Benny Jay: Super Bowl Showdown

For the Super Bowl, the bowling team goes to the South Side — a party at B & B’s place not far from 95th Street.

I’m driving J Dub, which means I pick the music. Got the radio tuned to Herb Kent’s Sunday’s Dusties show.

We’re heading south on the Dan Ryan when Herb puts on You’re Still a Young Man by Tower of Power.

I’m over joyed — cause as everybody knows, this is one of my all-time, all times.

“Can you believe  our luck!” I exclaim.

J Dub moans….

Now one thing you’ve got to understand about me and J Dub. I love him like a brother, but it’s definitely a much younger brother. When it comes to music we’ve got what they used to call a generation gap. He’s thirty-something — I’m well past fifty. His songs are rooted in the `80s and `90s. For me, it’s like they stopped making music in about, oh, 1979.

I turn up the volume and sing along with the chorus: “You’re still a young man, baby, don’t waste you’re time….”

J Dub groans.

Poor guy. He lived twenty-odd years and never heard this song, Then he joins a bowling team with two old timers (me and Cap), and now he hears it on the juke box pretty much all the time….

“Can you believe this?” I say. “They almost never play this song….”

“Wow,” he says. “Lucky us….”

We roll up to B & B’s just after kick off.

Norm’s in rare form. He’s cheering for the Saints. But mostly he’s giving everyone grief for being for the Colts, even if they’re not for the Colts.

I sort of feel sorry for this one dude, Chris. He likes the Colts so much he’s wearing Indianapolis blue and and white. Norm’s all over him, saying: “Peyton Manning ain’t shit.” You know, that sort of thing.

The Colts take an early lead. But in the second half the Saints come roaring back and Norm kicks into a higher gear.

“How come you’re so quiet?” he bellows at Chris. “You were talkin’ your shit before. But now you got nothing to say….”

Which is sort of funny.  Cause Chris has got to be one of the quietest guys I’ve ever watched a game with. If he said something — and Norm swears he did — he must have said it so quietly that the sound of his voice could barely be detected.

Anyway, great party. Endless amounts of food and drink. I tell J Dub — “don’t you worry, I’m the designated driver. Drink as much as you want.”

By the end of the night, he’s wobbling as he walks.

On the car ride home, I got it tuned to Dusties. Donny Hathaway and Roberta Flack are singing “Where is the Love?”

“Great song,” I say.

“Aw, c’mon, man,” he says. “This is too much….”

He turns the dial to some other station. They’re playing DMX, who’s rapping about all the bitches in his life. I’d like to tell you more about what he says, except so much of the lyrics are bleeped out all I can hear is his list of ladies: Brenda, Latisha, Linda, Felicia. I swear to god, he must run down twenty names….

“Damn, this guy’s got a lot of bitches — huh, J Dub?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Hey, man,” I continue. “You think they’re gonna let him sing this song at next year’s Super Bowl halftime?”

I look to my left. J Dub’s  half asleep. I swear I heard him snoring.

I go back to Dusties. On comes The Originals — Baby I’m for Real.

I turn it up.

“Now, this is music,” I tell J Dub.

He’s got his mouth open and his head leaning against the windows. I could put on Johnny Mathis and he wouldn’t know the difference.

I drop him off at his apartment.

“Thanks, Benny,” he says, as he stumbles out of the car. “Great night….”

“And the best part about it was hearing Tower of Power….”

That stirs him from his stupor.

“Fuck that shit,” he says.

Oh, well, like the song says. He’s still a young man — don’t waste your time….