Super Bowled Over

Sea of Super Bowl Humanity descends upon the streets of Detroit - (Photo Courtesy of Todd McInturf - The Detroit News)

The heart of the Motown Winter Blast, Campus Martius Park (Photo Courtesy of Robin Buckson - The Detroit News)

I'm writing today without a single clear thought running through my head, let alone thoughts about my training. You see, the city of Detroit hosted a game last night that ended up being the largest week-long party I have ever been a part of. This game was the catalyst to events that kept me up until dawn on consecutive nights while refusing to let me relax for any period of time to collect my thoughts. My cell phone began rivaling telemarketing networks for activity as I unexpectedly became the unofficial organizer of out-of-town guests looking to inhale the hysteric air that steadily became more and more overwhelming. It may sound as if I'm tossing out Super Bowl hyperbole, but I'm not. There is not an army of adjectives that can be used to accurately describe the madness of Super Bowl XL in Detroit. While the following will have very little to do with the theme of this blog, I would feel remiss for not commenting on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience the World's largest sporting event in my own backyard.

Thursday, February 2, 2006

6:00 pm

I won't officially admit it, but my weekend started after work on a Thursday as the Motown Winterblast officially kicked off. I ripped off my tie and left my suit coat in the office and walked down Woodward Ave a few blocks north in an attempt to catch a local band I've been meaning to see for some time. Five separate stages were set up hosting bands jamming to jazz, R&B, hip-hop, gospel, country and rock. The rock stage was located in a huge heated tent in the heart of Greektown. By 6:30 I finally ducked my head into the tent and was nearly run over by a gang of very large, hairy, and tatooed guys who looked like they drove their winter Harley's all day long from Pittsburgh. One of them actually splashed some beer on my coat. Content with just moving on, the Pittsburgh native immediatley apologized and within minutes put a Coors Light in my hands and was patting my shoulders like we were long lost friends. I knew this night, this weekend, this event was going to be like nothing I've ever seen.

8:00 pm

After a rousing set by local band The Hard Lessons a crew of friends from Detroit met me with equaled excitement. Each live, work and socialize in Detroit. Each agreed that they had never seen anything like this. We headed over to one of our favorite spots a block away and discovered a line of people outside waiting to get inside. This is the same place I used to frequent in law school because of their unconscienably cheap prices and scant crowds. An almost blinding blur of black and gold jerseys, hats, mardi gras beads, scarfs and even inflatable football helmets awaited us as we finally got inside. Pittsburgh Steeler fans took over this place and likewise had plans to start their weekend a day earlier. I spoke with one family from the northern suburbs of Pittsburgh who drove their RV all day long and were parked in a lot a few blocks away. They had no game tickets, no invitations to swanky parties, and absolutely no clue about Detroit. What they did have is an impressive amount of energy and passion toward the Steelers and were not bashful in expressing their feelings. "Go Steel!, Go Steel!" seemed to be the most popular chant that was repeatedly screamed into my ear.
Steeler fan (Photo Courtesy of Daniel Mears - The Detroit News)

11:00 pm

I attempted to call it a night but was met by a barrage of peer pressured responses to continue taking in the sights. By this time, that's exactly what it was: sight seeing. All of Detroit was pulsating with light and music. Police were on every street corner directing the mobs of people waiting to cross the street. Meanwhile I just kept looking around in amazement and reminding myself that this is in fact Detroit. Our final stop took us down Beaubien street to a gritty but charming sports pub where again, I felt like a tourist. Up way past my regularly scheduled bed time, with an early morning alarm clock ready to remind me of this fact, we finally threw in the towel when a friend offered to drive me back home. I even outlasted the parking garage I use to drive to work which closed a hour before my night ended.


Friday, February 3, 2006

6:30 am

Alarm goes off

6:31 am

Coffee pot is pumping out the only product that will get me through the day. I got a little additional help from the mile and a half walk to work that was also on the agenda. (see reference to car locked in garage above)

12:00 noon

Some work collegues and I walked accross the still crowded Jefferson Ave to the Ren Cen (General Motor's Headquarters) where the NFL media center was located. By this time tourists, downtown workers and general media types had flooded this building looking for celebrity types and pro athletes being interviewed by the seemingly countless media outlets camped out for the week. It reminded me of shopping in a stuffy mall the weekend before Christmas, except people were walking around with martinis, and other beverages with olives in them. I spotted a surprising number of suits within this crown who presumably left work for lunch and ended up forgetting to return. The scene was impressive and I spotted a number pro athletes with cameras and microphones in their face. The autograph hounds were also out in full force trying to muscle their way into an ebay profit. This added lunch time excitement also diverted my mind from focusing on how little sleep I got the night before.

6:00 pm

I left work and headed to Jacoby's for a few Happy Hour drinks with some of my co-workers. What is normally a modestly attended bar in Detroit's Bricktown district, was packed 8-9 people deep at the bar. All 8-9 people looked like they too had been there since lunch, the previous day.

6:20 pm

I headed down the street to another local dive bar, The Detroiter, again with hopes of starting my weekend with a cold one. This place too was packed. A mixture of suits, ski parkas, grey hair, young hipsters and the ubiquitous Steeler fan were throwing back suds like Super Bowl tickets were burried in the bottom of their pint glasses. I spent a solid half hour fielding calls from friends, acquaintance, friends of acquaintances and a few random people I have never met. All wanted the same information from me: "How do I get downtown? and where do I park?" On any night of any non-Super Bowl weekend, this would be a fairly simple question to answer. With the number of bodies filling the streets, I quickly learned that discovering the formula for cold fusion appeared to be an easier task than directing out-of-towners into the madness.

8:30 pm

By now a crew of 10-12 friends had successfully consolidated at one of the countless downtown spaces that dusted off years of spider webs and abandonment to take part in another popular American sport.....Capitalism. Decades of economic hardship and blight were cosmetically transformed into brand spankin new bars, restaurants and retail shops all with one goal: make as much coin off Super Bowl mania as humanly possible. If this means charging $8 for a bottle of domestic beer, or $12 for a plate of luke warm nachos..... than so be it. I silently resented the greed, but refused to let it sour what was an almost palpable excitement. While a definite contributor, alcohol was not the sole source of this excitement. I spoke to people from all over Michigan, who were returning to the city for the first time in years. Most had stories and fond memories of a city that it simply lost contact with. Most of these people had their heads on a swivel in an attempt to reacquant themselves with Detroit. Before ten 'o clock I was physically hugged by three old ladies after asking me for directions to Detroit's popular gimmick bar, Hockeytown Cafe. They too were partying like rock stars.

12 midnight

Our crew made our way South along Woodward Ave and through the heart of the Motown Winter Blast. Jazz bands, ice sculptures, light shows, dog-sleds, beach volleyball, wave pools, snow sledding hills, food stands, and of coarse, booze bombarded us from every angle. In and out of huge heated tents were more human beings than I have ever seen in my entire life. It was an absolute sea of humanity beyond anything that I ever predicted. It struck me after a few minutes, that I barely recognized this city. Three days earlier I ran down Woodward and was greeted by a handful of people at the bus stop. Now I could barely see the pavement. The generously poured glasses of Irish whiskey were also contributing to the blur.

1 am

In an attempt to discover just how much ground this party was covering, we ventured a few blocks West of the major action. The previous week I noticed a lot of construction and hasty prep work in a ground floor space on Park Ave (not quite NY's version) By the time we walked through the freshly painted doors, this place had been open for business for only two hours. There was still dry wall dust on the floor of a beautifully designed and historically aesthetic building that I later leaned was a famous speak easy during prohibition. Like every other place at this time, the Super Bowl partyers were in full force. One of the bartenders told me there was actually people outside waiting in line the first time the doors opened for business. Regardless, more amber colored beverages were being poured and placed in my hand. By this time the pain in my legs and hips had miraculously dissipated.

It was also about this time (I think) that I made my final effort to meet up with my parents who were somewhere within the millions of people in Detroit. They too were wearing their feet to bloody pulps walking in awe mile after mile of excitement. The same excitement that prevented movement and any hopes of spotting a familiar face in the crowd.

3 am

Late night hunger gave a call to the crew of friends who were now demanding greasy food and poor service at the ever charming Plaka Cafe. When handed a menu, I noticed that each of the food items had mysteriously been raised about $2. Detroiters, love their coney dogs. I'm not an exception. But Detroiters know that $5 for hot dog slathered in chili and mustard is outrageous. I attempted to point this fact out to the frantically overworked staff. I even attempted to persuade my friends to join me in my grievance. Instead I staged a one man boycott that presumably put a hurting on the Plaka Cafe's bottom line. Nonetheless me and the haggerd group of friends still standing managed to bum a ride back to my apartment for some well needed shut eye. Before this happened, we found ourselves inside a display model of a Cadillac Escalade at GM's Headquarters. Apparantly we were making a scene but were so comical, the security gave us immunity.

Saturday, February 4, 2006

1:00pm

I woke up to an apartment that looked and smelled like the Pittsburgh Steeler locker room. My couch squatting friends soon woke up and began piecing the previous night's activities together and laughing histerically trying to do so

4:00pm Showered