The Wrong Kind of Super Bowl Ring

“Tom! Marry me puh-leeees! I’m-uh da reeeeel ‘meeees’ Brady!”

Peanut-gallery pleading from the stands by a rabidly-insane fan? Hardly. This was the proposal Inez Gomez-Mont of TV Azteca shouted in Brady’s direction, white gown and all, during the 2007 Super Bowl media day–or as it is so cavalierly labelled.

Yes, she was a credentialed member of the media, one of a few thousand that are allowed access to this annual three-ring circus. The swirl of global media that flocks to the spectacle each February should be covered by a tent upon arrival. The media director for the event should be dressed as the ringleader, whip and all, and the PR slaps accessorized with red clown noses. Credentialed woman in a wedding dress? (Cue the horse-whip sound effect).

Reportedly, there are 5,000 credentials issued this Super Bowl, ranging from 26 different countries. “Zu viel,” “trop,” “demasiado,” or simply “too much,” in the language most NFL fans speak. Maybe it’s the small beach-town kid in me, but I hate tourists, especially ones that get in the way of ruining one of your biggest events of the year (see also, 4th of July).

What truly baffles the mind however, is how the week leading up to the Super Bowl and the week leading up to the conference championship games are complete polar opposites in not only the department of scrutiny, but more so, the direction of it. The week prior to the conference championships is AP English class, nothing but a hardcore study of the X’s and O’s, almost to a fault.  The week prior to the Super Bowl is a lunch break, where the only scrutiny is about who said what about who, while the campus outcasts partake in a tree-climbing or backpack-swinging exhibition for entertainment of the picnic. How the game with more on the line became less of a pinnacle and more of an expo is beyond coherence.

It seems even the commissioner of the league has caught the virus and is joining the party. Roger Goddell announced this week that when he was contemplating the punishment of Ben Roethlisberger before the season (Ben was accused of sexual assault at a Georgia nigh-club by a 19-year old–the charges were later dropped) he polled two dozen random players and to quote Goddell, “not one of them had one positive thing to say about him.”

Okay, boss. Let me pull the knife out that you, with perfectly executed timing, stuck in my back while I’m in the elevator on the way to my biggest presentation of the year. Is this the buttoned-up NFL or an MTV reality show? Why this week brings out the inner TMZ of everyone, even the commissioner of the league, defies explanation. The irresponsibility displayed by the supposed most responsible and leading figure of the league borders on the deplorable.

That’s not the only story this week that has been erratically sensationalized. Ambulance-chasing scoop-fiends used the tweets of both IR riddled Green Bay Packer middle linebacker Nick Barnett and tight end Jermichael Finley to drum up a controversy about the Green Bay Super Bowl team picture. Apparently Barnett and Finley were disappointed about not being featured in the picture. If you were to buy into the media hoopla, you would be lead to believe that the two gave an ultimatum to be included in the photo, or not show for OTA’s in the spring. The way the hacks of the media construed it, you would think fixing the misunderstanding would have rivaled brain surgery. It’s a stupid picture!

When the bandwagon of misguided hype passes and Mason Crosby finally kicks off to Antonio Brown, the insignificant fodder that amounted prior to the game, that didn’t regard the game itself – rather just the “idea” of the game, will disappear. The Italian reporter that doesn’t know if the football is filled with air or feathers will be in a press box, his back to the action on the field, talking on his blackberry. The inquiry about opinions of movie stars recently converting to Islam are gone and the inner-question becomes, “how are we going to convert on third down against the zone-blitz?”

There will only be the game. The white-hat’s whistle will start the play clock and the sticks will measure ten. Rogers will be throwing dimes on time, not answering 20 questions about his new movie-star girlfriend. Polamalu will be playing like his hair is on fire and with the fever-pitch of the Tasmanian devil, not being asked his opinion on hair products. Condition or not to condition?

When the final whistle sounds, we will realize that what we saw was a football game. It will be a great football game, maybe even an epic bout, but nothing outside of that. A classic clash of two of the league’s all-time greatest franchises, but nothing outside of that. What we will realize we didn’t see, was a game that was affected by knowing where Hines Ward was on Tuesday night until 11:30pm or whether or not B.J. Raji thinks he is an inspiration to fat people everywhere.

Real journalists will be pounding away at their keyboards, trying to describe what they just saw for their die-hard football readers. The imports posing as journalists will be pounding away at the cab driver to get them to the airport as quickly as possible.

The point? The glitz and the glamour isn’t what is on trial here, Mr. reporter who was sent over the Pacific by TV Japan to cover “the game.”  We know why our game is “Super, #1,” and it has nothing to do with Chris Kemoeatu reminding you of a popular sumo cartoon from back home. You are only getting in the way of the real stories.

When the game is over, ‘go back to Fresno.’