GREAT BARRINGTON, Mass. This town in western Massachusetts is home to Belcher's Cave, once a hideout for criminals but now primarily a weekend destination for amateur spelunkers. "We have to fish a lot of college kids out who go down with a six-pack of beer and can't find their way back up," says caretaker Ewell Burns. "It's a pain in the butt on Sunday morning."
Secret entrance to Belcher's Cave
For the past two weeks, however, the cave has been crowded with another hungover group; New England Patriots' fans hunkered down fearing an end to the world after their team's 17-14 loss to the New York Giants in Super Bowl XLII. "It's the hardcore front-runners," says State Parks Ranger Art Sowell. "The ones who aren't old enough to remember '85 and '97," the years in which the Patriots lost their first two Super Bowls to the Chicago Bears and the Green Bay Packers.
US soldier cautiously approaches cave entrance.
The practice of holing up in a cave following a crushing defeat originated with the Japanese following the end of World War II, according to Norman Doyle, a professor of history at Smith College. "After a blow-out win at Pearl Harbor, the Japanese were odds-on favorites to win the Pacific Divison," he notes. "When they lost the Battle of Midway a lot of fans left early to beat the traffic because they could see the end coming."
Mosi Tatupu
The Sons of Mosi Tatupu, a paramilitary cult named after a retired Patriots running back, entered the cave shortly after Plaxico Burress burned Patriots' corner back Ellis Hobbs in single coverage for the go-ahead score. Members vowed to commit seppuku--ritual suicide--if the Patriots did not come back to win the game, but were distracted from their deadly vow by the Hooters Best Damn Dream Girls competition, which was piped into the cave by concerned public health authorities.
"Grassy knoll", Dallas, Texas
New England fans have searched for a "grassy knoll" to support their conspiracy theory that officiating errors gave the Giants extra time to put together their miracle drive, but because the game was played in the Arizona desert they have so far come up empty.
"It's bumper-to-bumper in front of the cheese dog stand."
"We thought we saw one of those black helicopters the UN is gonna send when they take over America," said Len Sklarski of Chicopee, Mass. "Turns out it was the KYDJ Skywatch Traffic Reporter."
FOXBOROUGH, Mass. Mary Pat Sheehan has lived in this community of 14,000 south of Boston her whole life, so she's used to the media circus that comes to town whenever the New England Patriots advance to the Super Bowl. "I can deal with the reporters taking up parking spaces downtown and cutting in line at the Dunkin' Donuts," she says. "I just wish they'd learn to clean up after themselves."
Downtown Foxborough, Massachusetts
Sheehan is referring to the practice by members of the national media to shorten the town's name to "Foxboro" in stories they file for print and electronic outlets, leaving the streets littered with cast-aside U's, G's and H's. "It's a matter of common courtesy, but the media big shots think they're too important to bother," she says.
Gillette Stadium
The cost of the clean-up is significant, straining the town's budget and forcing cutbacks in services such as the local anti-smoking officer, Earl "Bud" Dailey. "My job is to stand around downtown and yell at kids to stop smoking," Dailey says. "Due to budget cuts, I can only yell at half the kids, the others I just kinda scowl at."
"Hey--half of you kids stop smoking!"
National reporters say they are being discriminated against since local newspapers such as the Boston Globe and the Boston Herald also shorten the town's name, but Walter Endicott, assistant managing editor of the Globe, says the situation is more "nuanced" than that. "We encourage our readers to recycle the extra letters on our puzzle page," he says. "With a U, a G and an H, if you need a three letter word for 'wildebeest' you're two-thirds of the way there."
Wildebeest: "What's gnu?"
It's not just the extra letters, say concerned residents such as Marla Townsend, it's also the over-the-top figures of speech that are thrown around during the two-week interval between the conference championships and the Super Bowl. "I came out to get the paper one morning and there was a worn-out methaphor--'Brady is the Patriot's arm'--on my lawn. It was disgusting."
Townsend, Sheehan and others like them aren't just complaining, however, they're taking action. As the media buses roll out of the parking lot at Gillette Stadium today on their way to Logan Airport and flights to the Super Bowl in Glendale, Arizona, the women will be standing in silent protest along Route 1, holding signs to express their unhappiness. Their slogan: "U-G-H spells 'UGH'."
MIAMI, Florida. As hordes of hired fans whooped out the last reprise of "Purple Rain", tears ran down the cheeks of Charles Bascomb, an Atlanta transvestite who had maxed out his credit cards to buy a ticket to Super Bowl XLI.
"This is such a defining moment for people like me," Bascomb said as he stifled a sob in the pounding Florida rain that wreaked havoc with his Betty Crocker-style hairdo. "And I'm not even a football fan."
"Let's go crazy--and dress up like Poppin' Fresh!"
Sportswriters with ambitions of moving into hard news had spent the better part of the week writing about the historic meeting of two teams led by African-American head coaches for the first time in a Super Bowl, but they were caught off guard by the half-time show, which featured R&B performer Prince sporting an Aunt Jemima-style doo-rag.
Inspiration for the artist formerly known as the artist formerly known as Prince.
"This is history, man," said James Mahoney, a native of Indianapolis who was dressed in a blue-and-white sailor suit as Sailor Jack, the boy who has appeared on boxes of Cracker Jack, the popular popcorn, peanut and molasses confection, for over a century. "Now those of us who like to dress up as logos of consumer food products can come out of the closet, or the lazy susan where you keep the snacks and chips, or wherever."
Cracker Jack: Surprised Chicago by throwing under deep zone coverages.
Prince, who has changed his name twice in his career and projects an ambiguous sexuality, hinted that he might consider a transformation into another food products icon when his new album is released this fall.
"Plain or peanut--it don't make no difference," he shouted to fans as he or she made his or her way up the runway at Dolphin Stadium. "I'm gonna melt in your mouth, not in your hands."
Con Chapman is a Boston-area writer. He is the author of "The Year of the Gerbil: How the Yankees Won (and the Red Sox Lost) the Greatest Pennant Race Ever," a history of the 1978 AL East pennant race, and a number of plays, including "Number One Hockey Mom," "Please, Pope," and "What Mickey Belle Isle Told You," a trilogy about hockey (JAC Publishing). His work is available on Amazon Shorts (at 49 cents a dowload), and he writes on sports for Flak Magazine.
