Having been born in Nebraska, I try to embody two of the state's greatest images: an honest, hardworking, upstanding person and someone who's a home-team loyalist when it comes to football. When the call was sounded for 10,000 volunteers for Super Bowl LIII, it was a no-brainer that I'd be in that number.
Early on this season I was just as wide-eyed and delusional as the most die-hard Falcons fan that Atlanta would make history by playing in the same Super Bowl its city was hosting. By the third loss my hopes had diminished considerably, but I was probably more optimistic than most of the starting lineup. By Christmas, I'd begun rooting for Kansas City, because it was geographically closest to my home state and I'd still be wearing red.
Regardless of who goes to the big show, it’s guaranteed to be a blast. Even the first-round of volunteer eliminations was pretty fun. Several people had been pre-selected and they helped with the screenings. They’d worked with sports teams and other endeavors in the past and through some sort of volunteer pipeline, they’d been approached about spreading some of their natural goodness early in the operation.
First of all, there’s no such thing as a “typical” volunteer. I saw more women than men, but we are truly a rainbow and a great mixture of young, to not-quite so young. One of the oldest volunteers said he remembers Super Bowl I.
After checking in on a hot summer Saturday at the Georgia World Congress Center to a bank of smiling faces who didn’t even grimace when I had to search every pocket of my purse for my driver’s license, we were asked to write our favorite adjective to describe Atlanta on a dry-erase board. I wanted to add “crunk” and “turnt up” but exercised restraint by writing “busy.” (My teenage son was with me so I wanted to avoid eye-rolling.)
Then it was picture time. Sporting my Falcons attire, I tried to look serious, fun-loving and knowlegable at the same time. The first one looked a little constipated, so I was allowed a second try.
The crowd of a few hundred waited for the previous session to end and we watched a video, cheered and danced before being interviewed by volunteer captains who’d been picked at least a few weeks prior.
Even with 32,000 applicants, the process went pretty smoothly. The good-natured jeers at those who showed up in rival gear only made the experience that much more jovial.
My husband’s not from Nebraska so he had no problem wearing his Pittsburg Steelers jersey. He can pretty much recount every second of “The Immaculate Reception,” one of the greatest NFL plays in history. It was Dec. 23, 1972 at Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh. The Steelers were about to lose the AFC Divisional playoff game against the Oakland Raiders. At a fourth-and-10, Quarterback Terry Bradshaw threw a pass, which was deflected by an Oakland defender. Running back Franco Harris caught the deflection and ran it in for a touchdown, giving the Steelers a 13-7 victory.
I was nervous that I’d have to know Super Bowl trivia like the winners of the last ten championships or how many expansion teams had won their divisions. Or worse, name all the streets in Atlanta with Peachtree in the name. But the volunteer committee was looking for people who were good-natured and helpful. They’ll supply information such as the concert schedule for pre-game festivities and the location of the closest bathroom.
I was elated when a month later I was invited to join the volunteer team. Training was the first week of January back at the Georgia World Congress Center and included some serious stuff about being sure to communicate if we notice security threats, signs of sex-trafficking or porta-potties with no toilet paper. (I have a feeling bathroom issues are going to take up a lot of my volunteer duties.)
But so far, the scariest aspect is standing on my feet for four hour stretches in frigid temps. The volunteer headquarters will be moved to America’s Mart so a paid event can take place at GWCC. Everyone’s crossing fingers that we’ll have 70-degree, sunny weather and not the curse of 2000 when Atlanta hosted the Super Bowl more noted for ice and snarled traffic than the final score.
And perhaps the only snafu so far with the volunteer corps is the "European cut" of the uniform jackets. In a scene reminiscent of a girdle clearance sale at Macy's, the 200-plus attendees of my training session tried to squeeze into slim-fitting coats with some frustration. We were told we could swap out for another size, but everything larger than XL was gone. The organizers promised that even the heftiest volunteer would get the right size by time for their shift. That made just showing up more of an incentive.
Although Atlanta set the record for the most people signing up to volunteer, so far San Francisco holds the record for no-shows at about 50 percent during Super Bowl L. So I’m urging my fellow volunteers to tap their inner Midwestern sensibilities. If we can’t take home the Lombardi trophy, at least we can get the Miss Congeniality prize.
