Jaguars Versus Steelers (and Suzy Kolber vs. Michelle Tafoya)

Below, another email to Pablo about my experiences as part of the extravaganza that is Monday Night Football...

Dear Pablo --

It's Monday Night Football, baby! The pomp. The pageantry. The
athleticism. The hordes of drunken n'er-do-wells. And in the middle
of it all -- the "Me."

MNF is a big damn deal, and it was fun to be even a small part of it.

The local media has been all over the game for days, as has the
national media. The big pre-game story line from a national
perspective was the return to the field of Steelers' ace quarterback
Ben Roethlisberger (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roethlisberger),
after an offseason motorcycle accident and having his appendix removed
two weeks ago. Most national pundits and prognisticators picked
Pittsburgh (say that 5 times fast), which isn't exceptionally
surprising, given that they are the defending Super Bowl champions.
The Jags got very little attention.

Locally, though, the week leading up to the game was all Jags, all the
time. The Mayor declared yesterday to be "Teal Day," because the Jags
wear teal uniforms. Stores in the metro Jacksonville area reported
selling out of anything and everything teal. Somehow, the Sparky family
managed to make it through the week without buying
anything teal, although to honor the Mayor's request, I allowed some
old vanilla yogurt to fester in our refrigerator, where it did
eventually take on sort of a teal-ish hue.

Other than the non-stop media barrage, the first physical sign of the
approaching big game from my perspective occurred on Sunday. I was
lounging on the back porch, when I heard what sounded like a large,
loud cross between a mosquito and a helicopter in the sky. I looked
up, and the Goodyear Blimp flew right over our house at a surprisingly
low altitude. Not to brag on Jacksonville, but the closest thing I
ever saw to that in Hopkinsville was once when P---- M------ drove by
my house.

Now, that was uncalled for. I don't know P---- all that well, and
making fun of her weight is way out of bounds. Please forgive me for
that, because: (a) I was up very late last night, and I'm very tired
and thus not exercising the best judgment right now; and (b) P---- is
really fat.

Anyway, I urgently summoned the kids to the back porch to see the
blimp. Both seemed to like it, but Little Miss Sparky was most enthralled. In
fact, as soon as it was out of sight, she looked up at me and said
matter-of-factly, "Daddy -- I want to see another one." Thank you,
Veruca Salt. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Veruca_salt).

Monday dawned bright and sunshiny. I decided to have a big lunch to
fuel myself for the evening's work, so I drove off to find an
appropriate game-day smorgasbord. On the way, I saw a shirtless guy
with both his body and his mohawk painted teal, driving a red Vespa.
I noted to myself that at the time, it was still seven hours before
kickoff, and the guy was eight miles from the stadium and heading in
the opposite direction from it. Silently, to myself, I snickered at
him for being so low class. Then I pulled into Waffle House.

You know, I had almost reached the conclusion that Florida, with its
temperate climate congenial to sunbathing and outdoor activities, its
emphasis on fitness, and the pressure one feels to look good while
wearing shorts and t-shirts, was full only of beautiful, toned young
people. My sojourn to Waffle House violently disabused me of that
notion. Although there were about eight other people in the
restaurant, I am sure that my entrance was enough to lower the average
weight of the clientele by about 30%, and increase the average number
of teeth by about 50%. My waitress appeared to be utterly toothless,
but with several candy corns stuck in her gums. Not an appetizing
place, but I did manage to scarf down three scrambled eggs and a
bucket of hash browns, and I was on my way.

I arrived at Alltel at about 4 p.m. (4 and a half hours before
kickoff), and was immediately posted at the media gate, where I
frisked reporters and examined their bags and camera equipment. ESPN,
as the national network showing the game, had a ton of people there.
I patted down at least one guy I recognized from ESPN, a sports
analyst, but I can't for the life of me remember his name. But I can
tell you that he had firm abs.
I also patted down John Dockery
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Dockery), whom I have also seen on
TV before. ESPN personality Michael Wilbon
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mike_Wilbon) and his kids stood next to
me for several minutes, but I did not get to frisk him. I'll try to,
next time.

Then, about three hours before gametime, I was posted at Gate 1, which
is right next to the media entrance, and which is one of four
entrances the general public uses to get into the stadium. It's right
next to some huge parking lots that were filled with tailgate parties,
and the sweet smell of grilling meat wafted over to me for the next
several hours, while I was powerless to do anything about it.

Fans started congregating outside the gate long before it opened.
Most seemed to be wearing Pittsburgh gear. They certainly had a much
more blue-collar feel to them than last week's Dallas fans, and their
connection to their team seemed more motivated by fun and good times
than the Dallas fans' more emotional, religious bent.

For a long time, I just stood behind the locked gate, chatting with
the fans. It was a nice, loose, fun atmosphere. Boomer Esiason
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boomer_Esiason) walked by me, which was
kind of exciting. Boomer is a very, very big man. But I guess you
would have to be, if your name was "Boomer."

All was fun and good until the skies just opened up and poured down
rain. That was okay for me, because the gate has a little bitty roof
over it, where I was able to cower. The fans waiting, however, were
getting soaked. I did my best to keep them entertained. At one
particularly drenching point, when the drops were just pounding down
on all the fans, I loudly announced to the crowd, in the most cheery
voice I could muster, "Don't worry folks, I think this is all going to
burn off!" As a sign of how much everyone had had to drink, they all
thought that was hilarious. Then, a little while later, I spotted one
of the CSC bosses driving by in his golf cart. I hollered over to
him, "Hey Richard! I need some rain gear!" He drove over, and gave
me a rain poncho. I then turned to the waiting crowd, and loudly
shouted, "What will you all give me for this fine rain poncho?"
Again, much drunken laughter. I was eating it up -- I was part of
the show, baby!

Then, two hours before game time, it was time to open the gate. Then,
for me at least, things became less fun. That was because the other
male supposed to be stationed at that gate was late, and as a result,
I was the only guy there to pat down all the men entering through Gate
1. As I said, there are only 4 gates into the stadium, and the
stadium's 68,000 seats were sold out. And the majority of people who
come to NFL games are male. Which is to say, that by my rough
estimate, I single-handedly (well, actually, I used both hands) patted
down about 5,000 men in the next two and a half hours.

What, you might ask, did I learn about men and/or myself from this?
I'm glad you asked. I learned several things:

1. I don't really like frisking 5,000 men.

2. In any given group of 5,000 men, it is likely that the vast
majority won't really like being patted down.

3. Men sweat. A lot.

4. We're a pretty fat gender.

5. Roughly 70% of men going to an NFL game wear baseball hats. When,
as required by our security rules, you ask them to look under their
hat, roughly 70% of those men will comment on their hair, or lack
thereof.

6. Older guys and younger guys take the frisking in stride, and are
uniformly courteous. If someone's going to be a jerk about it,
virtually every single time it will be a middle-aged (e.g. 30-45 year
old) guy.

7. African-American guys are generally much more courteous and
accepting of being patted down than white guys.

8. Most people who get wasted at football games don't get wasted once
they get in the stadium -- they ARRIVE wasted, and only modestly
supplement their inebriation from the concession stands.

9. Did I say we're fat, and sweat a lot?

10. I do not understand how in the world women find us, as a gender,
attractive.

11. Roughly 10% of men being frisked will try to make some sort of
joke either stating or implying that either they or the frisker is
getting some sort of sexual thrill out of it. One hundred percent of
those making such jokes will seem to think that they're the first guy
who ever thought of that, and that they are hi-frickin'-larious.

12. If you frisk 5,000 men, three will hug you. (Or at least, three
hugged me. You might get a lot more than that, sweet cheeks).

The good news is that I got to wear latex gloves for most of that
frisking. The bad news is that about three quarters of the way
through everyone, my gloves were rotting off my hands. So I had to
barehand the last several hundred. I have to say, last night was the
first time I felt it essential to wash my hands BEFORE I went to the
bathroom.

Anyway, only one person seriously balked at being patted down. In a
rather haughty voice, he asked me what would happen if he refused to
be frisked. I told him if he refused, he was not going into the
stadium. He stood aside for awhile considering that, then evidently
decided that it wasn't worth wasting about $125 on a ticket just
because he wanted to preserve whatever sort of dignity he felt would
be violated by my frisking him. So he got back into line, and came
through. (I gave him a huge wedgie, and told him it was required by
the Patriot Act.)

The frisking, though, wasn't as bad as having to stop people from
bringing prohibited stuff into the stadium. And believe me, lots of
stuff is prohibited. People did not like being told that they
couldn't take their footballs, posters, flags, umbrellas, seat
cushions, food and drink, etc. into the game. Several got downright
ugly about it. All eventually relented, but still, I hated making the
kids, especially, ditch stuff in the trash. And I hated it even more
that I wasn't able to keep any of the stuff.

Anyway, we eventually got everyone in, and then I was re-posted inside
the bowl of the stadium. Ahhh, Nirvana! I got put in the West Club
section, which is where rich people and season ticketholders sit in
areas gated off from the riff-raff and commoners. My role there was,
to put it mildly, not particularly well-defined. In fact, the
supervisor of that section, on those rare occasions when I could find
him, had no idea what to do with me. So he told me, "roam around,"
which I did, while looking stern and guard-like. Periodically, I'd
ask people to move from whever they were loitering. One fan was
thrilled when I got some chick who was standing there talking on a
cellphone to get out of his way. For a few minutes, I was that dude's
hero.

Otherwise, I pretty much got to watch the game. It was AWESOME. The crowd was
all fired up, the game was close, and the hitting on the field was
incredible. The crowd was loud and boisterous, but essentially
trouble-free.

I was at the top of the first section of seats behind the Jags' bench,
which meant I was maybe 30 rows from the field. I had a good view of
the action on the field, and very little to do. However, whenever
there was a big play, I'd make sure that I turned my back on the field
and scanned the crowd. That's because at those times, when people's
emotions are most aroused, and they're jumping around, spilling beer
on each other, waving their arms and inadvertantly smacking their
neighbors, etc., is when there's most likely going to be trouble.
Plus, I didn't want to be seen in the post-game CSC video reviews to
be absorbed in the game instead of doing something.

I did have a few occasions to actually do my job, but the biggest two
actually occurred while I was on break. I helped one woman by getting
someone to come and clean up a place in her section where someone had
puked, and I helped an out of town couple of Pittsburgh fans find
their way around. Both of those folks were very, very thankful. I
felt all warm and tingly.

By far my best moment of fan response was while I was pacing back and
forth between the first and second sections, consciously trying to
scan the crowd with my "I'm a security guard, don't f--- with me"
face. I overheard one fan say to another, "Geez, that security guy
looks serious." Heh heh heh. If only they knew that inside I was
laughing, thinking "I'm getting PAID to watch the game from a section
where your seats cost you over $200 each!"

Eventually, my supervisor figured out what to do with me, and he used
me to relieve some other guards who were posted along the bottom of
the club sections. That meant I got to be right up next to (but not
actually on) the field behind the Jags' bench. I spent most of my
time in front of the section where the players' families and friends
sat. That section sort of stood out from the rest of the club seats,
because it was the only one with significant numbers of black people
in it. They were all very, very nice, and watched the game quite
differently from the others in the club seats. They were more sedate,
and I didn't really see any alcohol being consumed. Really, the
players' families and friends seemed to almost have an air of concern
about them, which, given the tremendously hard-hitting and violent
nature of football in general and this game in particular, seemed
perfectly justified to me.

From my perch right next to the field, I was granted a dream come true
-- that is, a close-up view of ESPN sideline babe Suzy Kolber
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suzy_Kolber). She spent significant
portions of the second half no more than 30 feet from me. I felt we
bonded. (She might disagree with that assessment.) In any event, you
may possibly be wondering if she's as cute as she appears to be on TV
or in her photos online. Well, is she?

No.

She is WAY hotter. Evidently, I was not the only one who thought so,
because the fans were constantly screaming for her. She, ever the
professional, ignored them. Still, every time she'd come anywhere
near the stands, fans would be screaming "SUZY, WE LOVE YOU!" Then,
when ESPN's other sideline reporter, Michelle Tafoya
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michelle_Tafoya) would come nearby, the
fans would also yell "SUZY, WE LOVE YOU!" Now Tafoya's a cutie, so I
frankly felt kind of bad for her, what with fans chanting for Kolber
whenever she came around. I thought she could use some comforting.
And believe me, I knew the man for the job. (She might disagree with
my assessment). Well, maybe next time, after I get done frisking
Michael Wilbon...

When the game ended, I was moved over to the visiting team tunnel.
You may recall from last week's game that I was posted on the field
right by there. This time, I was in the bottom of the stands at that
point, where I was responsible for making sure nobody threw anything
at the Steelers or otherwise caused trouble. I again put on my "don't
f--- with me" face.

Here, I noticed an intriguing difference between the Steelers fans and
the Cowboys fans I watched at nearly the same spot last week. After
the Cowboys lost, many of their fans congregated around the tunnel and
applauded or otherwise showed some love to their defeated team.
However, this week, there were absolutely no Steelers fans hanging
around to cheer for their defeated team. This time, the area was full
of Jags fans, who were mercilessly taunting the departing Steelers.
Roethlisburger and Pittsburgh Coach Bill Cowher
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cowher) attracted particularly vigorous
abuse. They passed within ten feet of me, but I felt I had to watch
the crowd in case things got ugly, so I didn't actually see them. I
did, however, get to see defensive and tonsorial standout Troy
Polamalu (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Troy_Polamalu) and last year's
Super Bowl MVP Hines Ward (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hines_Ward) up
close. In fact, I could have reached out and touched them, but I
decided not to because (a) I was there to prevent precisely that sort
of thing from happening to them, and (b) I thought I'd touched more
than enough men for one day.

Shortly thereafter, Michelle Tafoya came up the tunnel just a few feet
from me, thus prompting more scattered chants of "WE LOVE YOU, SUZY!"
from the remaining fans.

After the fans were gone, I started scanning the stands for my
supervisor. I never actually saw him again. They say that leadership
abhors a vacuum, and I guess I proved that to be true. In the absence
of any direction from above, I elected myself to be my own supervisor,
and eventually I just decided that my work there was done and I'd go
home. So I did, rolling back home at about 2 a.m.

All in all, a GREAT football game and a good experience. It was the
lowest scoring Monday Night Football game ever, but I think it was
plenty exciting. It also marked the first time in 25 years that a
Super Bowl champion has been held scoreless in a game during the
season after it won the championship. It was a stellar performance by
Jacksonville, which now has to be considered among the elite teams in
the NFL this season. You can read about the game here --
http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/recap?gameId=260918030. Or, if you
prefer, you can see more pictures of Suzy Kolber here --
http://www.suzykolber.net/suzy_kolber_pics/Suzy_Kolber_..._the_rest/index.htm

The Jags have away games the next two weeks, and I doubt that I'll be
willing to travel to Miami to cover the Dolphins' games or to Atlanta
to cover the Falcons' games, nor do I expect to agree to cover any of
the Florida games, which would require traveling to Gainesville for a
day.

However, all will not necessarily be quiet in security-guard-land for
me. I was offered the opportunity to be bussed to West Palm or
somewhere like that to work a Korn concert this week, but I do not
want to die. However, I did accept a gig to work at a special event
being held at a downtown Jacksonville arena this Friday night. It is
the Bethel Baptist Church "Ladies Night Out," which you can read about
here -- http://www.bethelite.org/special-events.html (scroll down a
little ways).

I have no clue as to what kind of security issues will be confront me
at a large gathering of evangelical Baptist African-American women,
but know this, Pablo -- I WILL BE READY.

I am not a man to be trifled with.