Bowls don’t excite me. In a museum, I tend to whiz past the pottery section, no matter how ancient or important the archaeological finds might have been. Despite the obvious differences, my lack of enthusiasm extends to other bowls as well, specifically the current crop of college football playoff and end-of-season bowl games. I am, however, quite enthusiastic about the names of those bowls.
People who don’t follow college football might wonder: does the “bowl” refer to the game itself or the stadium in which it’s played? A bit of history reveals the answer: both. The Yale Bowl, stadium for the Yale Bulldogs, was built in 1914, with over 70,000 seats. In 1923, the Rose Bowl (the stadium) opened and began hosting the Rose Bowl Game, later shortened to the Rose Bowl. Sugar, Orange, Sun and Cotton Bowls followed: games named for regional identifiers or products.
In the 1970s and early ’80s—a more innocent (some might say naïve) age of corporate sponsorship—the strangest bowl name might have been the Astro-Bluebonnet Bowl, played in the Houston Astrodome.
In 1987, things began to change. Now we were introduced to the John Hancock Sun Bowl, the Jeep Eagle Aloha Bowl, and the Seaworld Holiday Bowl. The list of 1990s bowl games includes reminders of companies that have gone bust (the 1990 Blockbuster Bowl, the 1998 MicronPC Bowl). The bowl games of the 2000s reflect the irrational exuberance regarding tech stocks at the time, and the desperate efforts of non-tech companies to be seen as savvy and cutting-edge (or at least relevant) by adding a suffix to their business names. Thus, the 2000 Galleryfurniture.com Bowl and 2006 PapaJohns.com Bowl were born.
Browsing the list of bowl games past is bittersweet, because so many of them seem like missed opportunities. In 1990 the first Pop-Tarts Bowl took place at Camping World Stadium in Florida. Instead of pushing Pop-Tarts, Kellogg’s could have given America the inaugural Cereal Bowl, in which the venerable food company would field a team of employees and challenge a cereal industry competitor (General Mills or Post, for example) to a game.
Who wouldn’t love to see Brad from operations, who last played on his community college rec team 12 years ago, go up against Bonnie from marketing, who shines during her family’s traditional Thanksgiving Day touch football game? The possibilities for unique bowl games are as endless as the number of bowl puns: the Plastic Bowl (Dupont vs. Dow Chemical); the Toilet Bowl (American Standard vs. Kohler); and the Punch Bowl (Keurig Dr. Pepper, parent company of Hawaiian Punch, against Kraft Heinz, parent company of Kool-Aid). Imagine also a Punch Bowl battle of the mascots, with the powerful pugilist Punchy facing off against the wall-busting brawniness of Kool-Aid Man—for centuries, philosophers have wondered what would happen when an immovable object met an unstoppable force. What better way to find out?
If you’re one of those people who insists on watching “real athletes” compete, instead of company employees or mascots, these events could at least indulge in some fun brand sponsorships. In the case of the Cereal Bowl, we’d already have naming rights for the stadium and the game, why not the players, too? What defensive player wouldn’t want to be called “Captain Crunch,” or be a member of the devastating linebacking trio “Snap,” “Crackle,” and “Pop”?
The sounds of cereal and football complement each other, and the game, played early in the morning, would allow the concession stands to sell loads of those little travel cereal boxes that you can cut open and pour milk into.
Actual bowl names often create expectations that aren’t met. For example, when you hear about the “2023 TaxSlayer Gator Bowl,” do you think about teams of high-level, mild-mannered accountants with swords trying to evade live alligators? Because I do, and anything less is going to be a disappointment.
1997’s introduction of the Humanitarian Bowl could have been a game-changer, with the victor decided not by aggressive tackling and a bruising rushing game, just diplomatic negotiations and a sincere appeal to the opposition for a peaceful outcome. Sure, the game would probably end in a tie, but everyone in the stadium would be properly fed, clothed, and hopeful for a brighter future.
This year, we have the GameAbove Sports Bowl (played on the roof of the Ford Field dome?), Bad Boy Mowers Pinstripe Bowl (featuring ex-cons who’ve established a career in the landscaping industry?), and the Duke’s Mayo Bowl (decided on a field covered with slippery mayonnaise?). When I saw there would be a Cricket Celebration Bowl, I thought to myself how odd and refreshingly multicultural it was that an American football game would celebrate a relatively obscure sport, most popular in India, Pakistan, and Australia—maybe the Cricket lobby was trying to make a larger introduction of its sport to the United States? Alas, the Cricket in question was actually Cricket Wireless, a much-maligned prepaid wireless service provider.
Bowl games are big on geography naming: this year the Hawaii Bowl, Bahamas Bowl, Boca Raton Bowl, Birmingham Bowl, and Myrtle Beach Bowl will be joined by the Isthmus Bowl, sure to send lots of people scrambling to their dictionaries. Coming soon, I hope, will be the Estuary Bowl, Butte Bowl, and Archipelago Bowl.
Meanwhile, there’s an NFL Pro Bowl every year, so why not a Con Bowl? Only former convicts would be allowed to play, which surprisingly, would still field a pretty good all-time NFL team. And while the most recognizable bowl name—the Super Bowl—is obviously taken, I’m shocked that no other football league has one-upped them by now. If you can’t legally use “Super Bowl,” why not the “Superb Bowl”? Or the “Magnificent Bowl”? Or the “Superior Bowl”?
Bowl games have nothing to do with bowling, except that this year one does: the Go Bowling Military Bowl—unfortunately, the Bowling Green Falcons are not playing in it. Those seeking a less passive activity than watching bowl games on TV (but one that’s still pretty passive) can get a coupon for a free game at the Go Bowling website and bowl away.
At this point in the column, you might be amazed, and maybe a bit frightened, of how I’ve taken this bowl ball and run with it. You might even want to let out an awestruck whistle of appreciation (or a sarcastic one) before you finish your Hamilton Post and settle back to watch a bowl game or two. If you don’t know how to whistle, or just forgot, allow me to help by paraphrasing Lauren Bacall in the classic film To Have and Have Not: “Just put your lips together and bowl.”
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