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With even my non-sporting friends chattering about buying hundreds of dollars worth of hot wings and making Xanax margaritas, I suppose it’s time to get ready for Super Bowl weekend. In terms of championship spectacles, the Super Bowl is unique in that it gets even the most sports-averse out to party, which I suppose is largely a factor of the fact that the whole enchilada is decided in one weekend day, rather than drawn out over seven games. People that don’t know or care what’s going on still have plenty of boozing and eating to cram into a five-hour stretch, and it’s not hard to know to cheer whenever one really large guy smashes the hell out of another really large guy.

Thinking about it all from a bio-nerd standpoint, it’s that last part that’s really intriguing. A friend mentioned it recently: The whole culture of sports, from playing to fandom, is filled with a whole hell of a lot of yelling and cheering. It’s not just at games, either. People wearing jerseys are yelling at each other on the street left and right, and I think the tattoo I have for São Paulo soccer team Corinthians has already paid itself off with beers loudly chucked at me from other fans.

VICE once did a piece of Corinthians’ largest fan club, the Gaviões da Fiel. I can tell you first hand, these dudes now how to cheer (and party),

The thing is, we don’t shout and cheer for much else. If you were to see some dumbass yell all goofy at his friends across the street for some other trivial reason – “Hey Steve, I won $5 on a scratcher! WOO!” – you’d look at him with scorn. But for the most part, we give Joe Hockey in a Rangers sweater a pass as he shouts all over Seventh Avenue. When we’re all otherwise relatively timid beasts these days, what is it about sports that gets us so riled up?

Communication has always been largely about cooperation. Sure, a whole lot of the animal chatter out there is aimed at getting laid, and I suppose a mama bear growling at a threat to her cubs isn’t exactly being cooperative. But when we talk about real back-and-forth communication in the animal world, and not just some fancy song trilled into the night in the hopes of impressing a mate, it tends to be aimed towards coordinating a group. Often, that’s a group on the hunt.

Take hyenas for an example. Hyenas have long been villainized by Disney and children’s science classes as nothing more than filthy scavengers, stealing scraps from the proud lions. In fact, that’s not exactly the case, as hyenas have complex social structures, and those yips and laughs people like to poke fun at are actually part of a diverse language they use to organize hunts (which, as often as not, are later swooped by the lions, but that’s another tale). This type of vocal pack organization is typical of many dogs, as well as chimpanzees (PDF) and a number of other social species.

Mangy, stupid goofballs? More like well-trained goofballs.

When you think of hunting vocalizations in human terms, it’s far different from a strategy meeting in a board room. But for the modern human, business is generally our new hunting ground. It’s similar in a sense – it’s all about the coordinating of assets to develop a strategic advantage and succeed at a common goal, whether that’s taking down an antelope or gaining market share – but it’s not as physical and visceral as killing a wooly mammoth with spears.

Human language has come a long way from hyena yips and caveman grunts, and along the way I’d say we’ve gotten a fair bit quieter. I’d also guess, just from anecdotal evidence, that it’s increasing as the young among us have spent larger proportions of our lives surrounded by electronic communication. I find myself preferring to email colleagues rather than talk face to face, or texting instead of calling, or tweeting at someone because an email would just take too much time.

I want Attenborough’s job. Also, chimps are scary as hell.

In all of that we’ve lost chances to really let loose with some good hooting and hollering, which for much of our history were key to succeeding and bonding within a group. I’m not sure that the urge has gone away, as evidenced by the festive people (myself included) yelling and cheering at any old thing into the wee hours of a Saturday night. That type of behavior is gauche these days, but it’s not forgotten. Think of the last time you saw even the most steadfastly melancholy and over-it cool person you know high fiving random people and loudly coercing groups to jump in an ocean naked. We’re still yipping and grunting, but it takes the right environment for us to really open up.

The world of sports will always be one of those outlets. At its very core – and if you don’t mind the type of breathless language typical of sportswriters in past ages – sport mirrors the hunt. There’s a clear group we want to work with and support, and a clear target. We know when we’ve succeeded and haven’t. And because of that, sports are able to tap in to our desire to be wild animal like we can’t be any more. So this Super Bowl, enjoy the chance to be free to yell and shout and smash beer cans over your head and whatever else it is that you’d have done to celebrate success 30,000 years ago. It’s a primal itch that isn’t easily scratched these days.

Evolution Explains is a periodical investigation into the human-animal (humanimal?) condition through the powerful scientific lenses of ecology and evolution. Previously on Evolution Explains: Why we’re chipmunks that can’t stop hoarding.

Follow Derek Mead on Twitter. Have a question? Write Derek at derek(at)motherboard.tv.