FORWARD
I’ll admit it. I’m something of a sports junkie, but perhaps more, a spectacle junkie. In 2008, I wrote a book called “Making the Big Game: Tales of an Accidental Spectator”. In it, I chronicled my unexpected last-minute dash for tickets to what arguably was the greatest upset in Super Bowl history. Getting to see in person a David and Goliath game in which the hugely discounted New York Giants squeaked by the formerly undefeated New England Patriots was the culmination of a ten-day adrenaline rush. At the outset, the journey began with a wholly unplanned opportunity to obtain a transfer of NFL Lottery purchase rights from a Giants fan who could not attend the game. In short, a crazy sequence of events followed involving last minute travel plans, a co-conspiring cousin who played a critical role in securing the seats, shady online ticket scammers, and other harrowing and laughable exploits.
While the Super Bowl ticket quest was singularly unique in its timing and circumstance, I’ve been no stranger to witnessing my share of marquee events primarily as just another face in the crowd. Ever since an early 70s childhood move to Philadelphia led to me seeing then President Gerald Ford address the nation from Independence Hall on July 4, 1976 for the nation’s Bicentennial, I was hooked on the notion of being present for the quintessential “big event”.
Many people recall their first music concert whether it took place in a small or major venue. In June of 1977, at age 14, I went “big” for my first concert, a show attended by over 100,000 screaming fans at John F. Kennedy stadium in South Philly. The show featured a festival lineup of Peter Frampton, Lynyrd Skynyrd (“play ‘FREEBIRD’”!), the J. Geils Band, and Dickie Betts with Great Southern. At the time, the album “Frampton Comes Alive” was the bestselling album of all time. The ticket was fifteen dollars. Four years later, I would land a gig as a Syracuse University campus security intern that allowed me a front row center posting for the Rolling Stones “Tattoo You” tour stop at the Carrier Dome. Perhaps the most impressive part of the show was watching Mick Jagger’s athleticism as he danced, pranced, and ran across the huge stage relentlessly for two and a half hours. Watching him both up close and on the big screens above cemented my conviction that live music performance and sport can indeed overlap.
As my ticket stub collection from live events grew, so too did a near lifelong passion for sports evolve. I naturally gravitated to attending a smattering of regular season baseball, football, basketball, and hockey games in Philadelphia and later in my adopted adult home region of Northern California. In 2000 and 2008, I scored gallery tickets to the United States Open professional golf championships at Pebble Beach and Torrey Pines, respectively. It still is a thrill to say I scrambled to an ocean vista viewing spot on eighteen at Pebble when Tiger Woods putted out for a spectacular fifteen shot victory over the field in 2000. The win was the most dominant in professional major golf history. However, the fact is I squinted while on strained tippy toes to witness that moment. Sporting events that unfold over far-flung playing grounds like golf courses, marathon routes, or cycling’s curvy roads, for example, are best seen on TV with its strategically positioned army of cameras targeted at just the right moment as the key action transpires. These days, the well-heeled and well-connected fans watching from pricey stadium luxury suites are just as likely to have their eyes glued to high-def TVs, video screens, and smart phones to watch action on the field, course, rink, or court even when it’s all playing out live in front of them.
Sports television production is a high art. The angles, the precise replays, the running stats, the play-by-play narrative and storytelling commentary only rise to new levels with technological advances. As broadcast and live stream TV bring the games ever closer to viewers, many would be live spectators are increasingly distanced from the onsite experience by skyrocketing ticket prices not to mention the costs of parking, food and beverage, and gameday souvenirs. It’s not at all unusual for say, a family of four, to shell out sums well north of a thousand, or even several thousand, dollars, for an in-person experience at any contest of heightened consequence like a post season game, or for those who dream, a Super Bowl, an NBA title game, or a World Cup Final. To attend these events, much is owed to preparation, swift decision making, and pure chance. Equally important is a determination to find value in the unexpected twists and turns of sporting roads less traveled.
The magic of the Olympic Games is in the diversity of events plus athletes who train constantly for years and mostly languish in obscurity. Most strive just to qualify for competition, let alone be among the fraction who take home a medal. Just over 10,000 athletes participated as athletes in the 2028 Los Angeles Summer Olympics. That’s roughly one in 830,000 of the planet’s souls. The odds are comparable for spectators when considering getting into a premier event like perhaps a gymnastics all-around final. However, for those willing to take in a qualifying match for a little-known sport like badminton, lacrosse, or squash to name a few, the bar can be lower and the reward significant.
When I navigated the ticketing labyrinth of the 2002 Salt Lake Winter Olympics, a relative walk in the park compared to LA 28, I came up in the random draw for seats to attend the bronze medal game between Sweden and Finland. The Swedes eked out a 2-1 win but it was the immediate aftermath that provided my most treasured memory of those Games. As the elated Swedish players received their bronze medals, they also were each given a small flower bouquet with a yellow Salt Lake 2002 ribbon bearing the Olympic rings. After the presentation, the entire team skated over towards our seating section and hurled their bouquets into the crowd. As fate would have it, I reached up and grabbed one of the bundles. My wife then appropriately suggested I give the flowers to a small girl seated with her father immediately behind us. I presented the young fan with the bouquet, but kept the ribbon as a rare souvenir which graces my home office to this day.
In the following pages, I’ll explore much of the actual Olympic ticketing process, but this book is less a fan instruction manual than it is a reflective journal starting a full two and half years before the 2028 Summer Games. My observations and accounts are formed by both experience as a spectator as well as a career in media, events, sponsorships, and education. The story is at times a critical and objective look at the state of sport today and what it says about our culture and society. Yet, it is also a love letter to the fans and athletes who join for the live spectacle of the Games and participate in infinitely different ways.
And so, the games begin.
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