Wildly American

There are few things in this country that can be considered truly American. Much of our culture is obtained rather than organic: traditions pillaged from native peoples, transmuted from horrific tragedies into benign and nostalgic coincidences; identities ferried across the Atlantic in steerage, lulled to slumber by the melancholy lilt of a violin and a warbly Irish brogue; family values and carbohydrates forced northward by a slo-mo invasion of pioneers caulking and floating en masa* across the Rio Grande—kind of like the Oregon Trail, only you start out as a banker, but end up tarring roofs with seven of your amigos in Hagerstown, Maryland for $40 and a ride back to Home Depot.

The “American Culture” in which we are immersed today is not exactly American. It’s a mix of Old World, Far East, Sub-Saharan and Jewish traditions, whose spice and vigor have melded over the centuries to create a stringy fondue now celebrated almost exclusively on Thanksgiving, the Fourth of July, and the MTV Music Video Awards.

There do exist, however, some things that are truly American, as nothing encompasses the spirit of this nation more than unnecessary investment of emotion, time and cash money on something that, besides pure entertainment value, does not benefit society in any tangible manner: sports.

Not all sports fit this category, mind you, for what is baseball if not a more marketable, logical version of cricket, a sport popular on every continent on the planet? What is basketball if not a less flamboyant, more horizontal version of the ancient game of tlatchli? A truly American sport would be enjoyed by Americans only. It would be so confusing its export to Europe, Latin America and/or Asia would be as comically tragic as thought of FOX ordering 13 episodes of a sitcom starring Michael Strahan and Carl Weathers because its executives thought the show would be good to pair with ’til Death. If a spin-off show that pits Brad Garrett’s subdued, baritone observational cynicism against the tribulations of marriage needs help drawing an audience at 8:30 on a Friday night, why even turn on the television?

Yes, American Football has solidified itself as America’s true pastime. It happened sometime between those forgettable years when large men made it OK to say “inject me in the buttocks” in a locker room and when hockey expanded into markets that haven’t seen naturally occurring ice since T. Rex was Phoenix’s most prominent citizen and started signing players with more Z’s in their last names than a Peanuts comic about Snoopy sleeping.

So how could football improve upon its already successful model? With the help of an unlikely innovation: the Wildcat offense.** Flashy and unexpected, the Wildcat offense successfully made the jump from college and spread across the NFL with the intensity of influenza molecules in a subway car crowded with the elderly and their infant grandchildren on their way to the zoo. Since Ronnie Brown of the Miami Dolphins took the first snap of an offensive game plan that dismantled the heavily favored New England Patriots in 2008, the Wildcat has re-energized football. It has simultaneously marginalized aging white pocket passers and given more athletic coughblackcough running quarterbacks a chance to succeed in the NFL without putting on a headset.

In reality, however, the Wildcat offense isn’t even an innovation at all. Newcomers to scheme often forget it is based on the Single Wing offense pioneered by none other than Glen “Pop” Warner as early as 1907, meaning this exciting new offense has been in existence since before WWI. Pop Warner, in his infinite wisdom, took a game that was essentially a three hour rugby scrum and turned it into something entertaining. Little known to the average football fan, Pop Warner’s fertile genius also gave birth to the shotgun formation, split-out receivers and, much later, the reverse cowgirl.

Yet that doesn’t stop college and NFL coaches and players from lining up to claim their rightful throne as the first to implement this “new” offense. Even Michael Vick, who should probably just be happy the offense wasn’t pioneered at the University of Georgia, claims to be the “original Wildcat”.

Creating and more successfully marketing inventions that have already been invented is what makes this country tick. The Wildcat is what ‘N Sync was to the Backstreet Boys. It’s what the ShamWOW is to the chamois, Pepsi to Coke, Dominos to Pizza Hut, the Snuggie to a backwards robe. Sure it seems a little confusing that defenses have a hard time stopping an offense led by a player with probably nine career NFL passes to his name (hint: he’s probably going to run), but until someone figures out how to make deep-fried C-notes*** a snack food reality, that is just what makes the Wildcat offense arguably the most American thing in America.




*wordplay!

**If there are any women still reading at this point, here is some background information you can use to impress your boyfriend or whatever guy is next to you at the bar in the Eli Manning jersey: the Wildcat offense is one in which the quarterback is supplanted in the offensive formation by a running back who takes the snap directly, thus creating the triple-threat option of running, passing or handing the ball off in any number of defense-confounding ways. It is called the Wildcat offense because it gained popularity in 2006 after the Kansas State Wildcats realized they didn’t have a viable quarterback and tailored their offense accordingly. If that primer didn’t help, just jump up and down in your undersized, pink jersey and say the phrase “God, it’s like Joe Buck doesn’t even have to try to be an asshole anymore.” You’ll be fine.

***Franklin Fritters anyone?