Friends, Romans, Footballmen: Lend Me Your Years

By Rick Horowitz

MILWAUKEE, JUST SOUTH OF TITLETOWN--Nice? Very nice. Someday they'll look back at this one, the ups and downs, the thrills and spills. They'll look back at Super Bowl XXXI--and nobody will have a clue what they're talking about.

Please. Pretty please. While we have everyone's attention, while everyone (a few disappointed New Englanders aside) is in a full gridiron giddy, can we finally get rid of those ridiculous Roman numerals? Can we toss those asinine X's and V's and I's over the side once and for all?

Once upon a time, they were only silly and pretentious. Now they're incomprehensible. Incomprehensible and totally annoying.

Here's your typical Super Bowl newspaper paragraph: "Rutabaga's 286 yards passing not only eclipsed Ted Turftoe's performance in Super Bowl XXVI, but brought back memories of Stanley Overdrive and Winston Cutback's accomplishments in Super Bowls XXIII and XVII. Of course, no one will ever forget Super Bowl VIII..."

Wrong.

Everyone will forget Super Bowl VIII, and most of the others, too, as long as they keep sticking Roman numerals on them.

Earth to NFL headquarters: The Roman Empire is dead. The sooner this idiot numerology is dead and buried right alongside it, the better off we'll all be.

Here's the problem: Roman numerals don't mean anything. Actually, that's the second problem. The first problem is that people first have to figure out which Roman numeral is which--then they don't mean anything.

I can keep Super Bowls I and II straight; those were the Packers of the Golden Era, Vince Lombardi and all that. Super Bowl III was Joe Namath and his Jets. Super Bowl IV was the Chiefs--two for the NFL, two for the AFL.

And after that? I start losing track. On the other hand, I can still tell you about the 1979 World Series, for instance, because I remember where I was and what I was doing in 1979. For that matter, I can tell you about the 1946 World Series (more grief for New England, come to think of it) and I wasn't even born yet, because the number "1946" has links to the real world, while X and XIX and XXIX and the rest are nothing but gibberish.

And breaking the code? Simple. All you have to do is remember that the very first Super Bowl took place in 1967, so Super Bowl XII, for instance, must have happened XI years later, which gets you from 1967 to...wherever it gets you. Or you can work backwards, and remember that this year's Super Bowl was XXXI, so Super Bowl XII must have happened XXXI-minus-XII years ago, which is XIX, and 19 from 1997 is...

Or you can take up golf.

Maybe they're worried, the NFL honchos, that having the "1997 Super Bowl" finishing up the 1996 season would confuse people. Like the current system doesn't?! Counting in dog years would be better than the current system.

But the really bizarre thing is the way the rest of us go along with this nonsense. If the NFL wants to keep dressing up in togas, that's its own business, but why does every reporter and announcer in the country have to buy in? I mean, the Olympics in Atlanta last summer were officially the "Games of the XXVI Olympiad" or something, which was all very nice for the opening ceremonies, and then they marched in and lit the torch and almost everyone went right back to calling them the "1996 Olympics," and comparing them to the "'84 Olympics" and the "'52 Olympics" and...

And everyone understood what they were talking about. What an interesting concept!

Pretty please, National Football League: For the sake of clarity--for the sake of sanity--throw the Romans to the lions. Do it now. Trust me on this one: It's only going to get worse.

There will be L to pay.

1/27/97

©1997 Rick Horowitz. All rights reserved.