Sunday’s Super Bowl was one of the most exciting we have ever seen, and we will be appreciating it as a seminal event in sports for many years to come. But I want to make a connection in the following paragraphs—if you’re willing to come with me—in which NFL Champions are related to English Champions.
For those intellectuals that think sports fans are just mouth-breathing meatheads, and for those athletes that think being studious means pushing up the bridge of your glasses as you bury your face in Chaucer’s original Middle English while nervously avoiding conversation with the opposite sex, you are all missing amazing opportunities for finding the intersection between sports and literature.
Sunday’s game was great for its stories. There is a fairly famous theory that all stories are simply iterations of the same seven plots. That’s right—throughout all of literary history, every narrative can be labeled as one of only a handful of potential character and action arcs. (Some contend there are more like 20 plots, others even claim there are up to 36 different plots.) I’m not sure if I completely agree with this analysis, particularly as modern and postmodern texts altered some of the very definitions of what constitute narratives, but it’s a good place to start. And it’s a good place to think about the Super Bowl. Sunday’s game could be read like a text that had all seven storylines.
1. The Quest: “The protagonist and some companions set out to acquire an important object or to get to a location, facing many obstacles and temptations along the way.” This is the easiest one, of course. The entire NFL season is a trip to Oz or to Mordor or wherever the heck Indiana Jones always runs off to. The Lombardi trophy is the Holy Grail, and it takes perseverance, teamwork, and often a bit of luck to capture the ultimate prize. Whether you are Ahab or Odysseus or Richard Sherman or Darrelle Revis, the quest narrative is a literary construct that defines modern sports.
2. Overcoming the Monster: “The protagonist sets out to defeat an antagonistic force which threatens the protagonist and/or protagonist's homeland.” This is also an easy one: all of football is a struggle to defend the homeland against an enemy. For Seattle, the monster was the Vader-like, evil empire of Bill Belichick. For New England, the monster was a combination of the intimidating, top-ranked defense in football, ominously and appropriately named the “Legion of Boom,” and the devastating running game of the hulking and eerily taciturn Marshawn Lynch, who also happens to have a monstrous nickname, “Beast Mode.” Football is a game exemplified by the ability to conquer land against a threatening opposition, to accumulate yards and claim property in an end zone. This struggle for possession and defense of battlefields has defined nearly all of human history and the literature that has recorded it.
3. Rags to Riches: “The poor protagonist acquires things such as power, wealth, and a mate, before losing it all and gaining it back upon growing as a person.” No one today would ever consider Tom Brady a “poor protagonist,” but consider his journey beyond Sunday’s game. Brady went from being a throwaway, sixth-round draft pick in 2000, to starting quarterback because of a fluke injury to his predecessor, to Super Bowl hero three times in his first four years in the league. It almost appeared too easy, that success came too quickly and the ride would never end. But Brady blew out his knee, lost two heart-breaking Super Bowls to the Giants in the following years, and even dealt with a couple of career-blemishing scandals. All the while, he continued to age, and his organization continued to avoid acquiring big-time talent. Some may have thought that Brady would never return to the mountaintop. Sunday’s performance, which tied the record for number of years between Super Bowl victories (13), showed that Brady has weathered the ups and downs of professional life, that he has learned a lot in his many years in the public eye, and that he has earned a legacy of respect that will guide the way for the thousands of quarterbacks who come after him.
4. Voyage and Return: “The protagonist goes to a strange land and, after overcoming the threats it poses to him/her, returns with nothing but experience.” Think Russell Wilson. (Yes, he had already won last year’s Super Bowl and is generally regarded as one of the classiest players in the NFL, but go with me here.) He ventures from soggy Seattle to the Arizona desert and must face the most accomplished coach/quarterback combo in history. He doesn’t play particularly well, but he manages to bravely and skillfully guide his team to within a single yard of toppling the giant. One yard. And then he throws the game-ending and championship-losing interception. Though few will blame him specifically for this defeat, he had the ball in his hands. He made the mistake on the field. Yet, Wilson responded on Twitter shortly afterward: “Every setback has a major comeback....At 26 years old I won't allow 1 play or 1 moment to define my career. I will keep evolving.” Wilson is not being glib or dismissive of the enormous implications of losing the Super Bowl. He cares very deeply, and his efforts throughout his short career thus far reflect that. Wilson didn’t win the game...this time. But he has already gained enough wisdom and experience to know what great things are still in store for him.
5. Rebirth: “The protagonist is a villain or otherwise unlikable character who redeems him/herself over the course of the story.” Marshawn Lynch. Those outside of the state of Washington may view Lynch as an unlikeable character for his attempts at breaking league rules by wanting to wear non-compliant shoes, as well as his notoriously recalcitrant demeanor in refusing to speak with the media during interviews and press conferences (again, in blatant violation of his contractual obligation to do so). He often acts petulant and entitled and seems strangely okay with it. However, the world witnessed Sunday night, though in a losing effort, that Lynch is the best back in football. He is like truck-sized octopus—his arms and legs slide right through your grasp, even while he’s running you over. Even the Patriots said after the game that they would have given the ball to Lynch. He’s that good. To redeem himself even more, Lynch’s answer to reporters when asked if he was surprised he didn’t get the final chance to score was perfect: “No...It’s a team sport.” For a man of few words, he picked the right ones there.
6. Comedy: “Light and humorous character with a happy or cheerful ending; a dramatic work in which the central motif is the triumph over adverse circumstance, resulting in a successful or happy conclusion." Consider the Patriots’ cast of characters on their road to victory. They are band of no-names, the game was won by a young lad who was working at a fast food chicken joint just a few months ago, they have a Falstaffian party animal called Gronk, and they are led by a Prince Charming and a mysterious wizard who concocts magical game plans that ultimately bring joy to all. If this isn’t the recipe for wild antics and a jolly good time, I don’t know what is.
7. Tragedy: “The protagonist is a villain who falls from grace and whose death is a happy ending.” On the other sideline, of course, consider the Seahawks’ leader, Pete Carroll. For New England fans, Carroll is a rebel, the players’ coach, the symbol of a new generation. He is the current king, after winning last year’s Super Bowl by demolishing the people’s hero, Peyton Manning. He’s energetic, he calls his players “bro,” and his team is the most aggressive and most penalized in all of football. He also carries a questionable past of winning college championships while likely committing egregious rule infractions, yet going unpunished. To fulfill the tragic narrative arc, we watched Carroll Sunday night call the immortal final play that cost the Seahawks the title. He blew it, and he knew it. It is this failure, but the revelation of self-knowledge that pleases the audience. We know he has learned from his disastrous mistake. If the game had a different outcome, Brady and Belichick would have obviously been the tragic figures...had they also made the worst play call in Super Bowl history.
If you are a teacher that can’t use sports to teach literature, you are like a writer with only a tenuous grasp of how adverbs work. And if you are an athlete who can’t see sports in literature, you are like a golfer who is only playing with three clubs in your bag. You can both do it, but you’re making your jobs much more difficult and much less interesting. Teachers and young readers both need more entry points for learning, and sports are an invaluable option.
For those intellectuals that think sports fans are just mouth-breathing meatheads, and for those athletes that think being studious means pushing up the bridge of your glasses as you bury your face in Chaucer’s original Middle English while nervously avoiding conversation with the opposite sex, you are all missing amazing opportunities for finding the intersection between sports and literature.
Sunday’s game was great for its stories. There is a fairly famous theory that all stories are simply iterations of the same seven plots. That’s right—throughout all of literary history, every narrative can be labeled as one of only a handful of potential character and action arcs. (Some contend there are more like 20 plots, others even claim there are up to 36 different plots.) I’m not sure if I completely agree with this analysis, particularly as modern and postmodern texts altered some of the very definitions of what constitute narratives, but it’s a good place to start. And it’s a good place to think about the Super Bowl. Sunday’s game could be read like a text that had all seven storylines.
1. The Quest: “The protagonist and some companions set out to acquire an important object or to get to a location, facing many obstacles and temptations along the way.” This is the easiest one, of course. The entire NFL season is a trip to Oz or to Mordor or wherever the heck Indiana Jones always runs off to. The Lombardi trophy is the Holy Grail, and it takes perseverance, teamwork, and often a bit of luck to capture the ultimate prize. Whether you are Ahab or Odysseus or Richard Sherman or Darrelle Revis, the quest narrative is a literary construct that defines modern sports.
2. Overcoming the Monster: “The protagonist sets out to defeat an antagonistic force which threatens the protagonist and/or protagonist's homeland.” This is also an easy one: all of football is a struggle to defend the homeland against an enemy. For Seattle, the monster was the Vader-like, evil empire of Bill Belichick. For New England, the monster was a combination of the intimidating, top-ranked defense in football, ominously and appropriately named the “Legion of Boom,” and the devastating running game of the hulking and eerily taciturn Marshawn Lynch, who also happens to have a monstrous nickname, “Beast Mode.” Football is a game exemplified by the ability to conquer land against a threatening opposition, to accumulate yards and claim property in an end zone. This struggle for possession and defense of battlefields has defined nearly all of human history and the literature that has recorded it.
3. Rags to Riches: “The poor protagonist acquires things such as power, wealth, and a mate, before losing it all and gaining it back upon growing as a person.” No one today would ever consider Tom Brady a “poor protagonist,” but consider his journey beyond Sunday’s game. Brady went from being a throwaway, sixth-round draft pick in 2000, to starting quarterback because of a fluke injury to his predecessor, to Super Bowl hero three times in his first four years in the league. It almost appeared too easy, that success came too quickly and the ride would never end. But Brady blew out his knee, lost two heart-breaking Super Bowls to the Giants in the following years, and even dealt with a couple of career-blemishing scandals. All the while, he continued to age, and his organization continued to avoid acquiring big-time talent. Some may have thought that Brady would never return to the mountaintop. Sunday’s performance, which tied the record for number of years between Super Bowl victories (13), showed that Brady has weathered the ups and downs of professional life, that he has learned a lot in his many years in the public eye, and that he has earned a legacy of respect that will guide the way for the thousands of quarterbacks who come after him.
4. Voyage and Return: “The protagonist goes to a strange land and, after overcoming the threats it poses to him/her, returns with nothing but experience.” Think Russell Wilson. (Yes, he had already won last year’s Super Bowl and is generally regarded as one of the classiest players in the NFL, but go with me here.) He ventures from soggy Seattle to the Arizona desert and must face the most accomplished coach/quarterback combo in history. He doesn’t play particularly well, but he manages to bravely and skillfully guide his team to within a single yard of toppling the giant. One yard. And then he throws the game-ending and championship-losing interception. Though few will blame him specifically for this defeat, he had the ball in his hands. He made the mistake on the field. Yet, Wilson responded on Twitter shortly afterward: “Every setback has a major comeback....At 26 years old I won't allow 1 play or 1 moment to define my career. I will keep evolving.” Wilson is not being glib or dismissive of the enormous implications of losing the Super Bowl. He cares very deeply, and his efforts throughout his short career thus far reflect that. Wilson didn’t win the game...this time. But he has already gained enough wisdom and experience to know what great things are still in store for him.
5. Rebirth: “The protagonist is a villain or otherwise unlikable character who redeems him/herself over the course of the story.” Marshawn Lynch. Those outside of the state of Washington may view Lynch as an unlikeable character for his attempts at breaking league rules by wanting to wear non-compliant shoes, as well as his notoriously recalcitrant demeanor in refusing to speak with the media during interviews and press conferences (again, in blatant violation of his contractual obligation to do so). He often acts petulant and entitled and seems strangely okay with it. However, the world witnessed Sunday night, though in a losing effort, that Lynch is the best back in football. He is like truck-sized octopus—his arms and legs slide right through your grasp, even while he’s running you over. Even the Patriots said after the game that they would have given the ball to Lynch. He’s that good. To redeem himself even more, Lynch’s answer to reporters when asked if he was surprised he didn’t get the final chance to score was perfect: “No...It’s a team sport.” For a man of few words, he picked the right ones there.
6. Comedy: “Light and humorous character with a happy or cheerful ending; a dramatic work in which the central motif is the triumph over adverse circumstance, resulting in a successful or happy conclusion." Consider the Patriots’ cast of characters on their road to victory. They are band of no-names, the game was won by a young lad who was working at a fast food chicken joint just a few months ago, they have a Falstaffian party animal called Gronk, and they are led by a Prince Charming and a mysterious wizard who concocts magical game plans that ultimately bring joy to all. If this isn’t the recipe for wild antics and a jolly good time, I don’t know what is.
7. Tragedy: “The protagonist is a villain who falls from grace and whose death is a happy ending.” On the other sideline, of course, consider the Seahawks’ leader, Pete Carroll. For New England fans, Carroll is a rebel, the players’ coach, the symbol of a new generation. He is the current king, after winning last year’s Super Bowl by demolishing the people’s hero, Peyton Manning. He’s energetic, he calls his players “bro,” and his team is the most aggressive and most penalized in all of football. He also carries a questionable past of winning college championships while likely committing egregious rule infractions, yet going unpunished. To fulfill the tragic narrative arc, we watched Carroll Sunday night call the immortal final play that cost the Seahawks the title. He blew it, and he knew it. It is this failure, but the revelation of self-knowledge that pleases the audience. We know he has learned from his disastrous mistake. If the game had a different outcome, Brady and Belichick would have obviously been the tragic figures...had they also made the worst play call in Super Bowl history.
If you are a teacher that can’t use sports to teach literature, you are like a writer with only a tenuous grasp of how adverbs work. And if you are an athlete who can’t see sports in literature, you are like a golfer who is only playing with three clubs in your bag. You can both do it, but you’re making your jobs much more difficult and much less interesting. Teachers and young readers both need more entry points for learning, and sports are an invaluable option.