Rocky’s Is Fans’ Satellite Plant : Patrons Come From Near to Root for Far and Away

Although trivial, sport may offer an alternative form of social commitment. It may be a statement of our emotional and civic shallowness that sports teams express a sense of us-ness.

--Gordon Clanton, a San Diego State University sociologist, discussing homesickness

Theresa Bates got there half an hour before the doors opened, wearing a Dallas Cowboys jersey. Her husband, Bob, was standing beside her.

“Boy, I hope they show it,” he said anxiously. “I really hope they show it.”

They is Rocky’s Balboa, a bar in Pacific Beach that opened in February. It was last Sunday’s Dallas Cowboys-Philadelphia Eagles game, which couldn’t be seen on a local television station anywhere in California.

Rocky’s is subtitled “The Ultimate Sports Bar,” meaning it has on its roof three satellite dishes with the ability to bring in as many as four sports events at once. It is also chock full of boxing gloves, bats, helmets and other sporting memorabilia.

Satellite dishes and big screens at bars and restaurants are hardly uncommon. Having so many is. Rocky’s claims to be the only such bar in the county, but sports bars with “multiple satellite feeds” (a phrase from Rocky’s owner Cos Cappellino) are cropping up throughout the country.

It’s not just because people like sports, he said, but because of what the sociologist pointed out--sports teams, namely the collective television viewing of them, somehow express that sense of us-ness .

“It’s amazing how people remain loyal to certain teams and certain cities,” said Cappellino, who has lived in Rochester, N.Y.; Cleveland; Los Angeles, and Houston, and loves the Los Angeles Raiders, maybe the most hated team in San Diego. “It’s great to see people cheering all these different teams. It’s like a convention of delegates from other cities, but they’re all from right here.”

Rocky’s clientele is made up almost entirely of San Diegans, but the hometowns of the Sunday conglomeration were as varied as Chevy Chase, Md.; Chester, N.Y.; Bismarck, N.D., and San Antonio, Tex. One fellow even hailed from Kingston, Jamaica. Rocky’s is further proof that San Diego is largely a city made up of immigrants from other ports, American or foreign. Such migration--such high mobility--is giving rise, Cappellino said, to a booming trend in sports bars.

Rocky’s is modeled, he said, after such video-equipped watering holes as Champions in Washington, the Sports Deli in Los Angeles, C.J. Brett’s in Hermosa Beach, Legends in Long Beach, Ricky’s Lounge in San Leandro, Calif., and several in Chicago, which he called the Mecca of such places.

Locally, Rocky’s has emerged as the target of a cult following, especially on Sundays, when National Football League games are usually played. Thirteen are played every Sunday, every Monday night and the occasional Thursday night for 16 weeks a year, not counting pre- and postseason. Rocky’s can’t show them all and never will, Cappellino said, so some people walk out miffed.

But it does have the power to bring in four games not shown on local TV and two that are. Rocky’s often has as many as five games going at once. Last Sunday, at various times, these matches made the menu: Chicago-Minnesota, Detroit-Los Angeles Rams, New York Giants-Seattle, St. Louis-Washington, San Diego-Kansas City, San Francisco-Atlanta and Dallas-Philadelphia.

The last one left Bob and Theresa Bates positively ecstatic.

The same held true for Javier Delatorre, a friendly 32-year-old mailman from Chula Vista--uh, make that San Antonio. Delatorre cares little about the San Diego Chargers, he said, unless they’re playing (and beating) the Washington Redskins or New York Giants. He, too, is an “I bleed metallic blue” Dallas fan.

So is Jakie Bradley, 28, a truck driver from East San Diego by way of San Angelo, Tex. Bradley said Rocky’s has the power to produce magic.

“Used to be when the Cowboys wasn’t on local television,” he said, “I just worried to death. But I haven’t missed a Cowboys game this year.”

Bradley said he also likes the social dimension of Rocky’s. He likes the cheering, even the heckling of one group against another. He spent part of the fourth quarter of Dallas’ game lining up companions to see the Cowboys in person Dec. 7 in Anaheim against the Rams.

Rocky’s caters to more than just pro fans. A few weeks ago, the bar drew about 285 people--almost all from Michigan--to watch the Michigan-Michigan State game, which wasn’t shown on local stations.

Dorinda Crespin, 32, Rocky’s general manager, said calls from Michiganians were coming in “five days in advance, at least a dozen each day, making sure we’d have it.” She estimated they turned away as many as 175 disgruntled Michiganians for whom there was simply no room.

Rocky’s suffered a similar fate last spring, when the Houston Rockets were playing the Los Angeles Lakers in a playoff game. Those turned away were wiping moisture off the windows outside merely to catch a peek at the big screen.

Those turned away from Rocky’s satellite showing of the Marvin Hagler-John Mugabi middleweight boxing bout in March shouted until the drapes were yanked back so they could peek in.

Cappellino, 48, is a suave, well-dressed man, the unlikely host of such a garrulous throng. He had no experience owning a bar or restaurant. He got into Rocky’s with a partner. They had a falling out, and Cappellino ended up with sole ownership of the bar and restaurant, a prospect he labeled frightening but exciting.

“Sometimes,” he said with a slightly dazed expression, “it gets wild around here.”

His background was entirely in broadcasting and advertising. He is, however, a serious sports fan who whispers his love for the Raiders, with a mock request that no one be told. Last Sunday, he was gracious enough to stop the Raiders-Miami Dolphins game and replace it with Redskins-vs.-Cardinals. Why? More Redskins boosters showed up.

He can seat 225 people and admit about that many on a standing-room basis. Any more and he starts getting nervous about fire codes.

The decibel level is also jarring--like that of an Amway convention or boxing match. Of the fans he admits, the most requests come (the staff does keep track) for the Denver Broncos; the Cowboys (“Half love ‘em, half hate ‘em, but they all want to see ‘em”); New York teams in any sport; the Boston Red Sox; the Boston Celtics; Notre Dame; Nebraska; Oklahoma, and the Chargers early in the year but not lately. L.A. teams are, curiously, not among the most popular.

“For some reason,” he said, “we never get requests for Pittsburgh, New Orleans, Tampa Bay, Houston or Indianapolis. Buffalo is also very soft.”

But not the Rocky’s crowd. Most come to cheer, cajole and corral their symbols of hometown hubris to victory every Sunday--or Saturday, as the case may be. Most seem to think they’re at the game, rather than catching signals from a satellite orbiting 22,300 miles above the equator.

Rocky’s is aptly named--and not just for the character in Sylvester Stallone’s boxing movies. The fashion scene often resembles a gridiron amalgam of the “Rocky Horror Picture Show,” the cultish midnight movie that has flickered around the country for years, with crazed crowds aping, in manner and attire, the characters of a most bizarre cast.

Theresa Bates was wearing No. 40--the same worn by Bill Bates, the Cowboys’ strong safety. They are not related, except in spirit.

A coterie of Redskins groupies showed up in the burgundy and gold of the men from Washington. They were hunched in a corner, watching with nervous faces.

“Some people do drugs,” one female fan cooed to a male companion, “but we have the Redskins.”

In the same room, watching the Eagles-Cowboys game on an adjoining monitor, was an equally loud, prone-to-heckle mob of Dallas fans.

The Dallas-Washington series is historically nasty, and Rocky’s offered evidence that the rivalry is strong even when distilled by satellite.

When Max Zendejas, the Redskins’ new kicker (and a Cowboys’ reject), missed a field goal, the Dallas fans shouted in unison: “Mose-ley, Mose-ley, Mose-ley!”

The reference was to Mark Moseley, the Redskins’ veteran kicker who was cut from the team after missing a series of field goals in a loss to Dallas two weeks ago. When Herschel Walker, the Cowboys’ celebrated running back, missed a pass that might have gone for a touchdown, the Redskins’ faithful shouted: “Her-schel, Her-schel, Her-schel!”

And then everybody laughed.

“That’s what I like about it,” said Virginia Shefa, 34, who teaches nursing at Pacific Coast College. Shefa grew up in Dallas and worships the Cowboys. A syrupy twang unmasked her allegiance.

“Come on, dee-fense! Git him!” she yelled. Then she said: “I like the game and the atmosphere. It’s so good-natured here. It’s a healthy competition, never brutal. I always feel safe here.”

Cappellino said that, despite fans “who get really tanked up,” Rocky’s has yet to suffer “an incident.” Sportsmanship, he said, is the prevailing atmosphere, one he insists he demands.

By 9:45 a.m. last Sunday, the line forming outside slithered around the edge of the gray rectangular building with red trim, which has on its second floor an Italian restaurant nestled within an Everlast boxing ring. Four TV monitors hang overhead, seeming to pose as Big Brother threats to any notions of romance over wine. You can almost imagine the conversation.

“Margaret.”

“Yes, John.”

“Will you . . . “

“Yes? . . . “

“Will you go to the Chargers-Broncos game with me on Nov. 9? Did you see that touchdown pass John Elway just threw? What a great year that guy is having!”

Rocky’s is dominated by men, most in their late 20s and early 30s. Last Sunday, a casual look around the lower floor, which has one very large screen with stereo sound and seven 19-inch monitors suspended from various corners, indicated that men outnumbered women about five to one. Women are, however, an involved and committed part of the scene.

Monica Vogel, 29, is from Tierrasanta, by way of Peoria, Ill. A data processor, she comes to Rocky’s “for fellowship,” or to watch the Chargers or Chicago Bears. Last Sunday’s biggest game, crowd- and noise-wise, was the one on the big screen--the Minnesota Vikings’ upset of the Super Bowl champion Bears.

Joann Berger, 29, from Mission Valley and Long Island, and Joan Wandersee, 29, from Mission Valley and St. Louis, feel comfortable going to the bar with Vogel, since Rocky’s “is always safe--and a lot of fun.”

Women seem just as nervous as men waiting in line, wondering whether Cappellino will somehow pull in the game they long to see--or if he can, whether he will. It is strictly his decision, and he confesses that he can’t please everyone.

Rocky’s is often a melee at 10 a.m. and 1 p.m., kickoff times for the NFL games. Those are also the times the games pop up on satellite--no earlier.

Which satellite will be used is never announced to the public. That knowledge is a secret shared by the networks and local affiliates. Bar owners such as Cappellino “fish around,” going through no fewer than 100 channels to find the games that the “foaming-at-the-mouth mob” hungers to see. Immediately .

The scene outside before the doors open at 10 is one of edgy anticipation. Four Cleveland fans turned hysterical last week when Cappellino either couldn’t find or refused to show the Browns-Green Bay Packers game, not quite a marquee attraction.

“Come on, guys!” the Browns fan shouted to his buddies. “Let’s get out of here! The (bleep) just won’t show it.”

“They walked out mad,” Cappellino said. “I couldn’t get the game, so they left in a huff. What can I say?” He sighed. “Oh, well, Cleveland people always make the most noise and buy the least beer.” (Cappellino, who lived in Cleveland for eight years, was once married to the daughter of the Browns’ player personnel director.)

Rocky’s fans sometimes form alliances that don’t seem to make sense. Bob Bates, from New York, said “I live and die” with the Cowboys, but he also lives and dies with the New York Giants, one of Dallas’ big rivals.

Inga Briedis, 22, from Spring Valley by way of Minnesota, was there with her mother, Florence Briedis. They like the Cowboys because they “once came to Minnesota and beat the Vikings really badly.” Inga’s brother Robert was watching the Chicago game, cheering for the Bears-- against Minnesota.

Are sports teams suddenly a symbol of how much you can hate a place?

Off in a corner was one man who seemed alone, and different, for intriguing reasons. Phil Akin is 58. He was older by far than most of those in the crowd, and when the Chargers-Kansas City game bounced up on the big screen at 1 p.m., he was one of the few who didn’t rush for the exits as though the opposing team had just kicked the winning field goal.

Akin has lived in Pacific Beach for 14 years and deplores what he, too, labels a trend.

“I don’t believe you should live in a town and not root for the home team,” he grumped. “People who root for all these other teams--Chicago, New York, Dallas--and then leave when we come on. . . . Why don’t they just go home? And I don’t mean Tierrasanta. I mean outta here!”