Mike Bongiorno has attended numerous sporting events of various types. These range from the biggest major events including Super Bowls, the World Series, and Final Fours, all the way down to minor league and high school games.
Once in a while he documents his experiences at his favorite events. We are sometimes lucky enough to publish these here at ChampionshipCup.com!
Super Bowl Sunday, 2005
OK, the time has come.
I have perspective.
It can now be discussed:
Super Bowl Sunday, 2005:
I won't torture everyone with the details of the logistical planning, which was actually way easier than it should have been, given that we tossed it together in about 4 days, had to arrange for babysitting in Florida, a full blown Disney trip, flights using frequent flyer miles and vouchers, rental cars, hotel accommodations, time off from work, oh, and tickets (toughest one in Super Bowl history because of the crazy Eagle fans) . . . . suffice it to say, somehow, I was finally able to convince someone to go to the Super Bowl with me, and surprisingly, his name wasn't Eric.
I will stick to the day of the game itself, which should only take about 50000 words.
As you all know, Jude is a psychopath on game day. She consistently hits her emotional peak hours before the game, and is in some sort of trance state/melancholy mood by the time the game starts. Forget about the key plays late in the game. She is long gone by then. Well, the Super Bowl brought out the monster in her big time. I was up all night working on a brief. Given that there was no place to hide in the hotel rooms, I spent from about 2 am to 4 am ON THE FLOOR in the lobby of the Polynesian, but whatever, it was worth it . . . .
But not on Super Bowl Sunday.
There were rumors of massive traffic jams. Hour long waits at stop lights. Jacksonville couldn't handle this event. It was a national embarrassment. The Sports Guy was writing daily columns on how bad this whole thing was. Etc, etc.
So Jude had decided that we need to leave Orlando at 6 am. 12 plus hours before kickoff. And this meant that maybe, maybe, we'd have a shot at making the 123 mile drive (all highway).
We got to Jacksonville at 8 am. I was ready for a 4 hour nap.
There weren't too many people awake.
Did I mention we had no directions whatsoever to the stadium?
Signs for parking began to appear about 20 miles outside of the city, seriously. I convinced Jude that, at this hour, maybe we should try something a little closer.
We got to the stadium neighborhood after about 10 minutes of driving around the downtown area. Suffice it to say, the stadium isn't tucked into a bucolic suburban area.
We started cruising streets within about a 10 block radius of the stadium. There were some modest sized business lots, but mostly run down shacks with burned out lawns and kids holding hand made signs.
I chose a middle ground. looked like a small business with a small dirt and gravel lot. and a guy with a straw hat, silk shirt, and chinos, with a deep southern accent, holding a PARK HERE placard. Sorry for all this detail, but the parking lot was pretty much the highlight of the first half of the day. I ask the guy how much. He says $50. I say $40. He says, "it foe da church," pointing in the direction of a brick structure the size of Zin's tailgating tent but not nearly as sturdy. I say, OK, $50. I give him the cash, which he walks across the street to a woman parked in a 1975 baby blue caddy. He says "I can't hode the cash. Boss hode it foe me." We are the first car in the lot. Jude suggests we walk around and get our bearings. I give a quick emotionless goodbye to the rental car, certain I will never see it again, and we head toward the stadium to check it out. I take a look at where we parked. It is some sort of church, according to the sign. Services at 10. A minivan with information on the church printed on the side is parked nearby. Think the Apostle, except with churchgoers who are of even less means, seriously. Zin would be in tears.
Keep in mind that I am also more than a little freaked out at this point. Usually I am calm, but I am so tired, confused, and hungry that I can't see straight. Oh, and I am dying to figure out where and when one of my favorite all time bands, Kansas, is playing. There are about 20 different concerts all over the place. Some inside the stadium. Some on the stadium grounds. Some on the waterfront. No one knows anything. I am left to fend for myself to figure it out. So I am terrified that I will miss this concert that is occurring some time between dawn and kickoff somewhere in the sprawling area near the stadium.
We walk right up to the stadium. Actually, you can't get anywhere near it. We get about a million feet from it. There is a secure zone. You need tickets to get past it. And the gates don't open until maybe 2, but no one knows for sure.
I convince Jude that maybe we should check out the riverfront area. Hell, it's only 9 am. And it's only about a 5 minute walk. I think we might have time to do it.
We walk down some long strip by the river, which looks like it was created for the Super Bowl. Open air beer stands, souvenir shops, etc. Endless. We finally get to what looks like the actual downtown. There is one major hotel. It is about the only place open. I suggest we go in and have breakfast. Jude miraculously agrees.
We wander through the lobby. As is typical for a hotel lobby near a big event, the place is buzzing with scalpers, B-celebs, posers, frauds, and big shot high rollers. A Bentley pulls up as we are roaming in. I am certain Bobby Brown is going to get out of it. He doesn't. It's some guy on the Rams, supposedly.
We sit down in the lobby area for a buffet breakfast. Within a few minutes the entire Sunday morning ESPN gang sits at the next table. Bob Ryan is there. There are so many things I want to say to him, but I hold my powder (until I run into him on the E train platform in March after the horrible BC loss in the Big East tournament; it's only him and me and with no train in sight he gets an earful, concluding with him scoffing at me and telling me BC is easily a 2 seed in the tourney . . . . HA). Anyway . . . .
After about an hour of eating and people watching, I think about trying to go outside and check out the lay of the land again. But first, I have to figure out how much my tix would fetch. They are in the 100's section at around the 30 yard line. "Get in's," ie, tix in the nose bleeds, are running 2 thousand a pop on the offer side. But there are none available. I see a guy standing on the corner in front of the hotel with a stack of hundreds, waiving them in the air. People ignore him. There are literally no sellers. I am wearing my tix around my neck. Ever other person asks me if I will sell. Demand is ridiculous.
Every once in a while, Jude says something like: "we really need Faulk to catch some short passes." I have no idea what she's talking about.
I start thinking about our car, and wondering how we are going to get back to Disneyworld at midnight without it. I am sure that even if we could figure out where we parked it, it won't be there. I suggest a visit to the lot.
I understand this isn't as good as Game 7 of the ALCS yet, but give it a chance. Expectations are too high.
So, Jude and I decide to head back to the car. We wander through part of downtown Jacksonville, and decide to experiment on the route to the car.
Long story, bad idea, tough neighborhood, but we lived.
We make it back to the parking lot of the modest house of worship where our Jacksonville experience began. This time, we are armed with about $100 worth of stuff from the local convenience store. Jude rully, rully, rully wanted to get Super Bowl gear for us and the kids at one of the 100 souvenir stands. I was convinced it would be a jinx. Plus, I hate buying stuff based on the penultimate game. How horrible are those Patriots AFC Championship jerseys? But I will admit, I have such remorse. They had these phenomenal Super Bowl game day jerseys. You can't get them anywhere but at the Super Bowl. Ok, forget it.
So we get back to the lot. It is about 11:30 at this point. Jude is really worried about getting into the stadium. I am really worried about finding Kansas, since we had no luck first time around. We did find Molly Hatchet playing at the Greatest Darned (edited for the Super Bowl) Sports Show Period stage. Some would argue that's good enough (or bad enough), but needless to say, I was so worried, conflicted, and distracted I didn't know what to do.
Anyway, there we are, in the 90 degree heat. In this dust bowl of a parking lot. In the distant shadows of the stadium. 6 hours plus until game time. Virtually no energy or adrenaline. Just pure nervousness.
I can't describe the difference between the Super Bowl and other events. It's just on a different scale. It is so different that the World Series. I mean, it's ONE GAME. Win or lose. It is like one big giant game 7. With two weeks of anticipation. It is absolute madness. The biggest game in the entire world of sports. And the scale of the event is just so far beyond enormous. It makes the Final Four look like a high school jamboree.
People are hanging out in the various places. No real tailgating going on. More like a bunch of folks drinking a beer and wondering what to do with their time. Jude and I have no better idea than to hang and read the hype in the papers and shoot the breeze. Another car pulls into the lot:
"How much?"
"$40"
"I will give you $30"
"A-rite"
You have to understand: that was like living hell for me. I overpaid for parking? I failed to negotiate this thing right? I didn't bring my NY "I ain't paying the asking price, whatever it is" attitude this morning? Oh, no. I am so not ready for the freaking Super Bowl. I am not bringing my B game. My A game is nowhere in site. I decide I need some sleep. I hand all the Sunday papers to Jude and curl up in the passenger seat and nod off.
About 30 minutes later I wake up with two thoughts. One, I really need to pee. Two, when and where is Kansas playing? I tell Jude my issues. She says "Don't even think about going in there." She is referring to the "church."
Just then, the van pulls up. It is filled with churchgoers who have been picked up at their homes for the service. This makes the Apostle movie look glamorous, trust me. But also so very real.
I tell Jude I'm going in. She makes me take her ticket out of the lanyard and give it to her. It's not that she thinks that some harm will befall me by being the first white person ever to step foot in this church or anything. She just doesn't want the ticket out of her sight.
Inside the church is a scene that gives me renewed faith in God. A group of young kids, perhaps siblings, are setting up to play music. Their instruments and amps take up half the space. A drum kit bigger than the kid playing the drums, etc. They are playing gospel music so loudly you can't hear yourself think. I walk in, and they see me, and they all stop on a dime. Total silence in the little church hall.
I ask where the bathroom is. After seeing the inside of this place, I am pretty sure that it is about as likely that there is a swimming pool and a sauna room in there as a bathroom. One of them puts down his guitar and walks me 20 feet to the back of the room, where there is a hidden closet with a tiny bathroom. He heads back to and starts playing and singing.
I cannot begin to explain how beautiful all of this was. And not just because they had a bathroom. You had to be there. Sorry.
What was going on outside was not so beautiful.
I opened the front door to be greeted by screaming and swearing. A woman (who happened to be the only white person around not there for the game) was in a fight of some sort with the folks from the church. She looked about 50, although she was probably closer to 30. She was clearly a crack victim and a prostitute. From the sounds of it she was yelling at them because they told her not to attempt to ply her trade in the parking lot this morning. After about 20 F-bombs, she unstrapped her leather top and exposed herself to them. Let's just say it wasn't a pretty sight.
I quickly found the Jude and told her that it was time to go. She was like "Uhm, did you see what the hell just happened while you were in the bathroom." I said, "Uhm, I think so." To this day, we have never discuss it, nor do I know whether I missed something worse before I came back outside.
It was about 1 pm. Time to look for Kansas and then get our game faces on. The half hour nap and the run in with the hooker have me ready for something, I just don't know exactly what.
Note: The following is Judy Bongiorno's "Corrected" version of the recent story:
Sorry hon, I have let your memory stand as the official record up until this point (including dipiction of me as a total babbling lunatic), but now have to clarify:
JUDE TO MIKE (WHO IS ON CELL PHONE TO I THINK ZIN DESCRIBING HOW LAME I AM FOR INSISTING ON BEING AS CLOSE TO THE STADIUM AND MY SEAT AS POSSIBLE AT ALL TIMES INSTEAD OF SEARCHING OUT WET T SHIRT CONTESTS): "Hon, Hey! There's ummm one of the guys from Kansas...uhm... the bass player I think...Billy?"
MIKE TO JUDE: "Yeah, it does kinda look like him, that's funny..."
We are walking down the sidewalk closing a gap of about 20 feet between us and them...
JUDE TO MIKE STILL ON CELL PHONE: "No, Hon, that IS him, not someone who looks like him..."
MIKE TO JUDE: nothing...no response...not listening to me, back on cellphone call...saying something like, "you should have seen the look on Bob Ryan's face when I said it..." to the person on the phone...
JUDE TO MIKE (now physically hitting him): MICHAEL THAT IS A MEMBER OF KANSAS RIGHT THERE! GET OFF THE PHONE! LOOK! THERE'S ROBBIE! THERE'S STEVE! THERE'S THE DRUMMER!
Only at this point does he realize what is happening...rare moment where, just for an instant, he was speechless...then he immediately managed to have an individual, indepth conversation with each band member in a span of about 120 seconds, at which point they were swept into the stadium by crew people. I tried to get swept in with them so that I could finally get to my seat, but security spotted me...
The Kansas guys were totally blown away when Mike showed them his Kansas T Shirt under his Pats Jersey...I'll try to find the photos and circulate...
Note: Here is the remainder of Mike Bongiorno's Story:
The start to this game was as intense as it could possibly have been. There were so many questions. Is TO going to play? If so, is he really going to play or just go out there and run a few routes? What about Seymour, he's been hurt for the entire playoff run so far. Will he play? Can he play? Are we really going with some replacement player and Troy Brown in the secondary? Who is this Freddie Mitchell guy? Anyway, the game starts, Eagle ball.
So the first couple of plays from scrimmage, the Eagles go nowhere. 3rd and a lot, and here comes the Pats' rush for the first time. Everyone is coming at McNabb. Brusci gets him, then he gets crushed. The ball is loose. We have it. I become completely unglued. Yelling, screaming, dancing in the aisles. The Pats are dominating already.
Then there is this long, long pause. I am thinking, are there going to be pauses like this all night? Is this what it is going to be like? There shouldn't even be a commercial break here. Then I realize. REPLAY.
No fumble. Knee down. Sounds like the tuck rule to me. Anyway, Eagles punt.
There is a war of field position that goes on for some time. I notice TO looks fine. So does Seymour. But we'll see.
Soon I realize that McNabb is no Tom Brady. The Eagles march down the field, and from about the 20, McNabb throws a hideous duck that Asante picks and runs out to about the 30. I am going totally nuts at this point. Another long delay. This time some sort of penalty. Eagles ball. First down from about the 15 or so. Next play, McNabb throws another duck. This time Rodney (ouch, I miss him) picks it off. McNabb has just thrown it away on two straight plays.
We fail to capitalize. We give them the ball back with a punt. Then we force a fumble from their rumbling TE. Still no score, but we have forced 4 turnovers (OK 2, but still 4). This can't last. We need points.
We don't get them. We march down to the red zone and cough it up. Brady sort of fumbles the snap. I still don't know what happened. But I wanted to die.
Somehow, we get it back again. Givens coughs it up this time, but after ANOTHER replay, they say his knee was down. Then we punt again. Our punter is channeling Ray Guy. Coffin corner kicks left and right. But still no score.
I won't recap this. It's too painful.
The Eagles score first.
I am questioning not just the last minute trip to the Super Bowl, but my very existence. I thought I had been put on earth so that I could live this day. Now I am sure I have done something horribly wrong and I am being punished at some stadium in Jacksonsville. Why?
Then Eugene Wilson leaves the game. We later find out it's nothing serious, just a broken arm. Broken arm? What the hell? How many different injuries can our defense endure? This is incredible. There's no way that we can stop McNabb, TO, Westbrook, etc. with these troops.
Finally we break on through and score. I believe it was Givens who makes the catch, but Deon did all the work between the 20's, as did Corey when it mattered. We make it to the locker room alive. Didn't take advantage of the turnovers. Fumbled in the red zone. Barely breathing. 7-7
Half time was the longest thing EVER.
I wandered around the concourse. Did the patented Marty loser lap. Eventually, some blonde woman in head- to-toe Eagles stuff grabs me. I think, "these people are truly insane." Then I realize it is a friend of mine from work who flew in this morning with all Pats fans. She is in for a long ride home. I tell her I cannot speak to her given her outfit. I am not kidding. She understands. I keep walking.
By the time I get back to the seats, an hour has passed (in my mind anyway), and McCartney isn't even on yet. What the hell is going on????
The whole McCartney thing is beautiful. He didn't dedicate "Hey Jude" to my wife, but we think he did. The cards and lighters look awesome.
The real Jude also figures out something huge. The transistor radios can be used to receive the radio broadcasts of the game.
Yes, I used the plural. As in: the TV audio; the national radio broadcast; the Philly local broadcast; the WABAN Gil and Gino broadcast; the Spanish language broadcast.
Wait. Back up. Gil and Gino. On the radio. On headphones. In Florida. At the Super bowl. Jude and I both tune in.
The Pats take the field, get the ball, and Brady starts working it. From 3rd and 10 on the 38, Brady launches a rocket to Deion. First down. We are feeling it now. Gil is yelling into our headphones.
Brady hits Brach down to the 2. The Pats fans are going nuts.
By the way, there are plenty of real live fans in the stadium. It isn't a bunch of posers. There are some of those, but lots and lots of fanatics.
Then Vrabel comes in. Everyone knows he is part of the Playoff/Goal Line offense these days. Gil describes him on the radio as our "not-so-secret weapon."
I am sure we are going the other way, and that we are using him as a decoy. We aren't. It's real, and I am sure it will backfire. Brady throws to him. The defender tries to tackle him early. He shakes off the coverage and juggles the ball a few times before catching it. TOUCHDOWN. Pats up 14-7. Vrabel flaps some Eagle wings at their cheerleaders. Jude and I are up on our chairs screaming.
We get them 3 and out on the next drive, but they pin us in deep on the punt and we don't move. They get it back and all of a sudden TO and Westbrook really take over. The Eagles fans have this really annoying Teeeeeeeeee-Ooooooooooooooooo. TOTOTOTOTOooooooooo chant that I can't even describe, other than that I am getting nauseous right now trying to sound it out phonetically for the story here.
14-14. We get it back and start to drive. All of a sudden, the third quarter is over. For the first time ever, the Super Bowl is tied going into the fourth quarter. We start talking about how there has never been an overtime.
Let's not start today.
We continue the drive into the 4th quarter. Eventually Corey knocks it in. We are up 21-14, and I am starting to breath again, sort of.
I get up to walk around. Grab a popcorn and a soda. Try to absorb the magnitude. Jude will hate this analogy, but it is like being at your own wedding. You know it is phenomenal, but you suddenly realize it's almost over and you haven't even tasted half the food. I start looking around the stadium. I know I will never be here again. The Pats are up in the 4th quarter. I want to hit pause and enjoy it.
The Eagles go 3 and out. They try a bomb, and some other nonsense. None of it is working. We have the ball back. Here we come again.
Brady hits Branch at the Eagle 35. Jude tells me that Gil says that it is a record, tying (Everett's) Dan Ross for most ever in a Super Bowl. I gave up the headphones at some point. Too nervous to do anything but focus. Wait, a flag. Roughing the passer. Now we are at the 20. Then soon enough the 4. But we can't knock it in. So Adam comes out for the first and only I think FG attempt by either team in the game.
The 4th quarter is almost half over. Can you say dynasty? I can't. All I can say is ambulance. I am dying.
I am sure Z is running around Wellesley Road right now. "Sure, Elise, open another case of that. Yes, Christie, you and LP should definitely have another glass of that." But I know he is even more worried than I am.
Jude basically won't talk to me. She is certain that anything I say will be a jinx.
Then, just as the Eagles start to put it all together (albeit SLOWLY), Teddy picks off McNabb at the 28. We are so winning this freaking game.
3 running plays and we are golden, I think. But for some reason, we don't run on 3rd, we throw it away and then punt.
Eagles ball again. This time they march even more slowly down the field. Taking FOREVER. You know they will score. I really want to hit fast forward. Freddie Mitchell catches a ball (I really wanted him shut out). Someone named Lewis catches a big one. They finally score. 24-21. Adam's field goal looking rather large once again.
No one can figure out why the Eagles meandered down the field. This was no 2 minute offense. This was a 20 minute offense. It felt like 20 years, though.
Now it's time for the dreaded onside kick. They work way more than I care to imagine right now.
This one is like a soft fly ball, though. Right to Fauria. He catches it easily. 3 running plays and then a little punt. McNabb has it back with under a minute and in need of a field goal. Luckily Brady is on our team, not theirs. McNabb completes a pass to the line of scrimmage. Inexplicable. Clock running. McNabb then throws it to Rodney AGAIN. That is the 4th pass that our defense has caught . . . . .Now we can take the knee.
Jude and I are two emotional puddles. The fireworks go off. The trophy is presented. Bob Kraft makes a speech that is scary it is so bad. "We are about team. This is for everyone. The NFL is the best sport because we symbolize greatness and teamwork."
I am serious. He said stuff like that. And for some reason it made us happy.
DYNASTY. 3 of 4. Unreal.
