Sure, the big questions of the day, and of the days ahead, will be this: Did the NFL like us enough? Did we — and, one last time, can’t we bunch New York and New Jersey into one, big, universal “we?” — do a good job hosting Super Bowl XLVIII?
Will they let us — same rule as “we” — do it again?
Let’s twist that around a little bit, though, shall we? Because if there was one complaint about this joint New York-New Jersey Super Bowl effort — and, really, it was more of a “strenuous observation” than a complaint — it was this:
The Super Bowl was swallowed. Whole.
Like a Swedish meatball off an appetizer tray.
And by the way? Of course it was. This was never going to be Indianapolis, which did a splendid job hosting the Super Bowl two years ago, which does a terrific job of hosting the Final Four every few years, which in many ways is the perfect big-game host city: large enough that there are enough hotel rooms for everyone to crash, small enough where every waking moment you are completely, 100 percent aware that omygosh-omygosh-omygosh THE SUPER BOWL IS HERE!
The NFL certainly couldn’t have been surprised by this; it lives here, after all, its headquarters on Park Avenue, allowed to go about its business like any of the other scads of billion-dollar business that call midtown Manhattan home. If Roger Goodell worked in Pittsburgh or St. Louis or San Diego, he’d have as high a profile as the mayor of those cities. Look at the fiefdom Bud Selig has created for himself in Milwaukee.
Here, Goodell’s just another well-to-do commuter to and from Bronxville.
Here, the Super Bowl was another terrific event, same as the Republican Convention was in 2004, same as the Democratic Convention was in 1992, same as the World’s Fair was in 1939 and 1964, same as the Grammys were, same as the various visits through the years from the Pope have been …
The United Nations is based here, OK?
The Super Bowl won’t topple the town upside down. And it didn’t. Super Bowl Boulevard was a wonderful destination spot, and just about everyone who visited had a fun day. Fans who came here to explore the Manhattan night? They found what they were looking for. In a lot of towns, they would give it a name, the Weekend Wonderland, the Super-Stravaganza.
Here, we call it Saturday.
So, really, the question shouldn’t be if the NFL wants to bring the Super Bowl back here. The question should really be this:
Do we want it back?
Because clearly we don’t need it back. The game was a nice diversion, and it provided the league with a majestic backdrop. But did it change our lives one iota? The overwhelming majority of people here, even fervent, all-in football fans, never had a prayer of actually attending the game. Most made it through their work week without ever once coming in contact with the game, or any reminder of it, certainly if they live or work more than 10 blocks away from Times Square.
So the question is posed: Do we want it back?
Why would we want it back?
Put it this way: All the good vibes generated by the novelty of having the Big Game in the big town were probably frittered away by two simple snafus: the horrible chaos at the Secaucus Junction Sunday, and the snow that blanketed the city Monday and wound up canceling scores of flights home for thousands of visitors.
Now, you can’t blame that on New York or New Jersey. Guess what? It’s February. It snows here. It’s bloody cold most days. Flights are canceled all the time. The fact that the NFL got an October weather day in February for the game itself was dumb luck; this is the teeth of winter. And, well … there are thousands of daily commuters who saw how brilliantly New Jersey Transit worked that day and muttered to themselves, “Par.”
Actually, the one positive to come of this was an old-school affirmation of local pride. Jersey fiercely defended itself whenever this was referred to as a “New York” Super Bowl. New Yorkers talked a little trash back. It was as if the Hudson River had morphed into the Mason-Dixon line for seven days.
That’s over now. The tourists are home (or crowded into airport hotels), we’re “we” again, we’re “us.” It was fun while it lasted. And now we move on. Do we want it back? Sure. If they want to, we’re happy to have them.
And if not?
Hey, this is New York. We can always find something else to do.