Bing Blog

Why I'm not going to the Super Bowl

Eli Manning

Getting there. It's horrible. There are no tickets. The planes are filled with crazy people on the way to be defenestrated.

Arriving at the airport. Bedlam. Woodstock without the drugs.

The hotel. It's okay. A little disappointing. But hey. You're not gonna be in your room for the weekend, right? Still... that airshaft was not exactly the view of the Arizona sunrise you were expecting.

In the lobby. Oh Christ. There's Bob Enema, yes, and the fact that that's his real name is proof that there is a God. Always hated the guy. Big friggin blowhard. Now he's surrounded by an entourage. Bob Enema with an entourage. That's what the Super Bowl is all about.

Gotta go out and party. Party party party. Party hearty. Drinking and drinking and drinking and drinking, but you can't get drunk. Too many professional obligations. That's why you're here. Work the Super Bowl. Biggest sales opportunity of the year. Party hearty.

Which parties are you invited to? That's a lot of it, too. You may not be invited to the Commissioner's Party. On the other hand, if you are, you may not be invited to the VIP area. You may have to stand outside the empty VIP area and realize that you are prostrated by the fact that you can't get into a place that real VIPs don't want to go to.

Eating and drinking and meeting and eating at meetings and drinking after meetings and then there's no way to get back to your hotel. Six hours in stinking traffic, stuck in the limo with Ernest and Juanita from Pittsburgh. Who are they? Are they connected to Sales or some other part of the organization? Are they vendors? Did they win a ticket? Who the frig are they?

Where are you seated in the stadium. Can you get on the field? There's Waffinger, he's junior to you and he's on the field! How did he get there?

Look at all those tiny little guys out there on the modular turf. Go... one of the teams. Neither of them come from my home town, so it's weird. I think I like the guys who are losing. I always root for the team that's behind. Go team that's behind!

Beautiful here. Gigantic crowd, everybody happy. Super Bowl is nice. I'm lucky to be here. Look at the lights over the stadium, cutting through the desert night. God bless America.

That was a good game. Wow... I had a lot of beer.

Now look at this. A miasma of humanity. A sea of flesh. Pushing. Everybody pushing. Can't move. Trapped by this gigantic, writhing mass of people. Where's my car? Gate what? Walking now. Walking and walking and walking. Ah, there's Andre.

Sitting now. Sitting in the car and waiting. An hour. Two. Ah, we're out of the parking lot at last.

Anyhow, all in all, I figure I don't mind one bit that I'm not going to the Super Bowl. Been there. Done that.

Also, you know... I don't have a ticket. Anybody got one?

3 Comments Add Comment

truly beautiful.

Hey Stash, excellent portrait of "Super Bowl Sunday". The "supermen" of the gridiron vie for the ornaments of victory and the vision of being "Sir Galahad" to the rescue for those who vicariously opt for the opportunity to capture that coveted "Crown" and and ride the limozine in the victory parade.

My wife and I bought A lifetime ticket for the best seat in the house--our living couch gaping at the Super Bowl gladiators dueling in the one-eyed monster.

It's amazing how ardent fans will endure all the blessings of attending the "Jam session" from start to finish and boast of their personal triumph and "Super" endurance.

I hear ya Bing, and clearly you've gone (or are going) to the Superbowl for work? I guess there's a difference going for work and going for fun. Here's how the blog entry would look if you were a fan, just going for fun:

Getting there. It doesn't matter, being there is the point. I'd sit in the cargo hold to get there.

In the lobby, there are a bunch of guys who look like they're here for work. One guy is eyeing another guy, who I think I heard the desk clerk call "Enema", with some disdain. I bet none of these guys will have any fun at the game.

Every bar has a party, and everyone's happy. Those blowhards can enjoy their hoity-toity posh VIP parties where the goal is to get drunk without acting drunk, I'm here with Bob and Fred and Joanne and a bunch of other people who swear they're my best buds, but I don't remember their names, and it is one hell of a party here.

Everyone else seems to be waiting in the hotel, but this is the Superbowl for crying out loud, I came to see this and I'm going to the stadium early, before everyone else gets on the road. The stadium is where the real party is at anyway.

Look at those guys over there, they're envyous of the guys down on the field. Must be nice, I paid a pretty penny for these tickets six rows up on the fifty, but at least I'll get what I came here for, to see the game.

The game was awesome! Could there have been an even tighter fourth quarter? Talk about a nail-biter! Some guys on the field looked like they spent the day drinking beer, and were somewhat unconcious. Too bad, they missed one of the best go-ahead field goals I've ever seen.

The party just keeps going here, while hoards of humanity try to rush out of the field, I'm hanging out taking in the ambience and watching the players get interviewed. I figure I'll wait it out for an hour or so, then go back to my hotel when traffic clears.

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