Part of the answer lies in the visceral nature of the game. Unlike chess, football is physical to the point of absurdity. Grown adults in body armor crash into each other over what is essentially a leather egg. There's drama in every play. You don't need a PhD in physics to appreciate a one-handed catch while somersaulting over a defender like a caffeinated acrobat.
My dad would be up at dawn, not to prepare some elaborate feast, but to set up the treasure hunt he'd created using clues written on the backs of old envelopes. Each riddle led us kids to another spot in the house, building anticipation for modest gifts hidden in creative places. The whole thing probably cost him nothing but time and imagination, yet thirty years later, I remember those hunts more vividly than any expensive present I've ever received.