9201030605
DETROIT FREE PRESS
920122
Wednesday, January 22, 1992
METRO FINAL
1C
MITCH ALBOM
SEE ALSO METRO EDITION, Page 1C
Copyright (c) 1992, Detroit Free Press
WRITERS BETTER BE GAME TO WEATHER SUPER BLITZ
MINNEAPOLIS -- I am greeted at the airport by yellow balloons and a woman
with a name tag who smiles and says, "You here for the game?" I say yes. She
points me to the coordinator. He smiles and says, "You here for the game?" I
say yes. He points me to the bus driver. "You here for the game?" the bus
driver says.
I say yes.
I am a sports writer.
This is the Super Bowl.
At the media hotel, I am checked in by a man wearing a Redskins cap. The
bellman is wearing a Bills cap. The lobby is draped in flags from all the NFL
teams. ESPN is broadcasting live, and camera lights illuminate the walls. I
step into the elevator. I nod at the bellman.
"You here for the game?" he asks.
I am a sports writer.
This is the Super Bowl.
At the media check-in center, I am processed and photographed. "Smile!"
says the man behind the camera, and in 60 seconds my face is pressed in a
plastic credential that hangs from my neck. I am handed a briefcase full of
information, media guides, schedules, brochures. I head to my room to study
the info. Every year at this time, I become a student again, a college student
with a big pile of books laid out on the bed. There is news on the Metrodome,
news on the parade.
Wait. Here is something from my "Minnesota Fact Sheet": More than
one-third of Minnesota residents have fishing licenses.
I make a note of that. You never know. . . .
I am a sports writer.
This is the Super Bowl.
40 degrees and counting
In the morning, I board the bus for the first "interview opportunity." I
take my seat alongside countless other reporters, who fill up countless other
buses. "How you like the weather?" the driver says. "Going up to 40 today!"
We say that's great.
When we reach the stadium, we march up the hill, men and women,
pot-bellies and skinny legs, computers and cameras and tape recorders. At the
entrance, a man smiles and greets us.
"How do you like this weather?" he says. "Going up to 40 today!"
We say that's great.
Soon we are on the field, an army of reporters. And the Buffalo players
are brought in and directed to their places. The popular ones get their own
podium with their names hung above it. The unknowns can go wherever they
want. Most of them just sit there, yawning.
Jim Kelly, the quarterback, has the biggest crowd. He is surrounded. But
he is also wired with a small microphone, hooked up to distant speakers. Some
reporters simply stand by the speakers and write things down. They call this
journalism. I call it an interview with a Bose 901. But that's just me.
I wander over to Scott Norwood, the kicker who missed the field goal in
last year's Super Bowl. I want to ask a question. I can't. Right now, Scott is
being interviewed by Downtown Julie Brown, a British-born MTV host. Julie
Brown is not a sports writer. In fact, she knows nothing about football. But
she is wearing black leather pants and a pink Lycra body top with conical
breast holders like the ones Madonna wears in concert. She goes where she
wants.
"Tell me, Scott," Julie says, in her funny accent, " 'ow do you prepare
for the Super Bowl? Do you walk on hot coals to toughen yaw foot?"
Scott says, "No, not really."
Scott has the humor of a carp.
Get me to the game on time
After an hour of this, the Bills leave and the Redskins arrive. They take
their places, find their podiums. Mark Rypien, the quarterback, has the
biggest crowd. Julie Brown is now busy sitting on players' laps. I watch a
group of Japanese reporters try to interview a Washington defensive lineman.
"We speak English no good," they say.
"Me neither," he says.
Oops. Our time is up. A voice booms over the loudspeakers "ALL MEDIA EXIT
THROUGH GATE B." We return to the buses, our notepads full of scribble. Most
of it is useless. Mine reads like this: "Julie . . . hot coals, #26 . . .
Japanese . . . gryzph . . . mm! . . . dry cleaning . . . Bose 901."
"How do you like this weather?" the bus driver says. "Going up to 40
today! You here for the game?"
Back in the hotel I wade through the lobby, past the sea of fans and
high-rollers and gawkers watching ESPN. I know from my briefcase full of
information that I could visit the Ice Palace or the Winter Carnival. I know I
could interview Gloria Estefan or Keenan Ivory Wayans. I know I could taste
one of 28 exotic meals at the "Taste of NFL" event.
I also know, thanks to my fact sheet, that Minnesotans have the
third-highest SAT scores in the nation. I am not sure what to do with that.
I go to my room. I write my column. I am a sports writer. This is the
Super Bowl. I get undressed and check the schedule for tomorrow.
"I'd like to leave a wake-up call," I say to the operator. "For 7 a.m."
"You here for the game?" she says.
"Yes," I say. "When does it start?"