As any diehard sports fanatic will tell you, it's impossible to fully appreciate an event like the Super Bowl without a keen understanding of the vaunted Mental Game: the attitudinal factors that control the outcome of every single play, beginning with the coin toss. Since more casual fans may be thrown by the insightful narration from the broadcast booth—and thus may feel left out at (masked) gatherings this coming Sunday—your host hereby provides a helpful primer in the terminology you must commit to memory to understand why one kick clanked off the uprights while another kick sailed right through.
Realize first that an athlete competing at the Super Bowl level is well versed in the potent psychodynamics of success. He knows there's no i in team—yet can personally carry his teammates on his back when circumstances call for it. This athlete knows the precise location of the fine line between unbeatable confidence and overconfidence. He enters competition with a clear head as well as intense concentration, and though he recognizes that winning is everything, not for one second does he think about losing. He stays within himself while knowing how to stretch, having mastered the art of pacing himself in an environment in which he's expected to give 110 percent at all times—and he still have another gear left if he needs it.
The Super Bowl being the Super Bowl, fans can rest assured that teams will be in the zone, not looking ahead to next week. Certainly, in this one game, players will leave it all on the field. [NOTE: Specially trained crews will arrive at SoFi stadium early Monday morning to pick it all up again. As per the terms of the league's collective-bargaining agreement, it is then mailed back to players during the off-season for repurposing next year.] From the moment the athletes race onto the gridiron, they're out to make a statement—although some teams prefer to let the other team make its statement first, so they can then answer with authority.
Just as each team is allowed one player who is wired for sound, each defensive and offensive unit is allotted a player who will not be denied. So as to avoid catastrophic results (like CTE), such players are not permitted to be on the field simultaneously.
By rule, every NFL game must contain at least one momentum shift. Befitting its name, this is an epochal development wherein the team that seemed to have the game well in hand suddenly chokes at an inopportune moment, thereby allowing the other team back in. (The epidemiology of momentum—the mechanism whereby it spreads from player to player or team to team, therby giving athletes and coaches domain over all variables known and unknown—remains controversial. CDC researchers think it may be from that same lab in Wuhan.) That said, momentum shifts are not always decisive. Notably, they can be undone by a loss of poise.
As such mistakes are unforgivable at this juncture, top NFL brass are considering whether a loss of poise should be penalized with a loss of down next season.
If the game is close and circumstances afford one team a final chance to seize its destiny, the conditions then exist for another time-honored competitive phenomenon: the gut check. This is where players reach deep inside themselves in order to find out what they're made of. (While they're in there, they often look for that other gear.) In keeping with a recent trend involving the commercial marketing of all discrete game situations—“This kickoff brought to you by...”—Super Bowl LVI’s gut check reportedly will be sponsored by a PSA for prostate screening. (Alert viewers will recall that some years ago Pepto-Bismol paid a tidy sum for the naming rights to the phrase “fire in the belly.”)
Watch as player shows teammate how to win.
Favored teams that find themselves unexpectedly behind as the Super Bowl moves into its latter stages may turn as a last recourse to a player who knows how to win. It is theorized that these players emit waves of invisible energy that are capable of causing fumbles and errant passes—and can even summon sudden gusts of wind that deflect field goals. In any case, such a player will be asked to communicate his proprietary know-how to the rest of the team. This ceremony takes place at a sideline meeting, where the elite player imbues his teammates with the will to win by slapping their helmets while screaming inspirational totems like “just win, baby!” or “let's go out and kill the muth&*!*$%$&%*ers!”
Important caveat: A player who knows how to win must never exercise his gift prematurely. He may not, for example, inspire his teammates to score four touchdowns in the opening quarter, putting the game safely out of reach. Rather, he must bide his time while awaiting the perfect moment to help his team snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. The delicacy of this balancing act is such that a player sometimes waits too long, rendering his team vulnerable to opponents who have no quit in them.
Now go enjoy the game. (Helpful hint: turn the freakin’ sound off.)