The first NFL-AFL championship football game was played in Los Angeles. I recall that it was a sunny day. The game was televised by two networks and blacked out in the city where it was played and I lived, Los Angeles.
My dad wouldn’t go to the game. He wouldn’t spend the money to see a National Football League team beat up on a team from the inferior American Football League. It would be nice to have a pair of used tickets from that game today.
Still, dad was a football fan. He climbed up on the roof and turned our television antenna toward Santa Barbara. The game was broadcast on a station in that town and we were able to watch in our living room, despite the desires of the National Football League and the American Football League.
Boy and man, I’ve been watching the Super Bowl ever since. I’ve attended two.
Many Americans use the Super Bowl as a sort of carbon dating. We recall times in our lives based upon what happened in the Super Bowl that year.
I’ll never forget the third Super Bowl. I was in junior high school and junior high sucked. But then came January 12, 1969. Joe Namath and the Jets beat the Colts, a stunning upset. Dad and I watched that game together and it was one of my favorite days ever. It was one of those games where I couldn’t believe what I was watching and I kept thinking the Colts would come from behind to win.
They didn’t.
A year later, things had changed personally but the game was another great one. Dad and I watched together again as the Chiefs beat the Vikings, the second straight year in which the AFL representative won the big game.
A few years later, having graduated from college eight months earlier, I was sitting in the Rose Bowl watching my beloved Rams fall just short of upsetting the Steelers. I had been lucky enough to buy a pair of tickets from a friend. Spent every penny I had to buy those tickets. My roommate supplied the car and gasoline in exchange for a ticket and we traveled from San Diego to Pasadena.
Three glorious quarters ended with a thud in the fourth period, but it was another day that I’ll never forget. My Rams playing in the Super Bowl at the Rose Bowl, darn near a win. And, truth be told, I have yet to watch the entire recording of that game. Can’t do it. Still haven’t forgiven Steelers’ quarterback Terry Bradshaw for his performance that day. He was too darn good.
The years went by and I ended up in the newspaper business. That got me to my next Super Bowl in Pasadena, watching the Cowboys destroy the Bills. “When the Bills fumbled, the Cowboys rumbled,” I wrote. The media was given plenty of swag and I still have most of it.
I was married by then, the father of two. And those toys were important souvenirs. The day is one I’ll never forget. I covered the Super Bowl as a journalist.
It was a while before the Rams returned to the big game. When they did, they won it. I gave the family the entire house that day, save the master bedroom. That room I took and watched spellbound as the Rams beat the Titans, winning the game on the final play. I watched and shouted at the television and cheered. Loudly. Boisterously.
I learned later that my wife and kids sat in the other part of the house and laughed at my antics. They might never forget that game either, even though they didn’t watch a play.
Two years later, I rushed out of the Daytona International Speedway and toward my hotel, having just finished working at the Rolex 24 Hour sports car race. In that hotel room I watched the Rams lose to the New England Patriots on a last-play field goal. I’m still not feeling too forgiving toward Tom Brady, the Patriots quarterback, any more than I’ve felt toward Mr. Bradshaw all these years.
The game a few years ago that was a precursor to this year’s game was a classic. An upset, a thriller. A stunner.
For families across this nation, perhaps this year’s rematch will be a lasting memory. I sure hope so. For me the Super Bowl is about family and memories.
Sometimes the game is cool, too.
Thanks for reading.
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