January 24, 2001
All abuzz about Super Bowl spectacle
By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
This Sunday, nearly 50 percent of television households will tune in to the spectacle known as the Super Bowl. Hard-core football fans and $2-million-for-a- 30-second-commercial network executives will be abuzz over this electrifying event.
All of which seems odd since the red and blue guys played for the Vince Lombardi Trophy last weekend.
While the Baltimore Ravens and the New York Giants prepare for Roman numeral battle XXXV in Tampa, the Super Bowl sparks have already flown. Last weekend, the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio played host to the seventh annual Electric Football Super Bowl and Convention.
Talk about taking a stroll down memory lane via electric avenue. Before Sony Playstation or Nintendo, when it came to reenacting the big game this was the sound of home entertainment - bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
For a 1970s kid, there was no greater form of homage to Mean Joe Green or Roger Staubach than a rousing game of Electric Football. Of course, just like the real thing, Electric Football rarely lived up to its super billing. At least there wasn't a cheesy halftime show - because there was never a second half.
First manufactured in 1947 by Tudor Metal Products, the tabletop football game was neolithic, even compared to Pong. Still, there was something magical about that metallic hum; even if it did drown out your Steve Miller "Fly Like An Eagle" eight-track.
Whether you chose the red or blue guys, each electrified Super Bowl followed the same drill.
On a metal playing field, surrounded by cut-out stands and scoreboards, plastic players were arranged in various formations: first the offensive, then the defensive. Then came the juice and I don't mean the pre-trial O.J.
To start play an on-off switch was thrown, activating a motor under the metal field. The vibrations would set the players in motion, sometimes even in the right direction. More often than not the designated ball carrier would spin in circles before being "tackled" by an opponent. That is if you didn't score a touchdown on yourself first.
Only the most daring kids, like my friend Matt (who coincidentally owned the game) would attempt a forward pass. After calling "pass" and switching off the game, he would place a felt football into the spring-loaded arm of the Triple Threat Quarterback. The ball, however, was more likely to be lost in the shag carpet than land anywhere near the intended receiver.
Fielding teams of total ineptness, four quarters of would-be fun degenerated into agonizing minutes of miscues - even with a running clock. While Electric Football offered little insight into the nuances of gap eight defense, it did teach us about disappointment. Long before the two-minute warning, we realized that we were just tiny linemen banging our heads against the goal post; mortals at the whim of the electric motor of life.
Which is why every Electric Super Bowl ended the same - crank up the speed control knob and watch Lambeau Field turn into Saturday Night Fever. Even a few plastic green Army men ended up on the 50 yard line shaking their bazooka.
Like most things they get their hands on, adults have ruined the electrified Super Bowl. In a move preposterous as instant replay, nine pages of rules govern Electric Football. They even include prohibitions on altering player body parts or bodily substance - which would eliminated half the NFL. It's no wonder children's games are ruined by the words: adult supervision required.
This Sunday, I'll be among the 50 percent of armchair quarterbacks suited up for the Super Bowl. I'll yell. I'll cheer. I might even catch a bit of the game between multi-million dollar commercials. During halftime, however, you won't find me asleep in the Lazy Boy. Instead, I'll be the lone grown man in the toy department checkout lane abuzz with excitement.
Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com