Saturday is prologue. It’s the culmination of a long week, building to a crescendo of self-actualization. It looms in the distance, then seems to disappear instantly, lost in the stream of hope and indecision. It’s the day when they put off sleep for as long as possible. A day imbued with the feeling of finality. To end is to turn the page on a new week and the routine it promises. So, they resolve on Sunday to worship at the altar of their secular gods, to find meaning in the mundane practice of idolatry.
Sunday is when they allow themselves a few extra minutes of sleep, hoping to catch up to an equilibrium constantly just out of reach. They wake slowly and ease into the day. They take care to get dressed in the proper combination of officially licensed apparel. A signal to neighbors that they are both serious and committed to the cause. It acts like a suit or armor and exclusive club all in one – a way to be part of the crowd and exchange winning glances and chants and nods. Nothing is by chance. It all serves a greater purpose.
At game time a hush falls over the house; all attention is fixed on the nerve center – the giant high-definition 4k television with stereo quality speakers. Their favored team enters into organized bone crushing combat with another from a different city. Both are part of the same cartel, each with more loyalty to protecting the cartel than their throng of worshippers spread out over the broadcast grid. The ultimate prize on the line is simply a meaningless win. To beat their opponent into a form of submission. Our ultimate form of entertainment like a car crash we have to see. In between the fleeting moments of athletic daring and greatness are the buried objects of their subconscious desires. The myriad companies rich enough to prominently display their names, sponsor every facet of the game, and sell the next great American consumer good.
Sunday is the day we’ve set aside for the confluence of commerce and sanctioned violence. The weird pinnacle of our achievement, a paradox of retrograde progress.
Here is the church and there is the steeple. Turn on the television and see all the people. Here’s the person who stares. In the void will be all the answers to his prayers.
GLAZ 