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Sixty Super Bowls: The Last Pilgrimage | Analysis by Brian Moineau

Posted on by Brian Moineau

Sixty Sundays: The friends who’ve never missed a Super Bowl

From $8 seats to $8,000 trips, the Super Bowl has changed almost as much as the men who’ve watched every single one. This year Don Crisman, Gregory Eaton and Tom Henschel — three friends in their 80s — made the pilgrimage again, closing a chapter that began on January 15, 1967. For two of them, this pilgrimage may be the last.

A hook: why this story matters beyond football

There’s something quietly heroic about a ritual kept for six decades: it’s not just about touchdowns or halftime shows, it’s about continuity in a world that keeps speeding up. These men are living archives of the event that became America’s unofficial holiday. Their story asks a simple question: what do we owe our rituals — and to whom?

What happened this year

  • Don Crisman (Maine), Gregory Eaton (Michigan) and Tom Henschel (Florida) attended Super Bowl LX, preserving a streak that began with the very first AFL-NFL World Championship Game in 1967.
  • Crisman, nearly 90, and Henschel, 84 and recovering from a stroke, said this year will likely be their last trip. Eaton, 86, plans to go as long as he can.
  • The trio — once part of a larger “never missed” club that included media members and staff — are now essentially the living end of an era, having scaled back travel from weeklong stays to short trips focused only on the game. (apnews.com)

A little context: how the Super Bowl and fandom evolved

  • The first two championship games were called the AFL-NFL World Championship Game; “Super Bowl” became the common name almost by accident and then by marketing success.
  • Early Super Bowls felt different: cheaper tickets, smaller media machines, less corporate spectacle. Henschel remembers paying $12 for a ticket in 1969. Today, attending the game — travel, lodging, ticket markups — can run into the thousands. (apnews.com)
  • Over 60 editions, the Super Bowl transformed from a championship to a cultural event: halftime megashows, global advertising, and multi-day corporate campus takeovers around host cities.

Why their streak is about more than numbers

  • Ritual and friendship: The three men speak less about specific plays and more about the habit of showing up together. Their annual meetups, brunches and shared travels turned a sporting event into a social anchor.
  • Memory and changing America: Through their eyes you can trace social shifts — from stadium integration and the first Black winning quarterback to the commercialization of sports.
  • The cost of dedication: Their scaling back — shorter stays, tighter budgets — mirrors how the Super Bowl itself has become more expensive and logistically challenging. For them, the decision to continue is a personal calculus of mobility, finances, and how much the ritual still feeds their joy. (washingtonpost.com)

What this says about fandom and aging

  • Traditions adapt. Where once they’d spend a week soaking in the host city, now it’s three or four days and mostly the game. That’s not resignation — it’s pragmatism.
  • The emotional weight of a final trip: Saying “this might be my last” reframes the game as a milestone rather than an event. It’s the closing of a long-running story that others helped write.
  • Public memory vs. private ritual: The Super Bowl is public spectacle; their streak is private devotion made public. It reminds us that the biggest cultural events are made meaningful by countless small, consistent acts of attendance and attention.

Takeaways for readers

  • Small rituals accumulate into identity: attending once is memorable; attending 60 times becomes a life’s thread.
  • Cultural institutions age with us: as the NFL and its marquee event get bigger and pricier, the people who built the memory bank adapt — or fade away.
  • There’s dignity in ending things on your own terms: both Crisman and Henschel acknowledge limits and choose a graceful exit rather than forcing the habit beyond its meaningfulness. (apnews.com)

My take

The story of Crisman, Eaton and Henschel reads like a human-scale novel about time: the highs, the losses, the friendships that outlast careers and changing cities. Sports often give us a truncated narrative — winners and losers — but this trio shows the richer arc: persistence, memory, and the quiet decision to step back when the ritual stops serving who you are. It’s easy to romanticize “never missed” streaks, but the more interesting, humane moment is watching people choose how to end them.

Sources

(Links were checked on February 7, 2026.)



Related update: We recently published an article that expands on this topic: read the latest post.

Related update: We recently published an article that expands on this topic: read the latest post.

When Halo Becomes a Weapon of Politics | Analysis by Brian Moineau

Posted on by Brian Moineau

When a Sci‑Fi Icon Gets Drafted Into Real‑World Violence: Halo, AI and the Cost of Dehumanizing Rhetoric

There’s something gut‑level unnerving about seeing your favorite fictional world repurposed as a weapon. Imagine turning a beloved sci‑fi shooter — a series that millions grew up with — into a rallying cry to “destroy” people in the real world. That’s exactly what happened late October 2025 when U.S. government social posts used AI‑generated images of Halo to promote immigration enforcement, prompting sharp condemnation from the franchise’s original creators.

This post untangles why that matters beyond fandom: the mix of cultural icons, generative AI, and political messaging isn’t just tone‑deaf — it risks normalizing language and imagery that have historically enabled dehumanization.

Key takeaways

    • The Department of Homeland Security and related accounts posted AI‑generated Halo imagery with slogans like “Destroy the Flood,” a clear analogy that equated migrants with the Flood, Halo’s parasitic antagonist.
    • Halo veterans including Marcus Lehto and Jaime Griesemer publicly condemned the posts as “absolutely abhorrent” and “despicable,” arguing the Flood were never intended as an allegory for immigrant populations.
    • The incident spotlights two bigger issues: how generative AI makes it trivially easy to weaponize copyrighted cultural IP for political messaging, and how dehumanizing metaphors (comparing groups to parasites) have dangerous historical resonance.
    • Microsoft — owner of the Halo IP — remained publicly noncommittal at the time, raising questions about corporate responsibility when IP is co‑opted for political ends.

The image, the reaction, and why it hurt

Late October 2025, an X (formerly Twitter) post tied to Homeland Security shared imagery of Spartans — Halo’s armored super‑soldiers — driving a Warthog beneath the Halo ring world with the words “Destroy the Flood” and a recruitment angle for ICE. The Flood, within the Halo lore, are a parasitic scourge: an enemy that strips away identity and consumes worlds.

On the surface it reads like a meme. But the implication was unmistakable: equate migrants with parasitic invaders and you’ve reduced human beings to a threat to be annihilated. That’s why key figures behind Halo were enraged. Marcus Lehto said the co‑option “really makes me sick,” while Jaime Griesemer called the ICE post “despicable” and warned it should offend every Halo fan, regardless of politics. Their responses highlight a core point: creators don’t control every context in which their work appears, but many feel a responsibility to object when their art is used to promote harm.

Why copyrighted IP and generative AI are a combustible mix

    • Generative AI tools can produce plausible, polished imagery quickly, making it easy for actors — state or private — to fabricate visuals that look “official.”
    • Cultural IP carries built‑in emotional and persuasive power. A Master Chief figure is shorthand for heroism, conflict and legitimacy for millions of players; recontextualized, it lends those feelings to the message being pushed.
    • Copyright and trademark law offer some remedies, but enforcement is slow and messy — and companies may choose not to act for political or business reasons. At the time of the incident, Microsoft’s public response was limited, leaving creators and fans to push back in public forums.

Generative AI amplifies asymmetries: anyone with basic tools can create imagery that looks like a brand’s or franchise’s official output, then weaponize it online. That’s why the debate isn’t just about one meme — it’s about how we govern visual truth and the ethical limits of deploying cultural capital in politics.

The deeper danger of dehumanizing metaphors

Describing a human group as “parasites,” “insects,” or “the flood” isn’t new; it’s an old rhetorical device that historically precedes violence. Comparing people to sub‑human entities strips moral complexity and makes extreme measures seem plausible or even righteous. Many commentators pointed out that equating migrants with the Flood echoes dangerous dehumanizing language that has been used before to justify abuses.

This is why creators’ outrage matters beyond fandom: it’s a cultural guardrail. When original storytellers push back, they’re not just protecting brand image; they’re resisting a narrative that turns complex social issues into a binary, extermination‑style frame.

Corporate silence and responsibility

Microsoft — current owner of Halo — reportedly declined to comment beyond minimal statements at the time. That silence fuels frustration. If brand IP is repurposed for political messaging that many view as harmful, stakeholders expect clearer action: takedown requests, public distancing, or at least moral clarity from those who own the rights.

But corporate responses are complicated by legal, political and business calculations. The episode exposes tension between platform enforcement, IP owners, and the public interest — a debate that will only intensify as AI image‑making becomes routine.

A short reflection

We live in a moment when imagery moves fast and the line between fiction and political persuasion blurs easily. Cultural icons are powerful because they belong to communities of fans whose shared meanings are shaped, defended and debated. When those icons get hijacked in ways that dehumanize real people, creators’ and communities’ voices matter — not just for brand protection, but for the health of public discourse.

If you care about the soul of the stuff you love, it’s worth paying attention to how it’s used, and calling out when popular culture is enlisted to justify harm. The Halo incident isn’t only a controversy about a videogame — it’s a warning about how tools and symbols can be misused unless we set clearer norms and faster remedies.

Sources



Related update: We recently published an article that expands on this topic: read the latest post.

Related update: We recently published an article that expands on this topic: read the latest post.

Related update: We recently published an article that expands on this topic: read the latest post.

Related update: We recently published an article that expands on this topic: read the latest post.