Gladwell, Pinker and Pissing in Alleys

I’ve had football on the brain lately, and thanks to The New York Times Book Review I know I’m not the only one. Steven Pinker and Malcolm Gladwell duke it out on the letters page this week, over—of all topics—evaluating NFL quarterbacks.

What next? Bernard-Henri Levy reporting live from the pre-draft scouting combine?

I’m still rebounding from last week’s trip to the Bears-Eagles game with my son A.J., a night that featured my favorite pre-game tailgate to date, in the lower level of a parking garage about a half-mile from the stadium. My pal K., who had invited us, had told me that he usually tailgated in this garage, but I guess I hadn’t really considered what such a scene might look like. Maybe because it was a night game, it looked a little like a location shoot for “The Road.” A real post-apocalyptic vibe. Men in circles around fires, drinking and cursing, etc. Shadows and chain-link fence. Smoke hanging thick beneath concrete ceilings. And every so often, the riverine sound of someone pissing down into the alley from the garage roof.

My boy, who has been raised not to relieve himself in the dark corners of public parking facilities, looked a little scared, but mostly thrilled. He seemed to figure out quickly that the normal rules weren’t going to apply. He liked getting home after midnight, too. All of this probably makes me a lousy parent, at least for one night. Which, I guess, was the whole point. I wonder what Gladwell would say about all of it.