We should care about the Super Bowl. Really.

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By GARY SHELTON

© St. Petersburg Times, published January 27, 2000

ATLANTA -- The streets are buzzing. People are so excited (or cold), they are shaking. Everywhere you go, it seems, people are talking about the Super Bowl.

"The Super Bowl?" they say. "Who won that this year?" Then they shake some more.

Most years, you ask about dynasties. And geniuses. And stars. And point spreads. And whether the Hall of Fame is going to be big enough once it is through with these particular players.

This year, you ask, "Hello? Is this thing on?"

Around here, the burning question is: Does America care? Are you paying attention?

By nature, we find great comfort in the familiar. We expect to see great teams in great games, teams that were pretty close to great last season and teams that will be pretty close to great next season. Packers and Cowboys and 49ers, oh, my.

Instead, we have the Tennessee Titans, who won eight games last season, and the St. Louis Rams, who won half that many. Are you kidding? For goodness' sake, Georgia Frontiere has kept her name longer than both teams combined.

When it comes to the Super Bowl, we expect to see franchises steeped in age, soaked in tradition. We expect to see teams you could mention to your father and he would respond with a story about a 118-pound linebacker who was real, real mean. This is football. It is a game of lore, and the mention of Super Bowl opponents is supposed to tickle the memories of men.

The Titans and Rams? Can you imagine John Facenda mentioning the Titans and Rams without laughing? "They were hearty men, these Titans," he would resonate. "They wore zoot suits."

Does America care? (Put it this way: In this paragraph, I was going to insert a dirty joke, then I was going to go "yada, yada, yada" just to see if someone was paying attention. But in case anyone happened to be checking here for a Trent Dilfer line, I decided to pass. But feel free to think of your own joke.)

Oh, don't get me wrong. This is still the Super Bowl. The game day, as a national holiday, still kicks Arbor Day's butt. And you're still going to have people over for the game. Only this year, you might charge them for the wings. It isn't as if people are going to switch channels and watch a very special Baywatch instead. People are still going to bet loony amounts of money. People are still going to scalp tickets.

This year, however, the immortals can take it easy. No one is going to truck out comparisons to the Steelers, Dolphins or, thankfully, the Bills. Fans aren't going to tell you how long they've suffered for the Titans or St. Louis Rams. There seems to be a few more shrugs, a little less interest in these news conferences. Even the folks from MTV seem to show more brain cells than usual this year, although you can expect heads to roll over that one. Or, at least, rock.

Ron Jaworski, the ex-Eagles quarterback, says he thinks people will find the new faces compelling. Joe Theismann, the ex-Pretzel, says people will be drawn in by curiosity. But ask yourself this: When the Rams played the Titans earlier this season, did ABC execs shed tears that the game wasn't on Monday night?

We should care, of course, because this game should be about football, not ratings, and about this season, not history. We should care about two teams that both claim to be destiny's love child. We should care about a quarterback who worked in a grocery store and an offensive lineman who is old enough to be his own uncle.

We should care about Dick Vermeil, old Coach Crying Time Again. We should care about the long journey of the Titans, who have played in three stadiums in two cities and under two nicknames since leaving Houston. (And in each stadium, they found the burning question: "Hey, do you know the words to Rocky Top?") We should care about Al Davis and how other owners even outmove him these days.

But do we? And if not, what will it take to make us?

Well, for one thing, there is the frostbite factor. Not to say it is cold in Atlanta, but Wednesday I think I saw a Saint Bernard that was frozen to death. I mean, who knew there was an SEC Iditarod champion? The NFL always prefers to play its title game in a city in the South, but South Dakota? Bruce Matthews, the Titans' 2000-year-old guard, hasn't been this cold since he was cryogenically frozen.

For another thing, there are the owners, a fun couple if ever there was one. This is a great stage for Bud and Georgia, if only because Ted and Jane are on the outs.

Think about it: You have Bud Adams' hair, which looks as if an adolescent lemur landed on it and died. I mean, can someone get George Toma, the turf guru, on this. Aside to Bud: You cannot buy the specials at the Hank Stram Hair Club for men. Then you have Georgia's wedding dress, which, to tell you the truth, is worn slap out. She's had a touchdown's worth of husbands, including an extra point, and the NFL is expected to pass a rule that says her next old man must be named Henry. Maybe Bud and Georgia should have dinner together. If Bud wants to visit the florist first, I'd suggest Mayflower.

These two, of course, are what the Super Bowl, and the NFL, are all about: greed. Each owner abandoned a city, fans and legacies. (This just in: Deacon Jones and Earl Campbell have nothing to do with this game). Neither seems broken up about it. Official NFL response: Cha-ching.

In the end, this is what you come to. If America doesn't care about this Super Bowl, it's because of what the game has become instead of what it should be. It should be a promising football game between the last teams standing. It is about money, reputation, prestige and hype. And maybe this game won't have enough of any of that.

Still, it could be fun.

Assuming, of course, they can thaw out Bruce Matthews. Again.

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