My extended family organized two Super Bowl parties last night. There was one for the hordes of children belonging to my dear sister Rose, her husband Hank, Hank’s brother and his wife – that one was held at the home in Fairfax, Virginia where, thanks to the folly of our real estate market, both large Catholic families now live, pooling their resources to meet a hopelessly underwater mortgage. The party was overseen by Hank’s eldest son, Hank Jr., who, although an undergraduate art student at Brown, happened to be in the DC metro area this weekend curating for the Smithsonian. The adults – which is to say, everybody who is old enough to drink – gathered at my home in Great Falls. And it was at this latter shindig, during the halftime show, which only my girlfriend, Cerise, lingered to watch, that I wandered into the living room, there to find Hank and Hank’s brothers wife, Shannon, engaged in a heated argument with my brother Rob Roy, his wife, Katje, and their son, Jason.
“Obama’s ‘pretty please’ foreign policy makes me sick!” Hank roared, emphasizing his point by jabbing the air vigorously with his bottle of Dogfish Head 120 Minute India Pale Ale. “You know what his problem is? I’ll tell you what his problem is – no tienes huevos, hombre! That’s what! The president of the United States has got to have some cojones on him, Rob – and like H. Ross Perot used to say, ‘It’s just that simple!’ And it is, too, you left-wing Linux-loving hippie hacker!”
“Simple solutions,” Rob scoffed, gesturing right back a Hank with his bottle of Flying Dog Old Scratch Amber Lager, “for simple minds, you Tea Party ditto-head! Didn’t the war in Iraq teach you anything?”
“It taught me,” Hank indignantly huffed, “that we could invade Iran and kick their butts to Hell and back in about two weeks, that’s what it taught me!”
“Kick them to the curb in two weeks,” Katje sneered, condescendingly waving her glass of Autry Cellars Chardonnay in Hank’s general direction, “and then be stuck there for eight or ten years, while we spend a couple of trillion dollars, maybe?”
“Freedom,” Shannon boldly asserted, while grandly waving her glass of Bushmill’s 21 on the rocks under Katje’s nose, “isn’t free! ‘Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute!’ That’s what made America what it is today!”
“Right – flat broke and flat on its back!” Jason chimed in, hoisting his La Fogata Anejo Mezcal and Cointreau Margarita high in a mocking toast, “So here’s to Bush 43 and his imaginary weapons of mass destruction! And now, you guys can’t wait to invade Iran to get at some equally imaginary atomic bombs!”
“There’s nothing imaginary,” Hank insisted, “about Iran’s nuclear program! You don’t have to be a genius – like Tom here – to see that the Iranians are up to no good with their uranium enrichment program. They’re obviously determined to join the nuclear club, and you know what they’re going to do when they get in? Attack Israel, that’s what!”
“In that case,” Rob Roy snickered, “since you and Shannon are so hot to trot with the Apocalypse and all, it seems to me you ought to be rooting for the Iranians to do just that and bring about the Second Coming of Christ.”
“You’ll be laughing out the other side of your mouth,” Shannon roared, “when the Tribulation arrives and all you’ve got is an iPhone! It’s all right there in the Book of Revelation, and you’d better be ready for it!”
“Hearing you talk like that,” Rob Roy shot back, “I can almost understand why the Church didn’t used to let the laity read the Bible.”
“Hmph!” Hank replied. “Listen to Mr. Liberal Expert in Theology over here, mocking the Word of God! How come? Is the Book of Revelation too scary for somebody who sins as much as you?”
“So what’s your point, True Believer,” Katje taunted. “That the Lord Almighty wants the United States of America to invade Iran after Israel attacks it to blow up the Iranian nuclear plants?”
“Israel,” Shannon thundered, “is a democracy! And it’s the only one in the Middle East! It’s our only friend in the Middle East, and our only true ally in the Middle East, and Iran hates them! Iran is dedicated to the destruction of Israel! That’s no secret – the Iranians say it every chance they get! There’s no way we can let Iran get nuclear weapons! Their whole notion of their nation-state is founded on fanatical belief in a religious fairy tale they found in the Quran!”
“Oh, yeah,” Jason nodded ironically, “unlike the Israelis, whose entire nation-state is founded on a fanatical belief in a religious fairy tale they found in the Old Testament!”
“It’s not the same!” Hank protested. “That’s a false analogy! Islam is a religion of hate! Christianity is a religion of love!”
“Tell that,” Katje wryly suggested, “to the Jews who Torquemada tortured to death during the Spanish Inquisition.”
“Oh, [expletive],” Shannon swore, “what the [expletive] would a Scandinavian Lutheran like you know about the Spanish Inquisition, anyway?”
“About as much,” Katje hissed, “as a bog-trotting Mick knows about Shia Islam, I’d imagine.”
“Look,” Rob Roy cut in, “there’s no reason bomb Iran…”
“Bomb-bomb-bomb, bomb-bomb Iran…” Hank broke out.
“Bomb-bomb-bomb, bomb-bomb Iran,” Shannon joined in, taking the harmony; and they sang:
“Oh, bomb Iran,
Let’s take a stand.
Bomb Iran!
Our country’s got a feelin’
Really hit the ceilin’, bomb Iran!
Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb Iran!
Went to a mosque, gonna throw some rocks
Tell the Ayatollah, ‘Gonna put you in a box!’
Bomb Iran! Bomb, bomb, bomb,
Bomb Iran!
Our country’s got a feelin’
Really hit the ceilin’, bomb Iran
Bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb…”
“Sanctions!” Jason interrupted. “They’re working, okay?”
“No, they’re not!” Shannon disagreed. “Iran has been under international sanctions for thirty three years! That’s quite a few years longer than you’ve been alive, Jason. And what have we got to show for them? Nothing, that’s what!”
“That’s not true,” Rob Roy proclaimed. “Look at their currency. At the moment, one hundred thousand Iranian rials are worth all of five dollars and sixty cents. Look at their air force – they’re flying American jets built in the 1970’s. Look at their banking system – they can’t get credit, not from anybody…”
“And China provides them with all the manufactured goods they need,” Hank countered. “Why? Because China wants their oil, that’s why! And as long as the Iranians have oil to sell, somebody, somewhere will want to buy it, even if we don’t, even if the EU doesn’t, there will always be somebody who will! And as long as the Iranians can get money from selling their oil…”
“The Saudis have already pledged to make up for any shortfall resulting from increased pressure on the Iranians,” Rob Roy interjected.
“Oh, sure,” Shannon laughed sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. “And what are those rough, tough… manly Saudi Arabians going to do when the Iranians close the Strait of Hormuz, huh? That would shut down production from the entire Arabian Gulf region! Even the Saudis can’t pump that much oil! Not that they would if they could anyhow!”
“No way the Iranians would try to block the Strait of Hormuz,” Jason propounded. “They’d be up against the US Navy!”
“Ah-ha!” Hank shouted in a triumphal tone. “Now who’s talking like a militarist?”
“Guys! Guys!” Cerise yelled at us from the doorway. “Get back in front of the HDTV right now! M.I.A. just flipped off Madonna!”
“No!” Shannon chortled, “she didn’t!”
“Did!” Cerise shrieked.
“Well, it’s about time!” Hank and Rob Roy both joyfully hooted, in unison. A brief silence ensued as they regarded each other quizzically.
“So,” I observed, “there are some things even you two agree on.”