SAN DIEGO — Good morning, men. Thanks for coming. Are the doors locked? Let’s begin. Most of you know me already. I am your Super Bowl media general. I did Pasadena, San Francisco, New Orleans — all of the biggies. My goal, as usual, is to see that you writers have the wildest, craziest, hell-raising, gin-stinking week here in sunny California, while your bosses believe you are working like dogs.

Now. In a minute I will get to the schedule. What’s that? Yes. We have the mermaid swim this year. And the costume party. Say again? No. Miss January was busy. We got Miss August. Believe me, you won’t be disappointed.

But before we get to that, I have to raise some distressing news. It concerns a letter I received a few weeks ago from one of our brothers in armchairs. Let me read it to you:

Dear Media General — I can’t believe it. My boss is sending me to the Super Bowl this year and, get this, he expects me to file a story each day! One a day! When I said this constitutes a cruel and unusual work load, he said, You guys don’t work Super Bowl week. It’s one big party.

Gentlemen, this is the type of thing we must address immediately, before it gets out of hand. I mean, what if other bosses find out? Watch for the waitresses

Let’s face it. We have all heard the criticism: “You guys are so lucky. They pay you to spend a week in the sunshine and watch a football game.” Ouch. That really hurts. How did they find out? Well, with that in mind, I’ve taken special care with this year’s schedule. Let’s look it over.

Sheila, honey, would you get us all some drinks while we do this?

OK, men. Today. Tuesday. 9 a.m. Two buses will arrive at the hotel lobby. The first bus will take a group of actors, playing the parts of reporters, out to a four-hour press conference. DO NOT GET ON THIS BUS.

Yours will be the second bus. The one with the cocktail waitresses.

We will cruise up to Laguna Beach, where tennis courts and wind surf boards will be made available. Free, as usual. Also, all the lobster you can eat. When you come back we’ll provide you with complete press releases, so you can dash off a story before dinner.

Wednesday. Once again, two buses. The first will drag those weary actors to hours of mindless conversation with big, dumb football players inside a stuffy meeting room.

The second bus goes to the crawfish festival.

You get on that bus, naturally.

Thanks, Sheila. How about some chips?

Thursday, while those actors, some of whom will have quit by now, spend five hours trucking back and forth to the players’ hotels, begging for a five-minute interview, you will be on a private plane to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, which is three hours away, but hey — are we in some kind of hurry? After the mariachi bands, the buffet, and the lovely castanet dancers, we will provide you with complete press releases so you can dash off a story before the dessert tray comes around.

Friday we rent the yacht. Just one little change

On Saturday, a huge press room will be set up in which the actors will type away at things like player matchups, historical data and predictions. It will look like it sounds: dreary and dull.

You, of course, must avoid this room at all costs. Next door, in the Jambalaya Ballroom, is where we have the calypso music, and the judging for the World Professional Cheerleading finals.

The bullfight is Saturday night.

So is Miss August.

We will provide complete press releases, so you’ll be finished before the band begins “Let Me Entertain You.”

And finally, game day. We are modifying the rules here a little, gentlemen. Instead of the traditional 25-inch Sony Trinitrons with matching VCR that we normally provide for your room, along with aspirin and Worcestershire sauce for your hangovers, this year we are actually going to
— dare I say it? — ask several of you to attend the game. WHOA! HEY! Calm down! I know it’s radical. But we figure a few recognizable faces might help our campaign. Maybe one of your bosses will be watching.

So who’s it gonna be? Any volunteers? Come on. . . . Anybody? Please? There you go. You two, in the sombreros. Thanks, guys. Next year we’ll get somebody else.

Any questions, men? Good. That about covers it. You can pick up your golf clubs and riding crops by the door, and please indicate how many guests you’ll be bringing to the barbecue, booze and shrimp fry each evening.

Oh, and by the way. You two volunteers? When you go to the game Sunday, think ahead. Don’t let the cameras catch you with any of those pina coladas in

your hands.

After all, we have an image to protect.

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