Super Bowl Monday_ From the Persian Gulf to the Shores of West Florida - Adam Lazarus [74]
As the tens of thousands began to settle into their seats, at precisely 6 p.m., the Bills players and coaching staff vacated their locker room—presumably, Jim Kelly had already thrown up— then stopped at the base of the opening adjacent to the field.
Introduced by Al Michaels, a cluster of Bills sprinted onto the field to an equal chorus of boos and cheers. They were followed by the team’s starting defensive lineup and head coach Marv Levy. One by one, they jogged through a channel formed by the Bills’ cheerleaders (the Buffalo “Jills”). Next, the Giants’ eleven offensive starters and head coach Bill Parcells were announced.
“Running out of that tunnel [sic], fellas, I can’t explain it,” said Parcells, “but it’s euphoria.”
Kickoff was now only minutes away. But for Parcells and his Giants, Levy and his Bills, the 73,618 people in their seats, and the millions more watching at home, the euphoria of Super Bowl Sunday was momentarily preempted.
“And now to honor America,” Frank Gifford called into the public address system, “especially the brave men and women serving our nation in the Persian Gulf and throughout the world, please join in the singing of our national anthem.”
Along both sides of the field’s twenty-five-yard lines, American soldiers and sailors stood, either holding giant flags of foreign allies or, at attention, saluting their Stars and Stripes. At midfield, a group of children and teenagers waited to unfold umbrellas that, once opened, would form an enormous American flag. And in front of the umbrella-toting flag bearers, the Florida Orchestra, under the direction of Maestro Jahja Ling, held basses, cellos, violins, and other instruments.
There were hundreds of people down on the football field, including more than two hundred players, coaches, trainers, and executives, aligned across their respective sidelines. But the eyes of everyone were locked on the woman at midfield.
“It was the most electric moment that I’ve ever seen in sports,” Frank Gifford later said. “We come together like no other country in the history of civilization. We’ve proven that over and over.”
Dressed in a white sweatsuit with a touch of red and blue fabric, Grammy Award–winning singer Whitney Houston stood atop a small wooden platform. And over the next one minute and fifty-five seconds, Houston delivered the most graceful, inspiring, goose bump–inducing rendition of the “Star-Spangled Banner” of all time.
“I keep pride inside when I think about the day that I saw Whitney Houston singing the national anthem when our son was so far away,” remembered Martha Weaver, the mother of a navy man at sea. “Pride that he was part of what she was singing about: freedom for our nation, and not only for our nation, but for our nation helping other people who are in need.”
Just as Houston belted out the final note of the performance, four F-16 jets—out of the Fifty-sixth Tactical Training Wing at MacDill Air Force Base—soared above the crowd.
“We were in white with blue numbers and red helmets. The Giants had blue jerseys and with white pants and red piping on their helmet so everything was red, white, and blue,” Steve Tasker recalled. “She hit the last note of that anthem, then I turn around and the official I’m standing next to is in tears. Marv is wiping tears, and Jim [Kelly]. I look around and everybody in the stadium has got a flag in one hand, is wiping tears out of their eyes with the other.”
All week long, stark contrasts between the Bills and Giants consumed the media’s attention. Buffalo’s offense was quick, explosive, and fast; New York’s was traditional, methodical, and patient. Kelly, Thomas, Bruce Smith were all new Super Bowl faces; the Giants had been here before.
Off the field, the franchises projected very different personas: seven-point favorites, the Bills emitted a brash, even cocky, attitude; the Giants relished the