Mud Bowl Menagerie

The event had become tradition; a loose collective of confederates would gather on Super Bowl Sunday for a flag football game of their own, typically held at a Eugene park or high school, followed by a watch party supplemented by snack food and beer -- lots of beer. This year's contest would mark the 26th annual Mud Bowl.

Early on, we’d witness some serious football, but as many of the group approached an age when serious football should be played by younger men, both the length and the width of the playing field diminished considerably. Yet the tradition has persisted, and indeed, evolved into an even more elaborate affair.

Initially, games were contested in Eugene during rainy season, and the annual event was an exercise in survival of the fittest -- in the mud. However, each Mud Bowl took on its own persona and, some years, sponsors. This year’s fete was dubbed “Donald Trump Presents Mud Bowl XXVI: The Shithole Bowl" (The Norwegians vs. The Haitians).

Eventually, Mud Bowlers took a cue from the NFL with the decision to move the venue around, in this case, throughout the Northwest: Sunriver, Oregon; Longview, Washington; and this year, in the town that came to be known as the first permanent U.S. settlement on the Pacific coast: Astoria, Oregon (above and below).

The previous year’s “big story” spawned the themes. When Tiger Woods was in the news, we had “The Tiger Bowl” (The Tigers vs. The Angry Swedes); during the Great Recession, we had “The Economy Bowl” (The Wall Street Bailouts vs. The Main Street Discounts); then, there's my fave, “The Bitch Bowl” (The Tonyas vs. The Nancys).

Teams were selected by drawing slips of paper with wily witticisms and clever quips from a hat, along with team designation. Then, the game would begin. Some years, we had plenty of players, so substitution was possible, and indeed, encouraged. With beer and food on the bench, nobody sent to the sideline argued.

Named after John Jacob Astor, an investor from New York City who owned the American Fur Company, Astoria was founded in 1811 and featured the first U.S. post office west of the Rocky Mountains. We stayed at the Commander’s Quarters, a Victorian home (above) adjacent to Fort Stevens, a former military installation.

Built near the end of the Civil War, Fort Stevens guarded the mouth of the Columbia River. President Abraham Lincoln had commissioned the site as an active military reservation to defend the site from potential British attack at a time when the Pacific Northwest was still a point of contention between the two countries.

Visiting the museum at Fort Stevens, I was reminded about the enemy attack in 1942, when a I-25 Japanese submarine surfaced and fired 17 shells from its gun deck. The shots fell harmless because the fort’s commander had ordered an immediate blackout and refused to permit return fire, which would have revealed their position.

The incident resulted in very little damage (most rounds landed in a nearby baseball field or a swamp). Assuming that nobody was home, the Japanese submarine withdrew. Spotted by an Army Air Corps plane, the pilot called in the location for a bomber to attack but the I-25 escaped and submerged intact.

Despite the lack of engagement, the Japanese attack helped create the 1942 “West Coast invasion scare,” and the Fort Stevens shelling was the only time that a continental U.S. military installation was attacked by the Axis powers during World War II. Today, Fort Stevens is preserved as an Oregon State Park, where elk roam freely.

On game day, the Mud Bowlers conducted an abbreviated game of touch football. In year’s past, the goal was to score touchdowns; on this day, the goal was to avoid injury. Mission accomplished, and there was more good news: the consistently beleaguered Philadelphia Eagles would beat the widely dreaded New England Patriots.