Now that we’re digging out from the Super Bowl avalanche and have a little break from the Peyton Manning drama I’ve had enough time to start reading through some of my favorites. Roy Hobbson had a gem of an article from about a week ago that touched on the inferiority complex both he and the city had leading up to the Super Bowl:
From the beginning, I wanted no part of Indianapolis hosting a Super Bowl. None. Nothing good would come of it, I figured. Only venomous critiques from the national media & well-heeled corporate types more accustomed to their Super Bowls being held in the sexy warmth of Miami or San Diego or New Orleans. Being neither sexy nor warm, we’d have strikes 1 and 2 on us right out of the gate, well before any hospitality scarves were knitted, and two-strike home runs are exceedingly rare. Already fuming at the prospects of being shipped to Indiana in February, the scribes who’d ultimately judge our city would hit the airport tarmac in a remarkably foul mood, probably amid a Bering Sea-like ice storm, before cramming into a nondescript downtown LaQuinta. Then they’d all get the Norwalk virus and write awful things about us and go home, the end. Ugh. Indianapolis would be the new Jacksonville.
My philosophy, back then? It is better to remain silent and be thought a small-market dud than host the Super Bowl and remove all doubt, or something. Inferiority complexes are hard to shake. But they are not impossible, apparently. And neither are two-strike home runs.