I have not worked the day after the Super Bowl since 1996. It’s simple to write that act off as a childish response to a very bad hangover, but there’s more to it than that. To paraphrase a line from REO Speedwagon’s “I Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore,” what started out as a hangover, has grown stronger.
Like many of you, the Super Bowl is a very important part of my family history. For the record, this is not because of any success our team has ever had. As lifelong Cleveland Browns fans, the Fawcett's should by all logical standards hate professional football. Rooting for the Browns is the equivalent of rooting for a prostate exam. It’s very uncomfortable and demoralizing, and you have to think there’s a better way to achieve the same end result.
The Fawcett’s embrace the Super Bowl for one reason – Super Party, the greatest Super Bowl party to ever hit Louisville.
From the early morning chill
Of a snowy Sunday in January,
It takes its first breaths.
Created by one, given purpose by the many,
It returns with the fire and fury out of which the legend was born.
Prepare yourselves. The day of reckoning is upon us.
- excerpt from the Super Party 1997 invitation
I think that piece of literary brilliance accurately sums up the passion my family puts into their celebrations. Incidentally, that party didn’t actually occur because my dad decided to have a heart attack that weekend. Oddly enough, my dad had a stroke during the 2000 Super Bowl as well, which you would think might cause the men in my family to be a bit skittish that day each year. Alas, we persevere. Any by persevere, I mean drink heavily.
Super Party was the brainchild of my oldest brother, a successful and highly intelligent man who had an incredible ability to transform each Super Bowl Sunday into a world class event.
If you ever happened to be around Crews Drive, located in the geographical taint between Buechel and Fern Creek, in the late 1990’s, you would have noticed the oncoming of Super Party. Two giant seven foot wooden football helmets painted like that year’s participating teams were placed in his front yard. One year, the Green Bay Packers organization sent my brother the exact color specifications so that we could get the helmet just right. Instead, we got drunk and played ping-pong for an hour, then just painted the damn thing green and yellow.
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