Memory Monday: The First Edition is also The Super Bowl Edition

Ahhh... The Super Bowl. In my early youth, it was a day of chips and candy and running around like unkempt squirrels while the adults completely ignored us and yelled at the TV. In my middle youth, it was fascinating - communal idol worship, seemingly just for the heck of it. In my teens, it was chips, soda, spectacle, and a great time to give myself a manicure. Transitioning into my young adulthood, the Superbowl turned into Party Time, when not being invited to a Super Bowl shindig was a sign that your social life needed some CPR, stat.

Yeah, no one had HEARD of this crap yet!

Today, finally settled into deep-adulthood, with an early-youth of my own, I'm just happy that we're able to watch the game at all. (If you've ever cared for a toddler for any length of time, you'll understand.) All I need for Super Bowl Sunday is chips, salsa, hotdogs, "footballs" (baked beans), soda, and beer for James. And good TV reception, of course. Twitter and facebook are fun to have but not necessary. Everything else is a luxury.

Let's transport back to a time when staying up to watch the Super Bowl was like Staying-Up-All-Night! ...When Bruce Springsteen's bit in "We Are the World" was the coolest thing ever, when my Barbie hotwheels was still super awesome, "Jack Kent Cook, he gets take-out" was still a funny joke, and long before Crystal Pepsi commercials had ever been conceived.*


It was 1988. Honestly, I can't remember the game itself, I imagine I blacked out on ice cream and Dr. Pepper, clutching my Jeff-Bostic-autographed-can-cooler tightly in my left (non-eating) hand. For the second time in my life, the Redskins had won, and the whole city was livin' high on the win.

My Mom was a huge fan of DC's WMAL radio. She pulled me out of school to go meet one of the broadcasters, who had pledged to meet fans if the Skins won. I can't remember who he was, but he was a tall man in a cowboy hat, who at the time, really didn't seem interested in meeting fans at all.

What I do remember happened a week or two later. Mom got me dressed warmly for a day outside in February. We probably packed a few snacks. We wore our most comfortable shoes. I was super excited, as I'd never been to such a large event before, that I could remember.

Aw Hell Yeah!

It was the 1988 Washington Redskins Super Bowl XXII Homecoming Parade.

You know, the '88 Super Bowl -- the one the Broncos lost (sorry, my Denver-raised Sis! Not!) Darrell Green, Art Monk, the Hogs and the Hogettes! And of course there was Doug Williams, the first African-American quarterback to win the game. He was my hero, and I'm a white chic!

Anyhoo, we left early that morning. The subway trains were packed. I'd never before seen so many people crowded into a covered space. We were wall-to-wall, packed in like sardines, waiting through multiple trains to get a ride into town.

Near Death Experience #1: When Metro Escalators Were Reliable

The train platforms were so packed, there was a real danger of people falling onto the tracks. This was in the days when the Metro escalators were rather young and actually worked -- once you were on one, there was no turning back. The moving staircases pushed people out on the platforms with nowhere to go.

Not even remotely as crowded.

The details are fuzzy, but I found myself trapped at the bottom of an escalator, with absolutely nowhere to turn. So many bodies were pressing into us that we were starting to separate. Mom had a hand on me (in mine?) but she couldn't get beside me. A new crowd was pressing down from the floor above. With horror, Mom realized I was about to be crushed to death at the bottom of the escalator. Mom didn't scream, but it was so loud with reverberating voices and screeching Metro brakes that few people would have heard her anyway.

At that moment, out of nowhere, a huge black man appeared. He too had seen what was about to happen, and stepped in between me and the hurtling mass humans coming in for a landing. Quite literally, he saved me! For a few seconds he was my personal wall against the crowd. He made certain I was safely reunited with Mom in a way that we could actually stand together. And then, like magic, he was gone. There wasn't even time to say "Thank You". To this day, I'd still like to look that man in the eyes and give him a hug!

Near Death Experience #2: The Natives Are Restless

Once there, the crowds poured out onto the city streets. It was a boisterous, rowdy crowd. As we walked the blocks to the parade route, it struck me how rude this crowd was being despite the fact that we were all there to celebrate a win. The recession had been hard on the people of Washington -- the natives, the working classes, the people whose shoulders the government center rests upon -- and the discontent of the populace was spilling into the restless energy of the crowds. There was much yelling of dirty words, flashing of middle fingers, and the occasional shove being, well, shoved. Mom's parental bat-sense was tingling, and she wisely decided to make a detour over to Freedom Plaza, where we sat and had some lunch and talked, people-watched and waited until Mom felt it was safe.

Like this, except without all the
people, the orderliness, or the President.

During this interlude, the Redskins fans rioted. Police were called out in force. My Dad and Grandma were at home watching it all on TV, worried sick. (This was in the days before cellphones.)

And yet, there I was swingin' my feet off the white marble bench, enjoying the birds and view, completely oblivious except for the sirens and occasional crowd sounds in the background. I was anxious that we were missing the good stuff, and I asked about it a few times -- but Mom calmly assured me that we were exactly where we needed to be.

I don't know how she knew when to head back to the parade route, but by the time we got there, the place was practically empty. (At the time I thought everyone had gone home - now I realize the Police had probably hearded everyone out.)

Nice Fans Always Win

Despite the empty streets and post-riot atmosphere, Mom was all adventure! She knew that the day was not lost. The parade route was public knowledge. Mom knew exactly where the team was. And she knew, instinctively, that there was No Way they would be leaving by the front door!

Around the block to the back of the building we went, and found ourselves part of a small crowd -- a group so small that even *I* could see! We were cordoned off by a couple bouncers with a rope, club-style, across the street and with a clear view of the door. The team bus was parked about fifteen feet away. We were a jolly, aimiable bunch. We made chit-chat, showed off our Redskins wares, but most importantly, we waited. Calmly and patiently.

We were well rewarded.

After sunset and a small eternity, the back door opened. Out poured a small group of 'Skins - all the major stars of the game. There they were in person, just feet away! Williams, Art Monk, Darrell Green, Charles Mann, Dexter Manley -- even Joe Gibbs was there! Still on crutches, Doug Williams triumphantly raised the Lombardi trophy for us and gave us a wide, gorgeous grin. We cheered! The team met our little fan party with grace and class, and while they were rather quickly ushered onto the bus, they seemed genuinely grateful that we were there with smiles and congrats rather than angry scowls and bats. (ouch!)

A real American hero

Mostly, I remember Doug Williams. The rest are kind fuzzy, even Gibbs. Williams was, to me, imbued with authenticity and humility. The kind of sports star I would always look up to.

Yeah, I don't remember how we got home. I remember a payphone somewhere along the way, and I remember my parents talking about the riot and Dad's not knowing whether we were OK. He was kind of peeved. Can't say I blame him.

As I finish typing out this story, the Giants are each reaching out to touch that same Lombardi trophy. And that makes my heart sing just a little, thinking of their shared sense of humility, hard work and accomplishment -- for a minute, at least -- while they all enjoy their fresh victory together.

May the streets of Boston and NYC be riot-safe tonight.

*Come to think of it, my Hotwheels was no longer awesome, and I'd moved on to Duran Duran. But everything else stands.