A Roving Reporter Leaves His Heart in Front of VCRs

It’s not possible to read everything written about the Super Bowl, so I always skim the papers and look for the key words “roving bands of youths. . . . “

This is a tipoff that the story is about violence, destruction and havoc wreaked either by youngsters bent on partying or by the 49er defensive unit. Either way, I know it will be a lively story.

After Super Bowl XIX--pronounced Zixx, as in Xerox--there were plenty of exciting stories about both types of rovers.

By the way, why is it that only youths rove? Just once I would like to read a postgame story about “roving bands of senior citizens . . . hurling bottles and rocks into trash receptacles . . . putting quarters into newspaper racks and taking more than one paper. . . . “

But back to the youths and 49ers. I happened to catch both groups in action over the weekend in San Francisco, and I can verify that both were awesome and unstoppable.

I was at the game, sort of, and in the streets, sort of. I was--pending official recognition from the Guinness Book people--the first sportswriter ever to pay his or her own way into a Super Bowl game.

I wasn’t assigned to cover the event, but my wife, Kathy, happens to be an avid 49er fan, so we decided to buy tickets and go to the game. I’m not a fan of either team, but I thought it would be fun to experience the Super Bowl from the fan’s perspective for a change, get into the spirit and ambiance of the spectacle.

For starters, the weather was great. By that, I mean there was no rain, snow or nuclear fallout. Only heavy, chilling fog and temperatures in the high 40s. Obviously this balmy Northern California site was selected with the spectators’ comfort in mind.

Ancient Stanford Stadium itself is a spectator’s delight, if the spectators all happen to be the size of Gary Coleman. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case Sunday, at least not in our section. Not only was the stadium filled to overflowing, so was each seat.

The stadium seats nearly 85,000; or, comfortably, about 5,000. The NFL obviously wanted to create a feeling of brotherhood and oneness among the spectators, thus opting for the dense-pack seating configuration.

Also, it’s an old stadium, built when people were short, so there’s not a lot of leg room. My view was partly obstructed by two large objects that turned out to be my knees.

In consideration for any discomfort the sardine-style seating might cause the fans, the league charged only $60 a ticket.

But I won’t nit-pick. We got to see a classic game, in person, with the real fans, in the great outdoors, not in some sissy heated press box or hedonistically comfortable living room.

And the traffic wasn’t bad, either. We drove away from the stadium in a matter of minutes, a tribute to the efficient traffic control, my knowledge of the local roads and the fact that we left at halftime.

We got back to our hotel in time to watch the gangs of youths begin to rove. Half a block away, they were setting bonfires in the street, using newspaper racks for kindling. They were also jumping on passing cars and rocking them playfully, so I quickly moved our auto from where I had parked it on the main street. I made a mental note to rent a heavier car next time, preferably one with barbed-wire side trim.

The next morning I read about the city-wide celebrating. A couple of the more colorful anecdotes:

--There was a “brief, bloody brawl after someone swinging a heavy flashlight attempted to snatch a 49er banner away from members of the punk rock band ‘Shy Hands.’ ”

--”In the Financial District, roving bands of youths smashed store windows and committed several robberies. . . . “

--Photo caption: “ . . . a car was overturned, above left, and while jubilant fans clown for the camera, car owner Ann Faugeron, left, looks on.” Ann’s arms are folded disapprovingly. A classic photo of rovers and rovee.

The momentum carried over to the next day at the team parade downtown, where four people were stabbed, four cars crushed and one TV cameraman mugged and robbed of his camera. The rioting was touched off when fans waiting at city hall were informed there would be no rally for the team after the parade. It was canceled because the last time there was a 49er rally at city hall, in 1982, it ended in rioting.

We missed the parade, a seven-minute extravaganza featuring two flatbed trucks carrying all the players, except for Joe Montana and the other Pro Bowl-bound 49ers.

We, too, had a plane to catch. We got to the San Francisco airport, where we were ignored by roving bands of baggage-check skycaps who were on the lookout for roving bands of big-tipping, fur-clad Super Bowl high rollers.

We finally arrived home Monday night and watched the Super Bowl on tape, on a video cassette recorder, fast-forwarding through the commercials and through the roving bands of ABC-TV expert analysts.

What a weekend. What a game, live and recorded.