They Try to Jazz Up the Show

In a place culturally committed to Fats Domino and Jelly Roll Morton, they are arguing today about John Elway and Joe Montana, neither of whom can play “Chopsticks.”

All this is transpiring on the eve of the Super Bowl, that monument to American derangement in which San Francisco engages Denver in an edifice announcing a ban on the following:

“Noisemakers, bottles, cans, coolers, signs, banners and umbrellas.”

You try to figure out who would need an umbrella for a game played under a roof and it doesn’t add up, a condition standard for the village in which the game is staged.

In a normal environment, would they take fish that is red and blacken it? You advise them that if they have a need to dye something, try Easter eggs.

And they respond by blackening your chicken, too.

Terry Bradshaw, the former Pittsburgh quarterback now employed as a TV analyst, has entered into the blackening spirit here. He has blackened the reputation of Elway, describing this entertainer as pampered and only partly gifted.

With this stroke, Bradshaw skillfully has shifted attention from the game to Bradshaw, possibly his plan.

Trashing Elway, Terry hints John couldn’t carry the hair spray of San Francisco’s Montana, awakening a sleeping giant--the Super Bowl press--which tenders profound thanks to Bradshaw for his offering.

Next, Elway’s coach, Dan Reeves, puts the knock on Bradshaw, reminding him of his luck to have played with Mean Joe Greene, Jack Lambert, L.C. Greenwood and others comprising the distinguished Steel Curtain of Pittsburgh.

When Elway puts the knock on Bradshaw, too, we are inspired to tap the massive brain of Matt Millen, Montana’s new teammate, inquiring about the greatness of Joe.

Millen studies the issue and soon he is ready with his conclusion.

“Let me watch him six more years,” he answers. “Greatness is measured over a span. I wouldn’t want to judge Joe hastily.”

An ex-wife of thrice-wed Montana is heard from, testifying to Joe’s skills at audibilization. All too often, she charges, he audibilized and took off with other women.

Will Joe give much time to reading the book she is planning?

“I’ll give it as much time as I give this question,” he answers, turning quickly to other business.

Despite Bradshaw’s hint that all Elway reads is the Boy Scout manual, we are dealing with a performer here considerably more potent than assessed.

Elway is a man 6 feet 3, big shoulders, big neck, big hands and a very big arm. To any coach trying to contain him, he presents a complicated package, more so than Montana, whose responses are comparatively predictable.

Giving thoughtful study to Sunday’s game, students of percentages caution us on the possibility of a San Francisco clinker, noting that this is a team that has won seven in a row, not all that common in pro football.

Nor are the 49ers helped when, in the neighborly state of Nevada, they are posted a 12 1/2-point favorite, slightly shocking for a championship match.

Need Denver even appear?

Favored in the Super Bowl against Cincinnati last year, San Francisco, you will recall, spent most of the day perspiring, bailing out with a drive that won it, 20-16, in the last 34 seconds.

From the sunshine corner here also comes the reminder to San Francisco of what happened to its neighbor, the Oakland A’s, in the World Series of 1988.

The A’s that year were a runaway winner in their league. Almost every critic rated them better than the Dodgers, position by position. They were 2-1, a very large price in baseball.

In the accident that developed, they were creamed in five games.

If Denver backers are groping for still another fleck of comfort, it would be that the National Conference has taken the measure of the American five times in a row in the Super Bowl.

Such a string is not conventional. A breakthrough is inevitable, insist the Denvers, who don’t want to be reminded that heavyweight champion Rocky Marciano won 49 in a row.

It is important to Denver’s functions that it gets full service from its premier running back, Bobby Humphrey, whose condition is carefully shielded by those in charge of Denver strategy.

His ribs bashed in the confrontation with Cleveland, Humphrey confides he has been receiving daily ministrations, treated alternately with ice and heat.

Medical science never has clearly established the superiority of either, reminding you of the story of the patient visiting a specialist, who prescribes ice.

“My cleaning woman says heat is better,” the patient tells him.

The doctor responds, “That’s funny. My cleaning woman says ice.”

Humphrey also has been fitted with a custom-made jacket, put together, you presume, by his Italian tailor, and you have the feeling that any silence at Denver conceals the simple truth that Humphrey will perform.

“If you do,” he is asked, “do you expect the 49ers to go for your ribs?”

He smiles thinly. “Now you wouldn’t expect sportsmen to do a thing like that, would you?” he answers.

If the sportsmen do, they will do it before some 100 million viewers in America where, according to information gleaned by the NFL, a phenomenon occurs during the televising of each Super Bowl.

Water pressure drops in the country. It used to be that pro football measured its importance by whether women would buy a hat to attend a game.

“Show me a sport that sells a woman a hat and I’ll show you the national pastime,” the late George Preston Marshall said.

Today, the impact of an event is measured by the water pressure drop, which may be good for America, but not for those who make hats.