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02/04/06

A plague of roamin' numerals

For you poor souls who watch only one football game a year, dragged along to an annual Super Bowl party when you'd much rather be doing something — anything — else, here's a bit of inside information.

The 'XL' in 'Super Bowl XL' does not stand for 'Extra Large.'

'XL' is the Roman numeral for the number '40,' which is how many Super Bowls will have been played when Sunday's game is (finally) over.

Why don't the National Football League honchos just say '40' like normal people? I guess they figure it looks classier, even though most Americans couldn't tell a Roman numeral from a Roman nose.

Back in 1994, Alan Bennett's play about the British monarch we remember from the Revolutionary War, 'The Madness of George III,' was made into a film and presented to audiences as simply 'The Madness of King George.'

No Roman numerals.

The story goes that the movie's producers changed the name because they feared people would think the film was a sequel, like 'Rocky III.'

After all, who would want to see Episode III if they missed 'The Madness of King George' I and II?

According to the 'Urban Legends' website, Nicholas Hytner, the film's director, admitted that scenario was 'not totally untrue.'

Whether we call is XL or 40, this Super Bowl is making me feel very, very old. That's because as a fledgling 18-year-old sportswriter, I covered Super Bowl III.

(That's 'three' for those of us still having trouble keeping up with our whole Roman numeral motif.)

That game is talked about every year because Joe Namath of the New York Jets 'guaranteed' his team would defeat the heavily favored Baltimore Colts, and the Jets wound up winning, 16-7.

I'm feeling old because that was 37 years ago.

When I mentioned to the youthful members of The Daily Star's sports department that I was in the Orange Bowl covering that memorable game, I couldn't get over the feeling that they were mentally fitting me for a rocking chair and shawl.

I tend to do that sometimes, rambling on a bit about my sportswriting experiences in the good, old days while the sports guys smile politely, nod and hope I go away soon.

I spent 26 years working for various sports departments before realizing that it was way too much work, and deciding to be an editor, instead.

I could tell you a lot of details about that Super Bowl on Jan. 12, 1969 (although expecting you to want me to would stagger credulity). But as an editor, I'm embarrassed to tell you I remember nothing at all about the State of the Union speech by Lyndon Johnson two days after that game.

There's something rather sad about that, so I looked it up.

Among other things, Johnson spoke about the economy, democracy, housing, Social Security, jobs, voting rights, the war in Vietnam, unrest in the Middle East and asked everybody to be nice to Richard Nixon, who would become president the following week.

In case you're wondering, I don't remember a thing about Nixon's first Inaugural address, either. I looked that up, too. His best line was: 'The American dream does not come to those who fall asleep.'

(Certainly, those are words to live by for anyone fighting his way through this column.)

I'm not sure how they work it now, but back in the days when the Super Bowl numerals were still in the single digits, the big shot broadcasters and the writers from larger newspapers watched the game from the press box.

The rest of us were given seats in the stands below the press box. I remember eating a box lunch at half-time while trying to balance a small typewriter — yes, typewriter — between my knees.

I still have a gaily decorated lunch pail that once contained (I think) a sandwich, an apple and a couple of cookies given to those of us in the sports media by the NFL.

The pail may have been from Super Bowl III, but it's probably from the somewhat less-venerated Super Bowl V (5), which I also covered. When you get to be LV (that's 55, fellow Roman numerologists) the memory gets a bit hazy about such things.

Meanwhile, I've been thinking of seeing how much the ancient Super Bowl lunch pail might fetch on eBay.

For all I know, it could be some kind of heirloom. I sure hope so. It's high time being an ex-sportswriting geezer paid off.

———

Sam Pollak is editor of The Daily Star. He can be reached at spollak@thedailystar.com or at (607) 432-1000, ext. 208.




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