SUPERIOR SUPERBOWL

The date was February 4, 2018.  It was a brutally cold day in Minneapolis, where I had just delivered a car and was waiting to pick one up from a wealthy man who was attending the Superbowl.  My assignment would be to drive his Porsche to the Four Seasons hotel in Beverly Hills.  Ah, sunny California, that would be a nice chance to thaw out from this frosty winter wonderland.

I had nothing better to do, so decided I would go near to the US Bank stadium and mingle with the crowds on their way in.  Maybe find a nearby bar where I could watch the game on a big screen TV.  My basic problem was that I didn't have anyone to cheer for.  I'm not really a fan of either team playing, so how do you pick someone and cheer for them?  And would those cheers be sincere and heartfelt?  Not likely.

My cell phone rang.  "This is Bill," I answered.

"Bill, is that you?"

"Yes, this is Bill Thomas."

"Bill, this is Terry, I'm the guy whose Porsche you will be driving."

"I'm near the stadium and I'm ready to roll."

"Hold your horses, hot rod!  You'll get the car as soon as the game is over."  We made a plan about when and where to meet, then I hung up and took a seat at the bar I had entered.  It was really just too cold to be outside.

"Hey, psst.  Hey you!"  I turned to see an enormously fat man standing face to face with me.  "I got Superbowl tickets."

I smiled.  "Lucky you."

"Maybe," he said.  "But maybe lucky YOU."

"I don't follow."

"Well would you follow these tickets to your seats in the Superbowl?"  He waved two very classy looking tickets in front of me.  "In other words, these tickets are for sale."

"No thanks."

"I don't believe you heard me.  This is the freakin' Superbowl.  I have end zone seats in the nosebleed section.  Two tickets for $6000, and you'd better believe that's a bargain."

I shook my head.  "That's a generous offer, but no."

"No?"

"No."

"Are you telling me no?  Is that what you're saying?"

"Correct.  I don't have nearly that much money."

"Oh."  He looked down at his feet, seemingly forlorn.  "Where's my manners, I'm Louie.  Happy Superbowl Sunday."

"Same to you, Louie."

"So how about these tickets?"

"I don't have the money, and I don't have a team to root for."

He scratched his chin.  "Well, just how much do you have?"

For some dumb reason, I pulled out my wallet to show him the limit of my funds.  "I only have $200."

"Sold!" shouted Louie.

"No that's all I've got."

"And a damn fine bargain for Superbowl tickets."

I smiled politely.  "I gotta stick with no thank you."

"Do me a favor pal, hold the tickets in your hand.  Feel them."

"I don't need to--"  I was interrupted as Louie shoved them into my open hand.  My thumb inadvertently rubbed the print on the ticket a little too hard, and it smeared.  I looked down at it, then up at Louie.  "I think the ink is still wet."

"What?  What did you say?"  He grabbed the tickets away from me and seemed more than miffed.  "You had your chance, and it was the chance of a lifetime.  You lose, loser."  Louie hurried away.

I ordered an orange juice and cranberry juice mixture.  Virgin.  No Alcohol.  I still had to drive.  Then an older woman with a very wrinkled face and a fantastic tan stepped up from behind and blew towards my ear.  I could easily smell her breath, and it was strong with booze.  "Hey honey, want to step into the bathroom with me and do some blow?"

"Blow?"

"Tootsky.  Snow.  Cocaine."

"Uh, no thank you."

"It's premium grade. And if you come with me I may let you have your way with me."  I moved quickly to the far side of the bar to get away from her, and then I watched the game.  All I could think was how friendly the people of Minneapolis are to visitors when the Superbowl comes to town.