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.
