Memorable game changing plays result after a football comes to rest following unpredictable flashes of erratic movement. Franco Harris’ 1972 Immaculate Reception, Herm Edwards’ 1978 Miracle of the Meadowlands, Earnest Byner’s 1988 Fumble, and Manning to Tyree in 2008, all owe notoriety to the handling, mishandling and chasing of an oddly shaped ball in motion. The most carefully constructed game plan can crumble under the consequential weight of fumbles, bobbles, and deflections. Fortunes turn on swift instinctive reactions to the strange bounce, roll or turn. A ball falls squarely into unprepared hands and drops away unsecured and unsettled on a crazed path to an unknown final destination. Securing the ball neatly away exponentially minimizes negative variables and increases probability of victory. Heisman so believed in this principle he even ran deceptive plays, later outlawed, where players hid the ball under their jerseys.
CHAPTER I Marking The Spot
CHAPTER II A Home Game is Never Far Away
CHAPTER III Footloose
Jarring images frozen in time at irregular historical intervals shape entire generations. A flash over Hiroshima, a motorcade in Dallas, an Eagle landed on lunar landscape, a wall torn down in Berlin, and two towers crumbling in New York, all exist in the eye of the beholder as textbook references or personally transformative moments. No wonder we take comfort in the generally orderly history of big sporting events. Their predictability, if not always their outcomes, reassure. In proper perspective, great games are like page numbers marking the chronological progression of lives in a place no single book, library, or database can fully explain. As seasons pass, the triumphs and defeats of our favorite players and teams serve as pins to fasten footnotes to our own personal, family, and community stories. Sport offers a place to anchor small individual joys and struggles, giving them relatable meaning and purpose.
Until through dumb luck and persistence I attended the Super Bowl in 2008, the game for me had been purely a televised affair. Memories of where and with whom I watched on those Super Sundays accompany my recollection of most of the actual contests. I suspect this is common among football fans or others who catalog years of their lives using some recurrent model of sporting or cultural events. The Super Bowl is simply one of the largest and most familiar common reference points.
I quickly suppressed a fantasy image. I was rising off the bench at a critical impasse to enter the game cold after the starter goes down. The vision appeared callous, opportunistic, and unrealistic. Was it? I could not help but briefly ponder the idea of Mindy and me buying the tickets and going to the game. The trip might have been a no brainer if the 49ers or the Eagles were playing, if the cost was less steep, the timeline less frantic, or the general economic outlook less grim.“Couldn’t Howard just get the tickets and sell them?" I asked.?” I asked. “I’m sure this year he could get a ollars
I unwittingly underestimated wildly fluctuating market values in a year when the New England Patriots were driving towards a historic undefeated season. I would soon learn the impact of technology and the sheer magnitude of this game in the resale marketplace. The average price paid on the “secondary” market through third-party brokers at that moment was running anywhere from four to ten times face value.
Marquee sporting event tickets are valuable currency. Super Bowl seats are the gold standard. In the right hands, and with some time to plan and shop around, tickets can be parlayed into gains beyond the scalper premium of several times face value. A pair of Super Bowl tickets can cement multimillion-dollar corporate relationships or help close the sale of a major contract. Such complex business deals generally involve layers of decision makers. They can take weeks, months, or even years to develop and consummate. By Thursday, I had half a business day to potentially broker tickets not even in my physical possession. I had more pressing work priorities, scraping together modest ad contracts during the slow post-holiday season in an economy turned sour.
Certainly, I knew local business owners and advertising agency principals with a likely interest in the Super Bowl and the resources to attend given the chance. I had sold local-affiliate radio advertising inside pro football and baseball broadcasts. I knew sports-fan clients with marketing budgets. However, it was highly unlikely anyone in my local network could take the tickets on such short notice, let alone make a related, major, marketing investment.
CHAPTER IV Family Meeting
CHAPTER V Trick Plays
CHAPTER VI - Festival in the Desert
Soon after the twin towers collapsed, New York pro ballplayers spontaneously donned FDNY caps and patches on their game-day uniforms in tribute. September 11 put ballgames in the proper perspective for sports fans and athletes everywhere, particularly those whose game-day lexicons included shallow reference to contests as “war” and players as “soldiers.” Firefighters already had the proper perspective. Jason would not attach disproportionate importance to a football game, not even the Super Bowl. I knew him well enough to think he would harbor no false expectations if I dangled the wholly uncertain prospect of him going to the game.
“Jason, have you ever thought about going to the Super Bowl?” “Can’t say I have, but I’m sure it would be pretty amazing. Maybe someday.”
Maybe sooner than he thought. “Well, I’ve got to say first this is not an offer, just a suggestion for something we might look into.” “Sure.” I was certain if I had not already set Jason’s internal wheels turning by now, I would shortly.
"I don’t understand,” I replied. “I know you need the backup information but what are you saying?”
“Basically, we have fifteen minutes to complete this transaction before the ticket is released.” The last thing I wanted to do was to give Jerry my sad tale of technology gone awry. I had encountered enough contrived stories online all week long. Excuses, covers, little white lies, and big fabrications had littered so many private-party buy and sell offers. They were amusing at first then just tiresome.
Some personal facts and circumstances were heart wrenching if they could be believed. A son tried to find a ticket for his eighty-two-year -old Marine veteran dad. Parents living in the shadow of the stadium offered up their home and personal cooking services if someone had a ticket for their teenage son. Mom is having surgery. Last chance to see a Super Bowl. Will swap jet skis, sports memorabilia, and loosely defined escort services for a seat.
On and on it went. I had no sob story only a need for some basic consideration to get into the Big Game.
The Cal Neva pegged the New York Giants as a forty-to-one shot to win Super Bowl XLII on this evening. I passed over them and scanned the odds sheet outlining chances for various other teams to win respective division, conference, and the league titles.
My wife has always been amused by my modest command of pro football trivia and likely relieved by the equally modest investment I put into season futures. In late summer, I often spoke of investing a few dollars in
football futures figuring it would be a fun way to follow the fortunes of a few teams throughout the year. Even if my favorite teams fell out of the play-off race, I could keep a betting interest and root for my wallet if nothing else.
After much talk and no action, I finally had gotten around on this night to playing the futures for the first time. I put sixty dollars on the agent’s counter.
Mindy’s mere presence in this decidedly male domain certainly tipped off my “square” credentials. She appeared annoyed by the restless agent waiting for my completed sheet and wager. I quickly checked off twelve
predictions and bet five dollars on each. Eventually about a third of the money came back to me thanks to play-off runs by Seattle and San Diego. As for the rest, the Cal Neva could thank me for offsetting what was likely about five minutes of their electric bill.
With wager tickets in hand, I headed back downstairs with Mindy. We crossed Virginia Street under the famed neon arch proclaiming Reno the Biggest Little City in the World.