By Alex Berger
A middle-aged woman was sitting next to an unoccupied seat at Giants Stadium. “Why is that seat empty?” she was asked. “It’s my husband’s seat and he died.” “Couldn’t you have given the seat to a friend?” “Oh, no, they’re all at his funeral!”
I am jubilant that the 2010-11 football season will finally kick off Aug. 16 when my New York football Giants play the @#$%^ New York Jets in the first preseason game. As a 25-year Giants fan, I had witnessed many losing seasons, but on Jan. 25, 1987, an extraordinary happening happened. I saw the Giants play and beat the Denver Broncos in Super Bowl XXI in Pasadena, Calif. My impossible dream was finally realized. So, what do I have to complain about so many years later? Let me count the ways.
I sweated out two playoff games the Giants needed to win to proceed to the Super Bowl. They won both. Airline tickets to Pasadena? Not yet. I sweated out a lottery system whereby only a limited number of Super Bowl tickets were reserved for fans. Yes, I was picked for two tickets. The post office then managed to “misplace” them for several nervous hours and I envisioned a postal worker in my seats at the Super Bowl. When I threatened to call in my cousin, a notary public, the tickets were speedily located.
I sweated out a lanced cyst on my back and a torn retina simultaneously that had me in bed sick until four days before Super Bowl Sunday. “But doc, I won’t sit on my back and I can still see out the other eye.” I sweated out a change in work location. “But boss, why don’t you wait until the Super Bowl is over?” He did not. I even had to sweat out a giant snowstorm that closed the airport and delayed my flight to California for several hours. Surmounting all this, I finally made it. Pasadena, there I was!
Once in the land of orange groves, the precious tickets never left my person. Even in the shower, those pieces of cardboard were never out of view. Since I had worked in the most crime-ridden areas of New York City, I knew from experience that the safest spot for my tickets would be in my wallet, placed in my front pants pocket and covered with a handkerchief. You knew I knew nothing was going to get between me and my tickets.
The day of the big game arrived and, with the tickets securely tucked in my wallet, Gloria and I left for the Promised Land. We arrived at Rose Bowl Stadium early in the morning and participated in pre-game festivities outside the stadium. A parade of people with “I Need Tickets — $1,000” signs affixed to various parts of their anatomies marched around us. I would never sell my treasured tickets to anyone for any price — no sir, no way, no how.
The California sun soon reminded us that it was time for a cool drink. I approached the soda stand, ordered a drink and as I took out my wallet to pay for the drinks, it happened. The oversized tickets that were protruding from my wallet were snatched. Did you hear me? Gone! My stomach sank to my ankles.
I caught a glimpse of the rascal who committed the dastardly deed disappearing into the crowd. Imagine, my enduring 25 years of dismal Giants football, traveling 3,000 miles and climbing many mountainous obstacles only to see my dream vaporize right before my eyes. Grim Reaper, where is thy sting?
The police escorted us around the stadium to pick out Mr. Pickpocket, but to no avail. “Oh, goniff,” I swore, “may my tickets bring you 25 years of misery just as I had suffered.” Fortunately, Fortune smiled on me. I was able to tell my story to the Giants ticket director who happened to be in the NFL kiosk, and he presented me with his last two, unsold tickets. They were not together, but so what? I was getting in to see the game. No, we could not reclaim our prior seats because in silly California purchasing “scalped” tickets was legal.
With the new tickets now placed in my shoe, Gloria and I raced as fast as our legs could carry us into the stadium before another calamity could befall us. We made it, and the day had a happy ending: I watched my beloved Giants win the Super Bowl, proving that a dream could be attained with patience, perseverance and providence.
Later that night, a TV commentator announced that 69 pickpockets had been arrested at the game. I hope my goniff was one of them. I cannot wait to see him try picking my shoe when the Giants play in the Super Bowl in 2011.
Contact Alex Berger at timesledgernews@cnglocal.com.
