All hail the glorious Coliseum, all praise the centennial birthday of the Los Angeles landmark that has hosted a century’s worth of world-renowned athletes.
Like, strippers in an end zone hot tub.
The year was 2001, and the fledgling XFL’s Los Angeles Xtreme were attempting to entice fans by promising they could watch games from an end zone hot tub located below the famed Coliseum peristyle.
Ever the dutiful reporter, I showed up at the Xtreme’s home opener to interview any hearty souls who wanted to watch professional football in 45-degree temperatures while sitting soaking wet in their bathing suits.
Turns out, there were only three.
Cindy, Shanna and Roberta.
Over the past century, the Coliseum has been a cultural centerpiece for sprawling L.A., a place for sports, rock concerts, papal visits and even ski jumping.
Earlier that afternoon, correctly concerned that no real fan would take advantage of their bubbling promotion, an Xtreme employee phoned the Spearmint Rhino gentleman’s club with a request.
“Get us three strippers down here, and fast.”
So that’s how the end zone became populated with pole dancers, the toughest athletes in the house, three women who spent four quarters basking in bikinis in what was surely one of the Coliseum’s strangest moments.
“I think it’s a little bit hokey, to tell you the truth,” Shanna said.
Meanwhile, all around them were fans tossing bottles and throwing punches and baring breasts and generally turning the football game into a street fight while eliciting this infamous official statement from then-Coliseum general manager Pat Lynch.
“It was no more rowdy than a USC game,” he said.
All hail the quirky Coliseum, a regal palace that wonderfully has mirrored the unpredictable passions and lovable eccentricities of the city that sprawls around it.
For every regal Rafer Johnson Olympic moment, there has been a celebrity causing chaos on Pete Carroll’s USC sideline. For each of the 90,000 lights that solemnly honored Roy Campanella, the monument has housed an equal number of moments filled with jubilant triumph, aching failure and just plain craziness.
Since joining the Times 36 years ago, I have been lucky to personally witness some of those human moments. The end zone hot tub was one of them. Here’s the rest of my top 10.
In the final minutes of their season-opening win against Western Michigan in 2017, USC scored a touchdown followed by a miracle.
The long snapper on the extra-point attempt was Jake Olson, a blind athlete who had been adopted by the USC program eight years earlier. He had spent the last three years as a walk-on and, except for the times he would place his hand on a teammate’s shoulder while navigating the practice field, he was treated as any another player, working as hard as everyone else, waiting for a moment he thought might never come.
But before this game, Trojans coach Clay Helton had worked out a deal with Western Michigan coach Tim Lester. The Trojans would not rush the Broncos’ first extra-point attempt if the Broncos agreed to not rush an extra-point attempt snapped by Olson.
This was pure Helton. And then it became pure Olson.
The snap was perfect. The kick by Chase McGrath was good. The postgame quote was priceless.
“There’s a beauty in it,” Olson said. “If you can’t see how God works things out, then I think you’re the blind one.”
The end of the first Rams game in Southern California in 22 years was deafeningly perfect.
The Seattle Seahawks took a false-start penalty because they couldn’t hear the snap count, then Christine Michael lost a fumble to finish it.
The final score of that Sept. 18, 2016 game: Rams 9, Seahawks 3. The Coliseum shook with the noise from 91,000 fans who wouldn’t leave, and a former tough guy got all choked up.
“It was a rush,” Hall of Famer Jack Youngblood said, stifling the tears. “Just a rush.”
Three months after their grand return, the Rams transformed their seasonlong homecoming parade into a march from hell with a 42-14 loss to the Atlanta Falcons.
It was their eighth defeat in nine games. It was the Sunday that turned the Coliseum ugly.
There were thousands of empty seats, there were prolonged boos ... the entire scene became a national joke.
Then running back Todd Gurley said this:
“It looked like a middle-school offense out there.”
That did it. A day later, coach Jeff Fisher was fired, setting the stage for the hiring of you-know-who.
A terrible Coliseum day. A great Coliseum day.
For one of the few times in its history, the Coliseum field was overrun by USC fans.
For maybe the only time in history, those fans were pleading for the school to not fire a coach, but to keep one.
That was the power of interim coach Ed Orgeron on that November Saturday in 2013 when the Trojans beat Stanford on a last-second field goal by Andre Heidari that sent the fans flying out of their seats.
In a scene of unbridled fervor perhaps unmatched in the Coliseum’s history, Orgeron was surrounded by hundreds in a giant scrum that moved slowly down the field. At one point, the coach was visible only by his two triumphantly raised arms.
It could be could argued that Rafer Johnson lighting the torch to open the 1984 Summer Olympics is the greatest moment in 100 years of Coliseum history.
Trojans nation was sending a clear message to athletic director Pat Haden to make Orgeron the full-time replacement for the fired Lane Kiffin.
“Coach O needs to be here next year ... we want Coach O next year,” USC freshman star Su’a Cravens said. “Forget the hiring, forget all that. We got Coach O and that’s all we need.”
Everybody seemingly agreed except, well, Haden. Within a couple of weeks, Orgeron’s team had lost to UCLA and Haden hired Steve Sarkisian.
The fans haven’t rushed the field since.
On a December Sunday afternoon in 1993, I ventured among 465 tight and cluttered parking spots in a lot outside the Coliseum.
Once there I was overwhelmed with the smell of sizzling carne asada, the thump of rap music, and the affiliation of this football nation.
It was the usual Raiders tailgate party, and it was filled with gang members.
One gentleman bragged about being in a local crew. He was tossing a football with a gentleman who bragged about being in a rival crew. A third gentleman was urging the other two guys to feel the bullet lodged in his chest while waxing poetic about being in yet another crew.
I wondered, why weren’t these guys trying to kill one another?
They all smiled with a look that gave me my first glimpse of the enduring power of the silver and black.
“One gang in here,” one partier said. “The Raiders gang.”
History will record how USC’s Carson Palmer clinched the Heisman Trophy in the Coliseum on the last day of November in 2002 when he threw for 425 yards and four touchdowns in a rout of Notre Dame.
That history will include 91,000 fans standing and shaking two fingers in unison in what became the unofficial beginning of the Carroll era.
History will not, however, tell the real story of the moment that truly symbolized the return of Trojans glory.
It occurred four hours before kickoff when I arrived at the Coliseum without my parking pass, forcing me to navigate the downtown streets that were growing increasingly crowded with each game. I finally found a muddy, cluttered spot, and it was there that I knew this program was on the verge of something special.
It was the first and only time in my life I paid $100 to park in someone’s backyard.
Although there were many great Carroll Coliseum moments — among others, the escape against Aaron Rodgers and California and the Reggie Bush game against Oregon State — few were as delicious as the end of the Trojans’ 28-7 victory over UCLA in Carroll’s last season.
It was the final time fans — and the Bruins — witnessed the full wrath of Carroll’s swagger.
With USC protecting a two-touchdown lead in the final minute, UCLA coach Rick Neuheisel inexplicably called time out. Carroll clearly was not pleased and, on the next play, Trojans quarterback Matt Barkley threw a 48-yard touchdown pass to Damien Williams. Leaving the field moments later, both sides were so incensed they nearly brawled.
“It’s just the heart of a competitor, just battling,” Carroll said afterward with a straight face.
It was the last time USC fans saw him battling.
Six weeks later, Carroll was coaching the Seahawks.
The shiny pregame flags and white fan towels all contained the same phrase.
On a Monday night in November 2018, the Rams filled the Coliseum with an inspirational message in the wake of deadly local wildfires and a mass shooting in Thousand Oaks.
“L.A. Together” they preached.
“L.A. Wow,” their football team responded.
In the highest-scoring Monday night game in NFL history, the Rams and Jared Goff outlasted the Chiefs and Patrick Mahomes, 54-51, in a game that even amazed Rams coach Sean McVay.
“Until those final seconds ticked off, you weren’t able to breathe,” McVay said.
Goff threw for 413 yards and four touchdowns and ran for another. Mahomes threw for 478 yards and six touchdowns but had five turnovers.
The biggest winner, however, was the connection forged between the Rams and the community. The game essentially served as a Southland pep rally, with national anthem singers and torch lighters and timeout videos all reflecting inspiration and support for the fire and shooting victims.
“We wanted to take advantage of the platform to strengthen the community,” said Kevin Demoff, the Rams’ chief operating officer.
That night built a bond that exists even stronger today. The Rams were finally, undeniably, home.
Two months after winning the thriller against the Chiefs, the Rams scored their biggest Coliseum victory — a 30-22 win over the Dallas Cowboys in an NFC divisional playoff game that helped them reach the Super Bowl.
But the best part of that January 2019 win was what occurred afterward in the locker room.
When asked to describe the hole created by the Rams’ massive offensive line during his 35-yard, game-clinching touchdown run, Todd Gurley didn’t mince words.
“It was like the Red Sea departed,” he said.
The Red Sea … departed? That would seem to make no sense. Yet think about it, and it makes total sense.
Jumbled and fractured and perfect, just like the Coliseum itself.
Happy 100th birthday, you crazy kid.
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