long ago, so the interest in who actually wins is minimal. People choose sides for the sake of choosing sides, not for any personal convictions, save maybe the fans of those teams eliminated in the play-offs by the Steelers or Packers.
The Super Bowl is also about the commercials. People are quieter when the game broadcast pauses than when it's actually on. The Super Bowl is also about the half-time show. And this year's was no dissapointment.
But what struck me most about this year's Super Bowl was the fact that behind some steel support beams and drywall, sat a few of the Pendulum staff, dilligently working to prepare pages for our weekly Monday-night production. The celebration of community I was attending was directly adjacent to one of the voices of the community, and the indisputable link between the two was striking.
It's easy to forget who we represent in the world of journalism. But when we remember, it's a wonderful feeling. Because the people cheering on players charging up and down the field are the same people affected by what we publish. And we owe them. We owe them big.
Even bigger than that man owes the gopher/woodchuck/beaver creature owes the guy in the Bridgestone tire commercial.