THE TRUE SUPER BOWL

The granddaddy of all football games is starting in a couple of hours.  I'm sure it would be exciting to attend but I'm sorry to say, I haven't been to a live, professional football game in almost thirty-one years.  Even worse, I've only been to four, ever!



SUPER BOWL XLVI, PITS THE GIANTS AGAINST THE PATRIOTS.  I'LL WATCH THE GAME AT VEGA44'S HOUSE BUT I DON'T CARE WHO WINS BECAUSE THEY ARE MY SECOND AND THIRD LEAST FAVORITE TEAMS.  THE ONLY SCENARIO WHERE I WOULD EVER ROOT FOR ONE OF THEM WOULD BE IF THEY WERE PLAYING THE MUCH HATED COWBOYS...(aka, THE JUNKEES OF THE GRIDIRON).  THEREFORE, IF THE COWBOYS WERE PLAYING THE MARTIANS...I'D ROOT FOR THE MARTIANS.

 It's hard to imagine but in my entire life, I've only attended one playoff game...but it was baseball.  I remember the circumstance well.  I was at Brooklyn College (BC) with a friend and his two friends. An hour before game time, we heard there were still "good tickets" available and impulsively decided to cut class.

DESPITE MISSING A CRUCIAL REVIEW IN UNDERWATER BASKET WEAVING-101, I STILL GOT THE "C," AND EVENTUALLY GRADUATED BC...ON TIME.

The Mets were playing the Cincinnati Reds, (October 9, 1973) in the National League Championship Series.  That day, we could have eliminated the much heralded, "Big Red Machine," with a win.  So it was shocking that with so much riding on that single game, (the other major storyline was, Pete Rose had beat-up a Mets player the day before), that we could walk-up to the box office and get seats.  The Mets were heavy underdogs and of course, when I went, they annoyingly lost, on a Pete Rose homer in the twelfth inning, (but won the next game and went to the World Series).

The three things I came away from that game were, the Mets did better without me in attendance, Pete Rose had a haircut like Moe from, "THE THREE STOOGES," and despite 50,786 fans in Shea Stadium...the twenty-four, half-inning breaks, were enough to keep the lines for the men's room manageable.

On the other hand, the lines to the bathroom are never manageable at football games.  I learned this lesson early when my school trip in third grade, (December 14, 1963...three weeks after the Kennedy assassination), was to the antiquated Polo Grounds, (the New York Jets lost to the Buffalo Bills, 19-10). It would be the last pro game played there before that old rattle trap was torn down.

LOCATED AT WEST 155th STREET IN MANHATTAN, THE POLO GROUNDS WAS BUILT IN 1890, AS A...GROUNDS FOR POLO...DUH!  THEREFORE ITS ODD CONFIGURATION WAS CRAZY FOR BASEBALL...AND BEST KNOWN FOR ITS CAVERNOUS, 505 FEET TO CENTER FIELD.  NO HOME RUN EVER MADE IT THAT FAR BUT MOST OLD-TIMERS REMEMBER WILLIE MAYS' SENSATIONAL, OVER THE SHOULDER CATCH OFF VIC WERTZ IN THE 1954 WORLD SERIES...IT WAS A CRAPPY FOOTBALL VENUE TOO .

During the preceding summer, I had been to the Polo Grounds, (Mets games), twice with my dad.  I was eight, so for security reasons, he always escorted me to the men's room.  But on the school trip, I was left to my own devices.  So during the only break in the action, (half time)...I joined a polar stampede version of,  "The Great Oklahoma Land Rush," to the urination station.  A mere 6,526 people attended the game because it was nineteen degrees, the field was frozen and the Jets stunk. Nevertheless, it seemed like every one of them, went to pee at the same time.

IN 1963 THE HOME ATTENDANCE FOR JETS GAMES TOPPED OFF AT 22,000.  LINEBACKER LARRY GRANTHAM ONCE SAID, "THE CROWDS WERE SO SMALL THAT IT WAS EASIER FOR THE FANS TO INTRODUCE THEMSELVES TO THE PLAYERS."

The Polo Grounds had another feature that required my dad to be my wing man. From beneath the stands, a narrow, rickety catwalk led to the washroom.  The slightest vibration made me feel like I was on one of the rope bridges with wooden slats, from jungle movies.  I didn't have a fear of heights but looking down at the spectators below was completely out of the question. So, bravery had nothing to do with my motivation to solo across this span...that's how bad I needed, "to go."

The situation got worse because the line was out the door.  I was ready to explode as I inched closer to relief.  Then between the huge (adult) overcoat-clad bodies, I caught a glimpse and remembered the immense, white tiled latrine on the floor that I was expected to do my business in.

At the head of the line, elbow to elbow with men, I was afraid that I'd fall into the golden canal.  Harsh voices, using angry sounding words that I was unfamiliar with, threateningly "encouraged" me from behind.  I tried, but nothing came out.  It was a sad case of performance anxiety.  I was embarrassed when I failed to launch and soon relinquished my spot.  Seconds later, I was dying to go all over again.  Luckily, even with the putrid stink, I survived...when a drunk vacated the sanctuary of a lockless stall.

I LOOKED THROUGH 80 GAZILLION GOOGLE PHOTOS AND NONE DID THE POLO GROUNDS' TROUGH URINAL ANY  JUSTICE.

I went to two more Jets games, (1965 and 1977).  In both cases, I was savvy enough to go potty way before (after) half time.

The last NFL game I went to was on November 15, 1981.  My wife Sue and I were living in Las Vegas and we flew up to San Francisco, to see SLW.  To spice up our visit, he got us 49ers tickets, for a game against the Cleveland Browns.

*JOE MONTANA LED THE 49ers THAT YEAR TO THEIR FIRST SUPER BOWL CHAMPIONSHIP.  DURING THE REGULAR SEASON, THEY WON TWELVE OF THEIR LAST THIRTEEN GAMES, (OF COURSE, WE SAW THE 15-12 LOSS TO THE BROWNS).  *MONTANA WOULD GO ON TO WIN ALL FOUR OF HIS SUPER BOWL APPEARANCES WITH SAN FRANCISCO.

Tons of rain hit the Bay Area, in the days leading up to our game. On that Sunday, we woke up to a raw, breezy, drizzly morning. Even worse, we found out that the Candlestick Park parking lot was closed due to flooding.  The TV news urged ticket holders to use public transportation. 

SLW drove us to a special service bus stop, at a strip mall in San Leandro...in his black, 1959 Volkswagen Bug. When our bus finally came, the dampened three of us shoved our way in and further discomforted the other packed-in sardines.

When we got off, we could see that the empty parking lot was underwater.  However outside our gate, makeshift accommodations were made for about fifty side-by-side buses.

SUE WAS NEITHER A FOOTBALL FAN OR A LOVER OF INCLEMENT WEATHER. SO SHE GLADLY RELEGATED HERSELF TO WANDERING AROUND WITH THE CAMERA OR MAKING HOT CHOCOLATE RUNS IN THE FIRST HALF AND BEER RUNS IN THE SECOND HALF.

The 49ers were the hottest team in the league.  They were expected to shellac the Browns but the wind, rain and poor field conditions helped keep the score down.


  I LEARNED THAT IT WAS BAD JUDGEMENT AT HALF TIME, TO TRY TO GET PICTURES OF THE PLAYERS.  ALSO, I'LL HAVE TO ASK SLW WHAT HE'S HOLDING? 



 Early in the fourth quarter, my beverage intake and the psychological trauma of the liquefied elements took their toll on my bladder. The game was getting exciting so rather than miss any of the building excitement, I made a childish decision to squirm in my seat rather than take care of my business.

The 49ers got the ball back with a minute and a half to go.  A sudden squall dropped sheets of sideways rain on us as I jibed Sue, "If they drive at least thirty yards and kick a field goal, we're going to overtime..."  It was one of the few times she ever physically abused me.


WHEN SUE MUSSED ME UP, IT WAS TWO YEARS BEFORE RALPHIE IN, "A CHRISTMAS STORY," WAS WARNED THAT HE'D SHOOT HIS EYE OUT, IF HE GOT A RED RYDER BB-GUN.  OF COURSE MY MANHOOD REQUIRED ME TO LIE ABOUT MY FACIAL INJURIES AND SAY, "THE 49ers WENT INTO THE SHOT-GUN AND IT BACKFIRED ON ME."



In the closing seconds, Joe Montana indeed led the team into field goal range but another player's stupid personal foul penalty, ended any hope of even trying to tie the game.  When the final gun went off, I bolted to the men's room.  I think all 52,000 people were ahead of me.  I was forced to use, "PLAN-B."  Through my yellowing eyes, I told Sue and SLW that I'd meet them outside and ran down the ramp.  I remembered the sea of buses outside and made it my mission to find nirvana between them. 



AT THE BACK OF THE SECOND LAYER OF BUSES, I FOUND A CONVENIENT CLUMP OF BUSHES.  IT WAS IN THE PRIVACY OF THIS EDEN-LIKE SETTING THAT I PREPARED TO END MY DISCOMFORT. 



A nanosecond before releasing, "the hounds," someone appeared in my peripheral vision.  My mind went into damage control and like a sluice gate clamping down on my urine valve, I painfully shut down my waterworks. At the point of exhaustion without spurting even a drop, I turned to face the expected arresting officer.  Instead, it was Sue focusing the camera. After a good deal of friendly two-way profanity, I used the parking lot floor as the true super (toilet) bowl.