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The Super Smell of Money
Can Running or Runners Ever
Attain the Status of Super Bowl XXXIX?
by Hal Higdon
Being part of a public spectacle can be expensive, I discovered while purchasing a pair of gift T-shirts emblazoned with the Super Bowl XXXIX logo outside Jacksonville's Alltel Stadium on Sunday. The two shirts cost $94.
That's not to ignore the cost of my ticket: $600, and I could have scalped the ticket for $6,000 according to some reports. Weekend home rentals near our Ponte Vedra Beach condo were going for that much and more. Consider also the cost of a half-minute TV commercial: $2.6 million. Yes, the Super Bowl had the smell of money. Never again would I complain about the cost of entering a marathon with or without Roman numerals.
I attended the game courtesy of my daughter Laura, who directs special events for a large corporation in Minneapolis. Her husband Pete had among his lifetime wishes attending a Super Bowl, so she decided to give him a trip to the game as a 40th birthday present. Laura bought airline tickets last fall, then spent three months searching for game tickets, finally securing a pair from a friend. My wife and I provided housing. When Laura presented Pete with the tickets at a party of friends on his birthday, he was so moved he cried. So in some respects, Super Bowl tickets can prove priceless.
Hanging Out With John Madden
I had not attended a Super Bowl since
1967, the game's second year, when tickets cost $6 and you could walk up to
the gate and purchase one. I was writing a book, Pro Football USA, which consisted
of interviews with different players about how they played the game. Football
players had not yet achieved God-like status, nor agents, and it was easy to
get them to sit down and chat for an hour.
One defensive back on the Oakland Raiders, who I contacted for an interview the week before the Super Bowl, suggested I accompany him and several teammates to a Jai Lai match, and we would find time to talk. An assistant coach tagging along with us was named John Madden.
But life was simpler then for football players, who could attend Jai Lai matches without being mobbed for autographs. Now, they possess a status equal to Rock Stars, like Paul McCartney, who provided the halftime show for Super Bowl XXXIX. Singing along to "Hey Jude," waving my flashlight in rhythm to McCartney's music, I wondered if running would ever get this big. Maybe not, but in the same period of time when Super Bowl tickets escalated from $6 to $600, I saw the Boston Marathon grow from 150 the first year I ran it to 36,000 in its 100th running. New York, Chicago and London boasted fields near that size last year with millions along the courses cheering runners.
Waving Our Own Flashlights
Do I wish for running to grow to the popularity of pro football? Would I like Rock Star status? While many individuals attendant to the business of our sport understandably would love to see increasing amounts of sponsor dollars flow their way, I'm happy with our sport the way it is, thank you. Ours is more a participant than spectator sport, where we wave our own flashlights while finishing marathons somewhere around III and VI hours.
Leaving the stadium after Super Bowl XXXIX, someone asked to purchase the ticket stub hanging from my neck. I smiled and kept walking, but I couldn't help wondering how much I could get for my next marathon race number on eBay. And also score tickets to Paul McCartney's next concert.
Sir Harry and the Caribbean Cruise
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