Catch the Super Bowl spirit
Posted: Friday January 29, 1999 04:39 PM
Went by the Dennis Rodman party last night at a cool nightclub in South
Beach called Liquid. I'm sorry to inform you that the party stank. Too many
people. Too much riffraff. Overpriced. Understaffed. Awful food. Warm drinks. It
was a nightmare. I was embarrassed for Dennis. Oh alright, so I couldn't get in.
Big deal. Party crashing is like an Olympic sport here, without all the bribery
and illegal activity. I barely, and I can not stress the word
barely enough, got into the Sports Illustrated party last year.
Held up at the door until a colleague could come vouch for me, I almost had to
pose as a busboy. It was not the proudest moment of my career, let's just put it
that
way.
I did manage to score an invite to an NFL players party at the All-Star Cafe.
But I was torn. First of all the party basically consisted of some awful finger
food and the glorious opportunity to stand and watch some mostly mediocre
players play video games. And, of course, not wanting to be a sports dork, I was
conflicted about passing through the doors of an All-Star Cafe. Luckily, by the
time I had dinner at Gloria Estefan 's restaurant and headed to the ASC,
it was too late and the party was over. But I checked. I was on the
list.
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Speaking of sports dorks, there seems to be a convention of them in town this
week. Next to the sports radio Breezeway of Banality a new area has cropped up
in the lobby of our hotel that I will refer to from here on in as Sycophant
City. (Isn't that a David Bowie song?) Anyway, it is a horrible gathering of
lost souls armed with autograph books and disposable cameras, searching for
glimpses of players or quasi-famous media types. As I cruised in last night I
noticed a few people taking pictures of a sports show anchor. Obviously these
poor folks were delivered as babies by the Sports Dork
Stork.
Right around Friday is usually when the host city just collapses under the
weight of the Super Bowl. In San Diego they were running out of beer and bread
at restaurants and the locals were screaming GO HOME ALREADY! as they drove past
in their cars. Miami is holding up fine. Except for one particularly harried
concierge who directed me to walk to a lunch meeting I had yesterday. Soaked in
sweat, delirious from sun exposure, about 45 minutes into my walk I began to see
signs for the Orange Bowl. I was only, oh, an hour and fifteen minutes late for
the meeting. Hallucinating from dehydration I think I suggested doing a cover
story on synchronized swimming. Concierge gratuity:
DENIED.
I also caught the Cliffs Notes version of the halftime-show press conference.
The highlight had to be Stevie Wonder saying he was looking forward to
watching the game. That may be the best quote of the week. Unfortunately for my
fourth year in a row of attending these things no one, least of all me, had the
chutzpah to stand up and ask the question, "Why, with all the money and
time that goes into the Super Bowl halftime show, does it always suck so freakin
bad?"
And lastly, an update on the sky-blue leather press bag that I am giving away to
the first person to email me with the headline from the very first Flem File.
First of all you don't just get the gawd-awful bag, the thing also comes loaded
with goodies like Super Bowl patches, pens, notepads, lots or good rat. My
goodness, I had no idea how much people wanted this thing. Suddenly my email-box
is packed to the brim. But people, nothing good comes easy. (Just look at this
column. On second thought, scratch that.) So get back to work, no one has gotten
the answer yet. Another hint, the first Flem File ran before the Atlanta
Olympics.
Crank up those search engines and get back to me. And please don't make me turn
this into an essay contest about your favorite Super Bowl commercial on Sunday.
Cause I swear, I'll do
it.
Spanning the strange and wonderful world of sports, the Flem File has visited
a nudist colony, investigated nasal strips, tried out for the Olympic bobsled
team and endured injury and humiliation at the NFL Experience. What, or who,
should we riff on next week? If you've got a suggestion, a comment or a
question, don't just sit there, bring it on! Click here to send an e-mail to
Flem, or address it yourself: flemfile@aol.com.
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