What's Yer Name?

 What's Yer Name?

     Greg and I had the great opportunity to attend Super Bowl XIV at the Rose Bowl thanks to the largesse of my Dad. It was an incredible experience to be part of this spectacle of professional football. The stupendous event almost dwarfs the game and we made sure we were aware of every second by smoking a huge joint as we waited outside the stadium before gametime January 20, 1980. There is so much to say about the day and the things we saw it may involve several posts. First off, we rode over like three hours before  kickoff with BC in his VW station wagon with a picnic basket of fried chicken and fixins prepared by my Mom who stayed home. BC immediately drove up to the cop who was guarding the precious press parking lot and showed him his phony press pass (known as the Betsy) but the officer was unmoved and told him to beat it. This was an LAPD officer so bribing was out of the question which would have been step 2 if the man was a security guard. Instead Greg and I were astounded to see the guts of the old man as he merely motored a hundred feet up the road, turned in, jumped the curb and drove past mind boggled picnickers with blankets spread on the grass. As we gasped in disbelief the car thumped along the grass and then off the curb and into the far end of said exclusive parking lot. With all the hubub the cop never turned to see this move and within minutes we were parked in a coveted press spot and the picnic basket was being carried out to a spot on the grasss we just drove over. An hour and half later a real press photographer offered BC lots of money to trade his parking spot which was close to the exit, not too far from the cop who had waived the scofflaw away. Joint smoked and  chicken eaten we roamed the grounds where  Fellini could have produced a movie. No bullshit Steeler fans smuggled in their own beer and as we finally walked down our tunnel to great seats we saw Cowboy legend coach Tom Landry as the crowd murmured his name. Greg also liked to talk about seeing Julie Newmar, the original Catwoman from the Batman TV show who was quite an eyeful. Yet, the tape title involves a scroungy kid sitting near the tunnel exit smoking a cigarette and wafting the several whiskers he had formed on his upper lip as a sort of mustache. The kid was full of himself and there wasn't much to be proud of in his case. At this same time a very elegant and sexy as hell woman in her prime, adorned with jewelry, pricey form-fitting clothes and perfect makeup appeared from the tunnel like a movie star ready to take on the steps up to her preferred seat. She had the appurtenances of a high-priced mistress or trophy wife but that was only in my fantasy. There was a lot of money in her presentation. Meanwhile the scroungy kid spotted her and misguided thoughts seemed to form in the punk's head. Maybe they did not come from his head but he looked her up and down, then as he blew out a plume of smoke from his Marlboro he cooed "what's yer name?" Greg and I looked at eachother as our eyebrows shot upward in disbelief and delight. This little washrag had as much chance at scoring with this total babe as he had starting at QB for the Pittsburgh Steelers. For years and years, Greg and I  could make eachother laugh heartily by miming a puff on a cig and mumbling the words "what's yer name?"