“Strength” at the Super Bowl

By Greg Smith

Strength. I’ve got it. Mentally, I’m sharp, tenacious and creative. Physically, I think I get more out of my body than anybody. I have muscular dystrophy. I weigh 65 pounds. I use a wheelchair. And after 11 years hosting America’s syndicated radio program about disability, I’ve gone mainstream with a new show called “The Strength Coach.” Now, my goal is to inspire and empower people from all walks of life with a message about “inner strength.”

The change was so recent that I haven’t had time to plan. But as the Super Bowl neared, the more I thought about it, “The Strength Coach,” really needed to be there! It would be a great opportunity to meet and network with people who could help me along with my new concept.

Some of that happened. But two things much more profound occurred: First, the odyssey made me more fully appreciate the juxtaposition of a quite severely disabled unknown entity rolling into the greatest spectacle of celebration for the most “severely able bodied” – professional athletes -- and those who clamor after them. And secondly, the challenges that I was forced to overcome that day made me more aware of, and proud of, my own “inner strength.”

Monday
I awaken with a good idea, but it’s really too late. It is January 26, the day before “Media Day.” But what the heck?  I call the NFL office and ask about the possibility of “last minute” media credentials. An e-mail response says they are no longer issuing credentials, but that a “day pass” can be arranged if I report to the Media Center on the third floor.

I book a flight for the next morning, pack my mini-disc recorder, and get prepared for a one day trip. My plan: fly over there early on Tuesday, “Media Day” and fly back that evening, in time for the Wednesday recording of my show.

My Houston contact is Lex Frieden, a George Bush appointed big-shot in the disability world. Lex suggests that I have somebody there to “schlep” for me, taking photos, handing out materials, and getting interviews. He hooks me up with Peggy Thomas, a recreation therapist who is into sports.

The flight is out of New Orleans, which, the way I drive my modified Chevy, is an hour and a half from my home in Ocean Springs, MS. As I “stop-and-go” across Lake Pontchartrain, I realize that I didn’t take rush hour into account. I arrive at the airport too late to catch the 7:20 flight.

The cutie behind the Southwest counter offers me the 8:10. “Who is traveling with you?”

“Nobody, I’m all alone. I’m going to the Super Bowl today. Why don’t you come with me?” I offer a big smile and a small wink.

“Uhh uhhh. No way! You are not going to the Super Bowl by yourself.”

“I go where no man has gone before… by myself!”

“Who’s gonna pick you up at the airport?”

“I have a ride booked,” I smile. She’s quite skeptical that I actually drove two hours to New Orleans, am about to board a plane and go to the Super Bowl as a representative of the media. By myself? I don’t think she ever “bought it” or even caught the vibe of my mack.

But who cares? That’s part of the familiar territory that is my life. Because of my condition, people erroneously expect very little.

As a frequent traveler, I’m also accustomed to the “full treatment” from airport security. Today, after getting my shoes put back on and the bags reattached to my power chair, I roll down the jet way, and with the help of a flight attendant, climb into a bulkhead seat.

I “power-nap” during the one hour jump from Louis Armstrong to Hobby; this is part of my plan to fully charge the limited battery of my life’s energy for this marathon day. In Houston, by the time my chair is brought from below the plane and reassembled; it’s 9:45 as I’m holding my cell phone waving at Peggy across the terminal. She’s holding her cell phone and waving back.

We wait outside on an unexpectedly brisk morning, for a large white van equipped with a wheelchair lift to take me over to Reliant Stadium. Peggy follows behind in her car. I take the opportunity to get some more shut eye.

Reliant Stadium
At the site of Super Bowl XXXVIII, the security is much tighter than at the airport. Metal detectors. Complete pat down. Thorough inspection of my chair, involving flashlights and mirrors. I’m approved and ushered towards a curb.

A staircase leads to a bridge to the stadium. The accessible route from here is by way of a ramp, about 100 yards in length, which is about as convenient as a trip from San Diego to Seattle by way of Philly. But to get to that ramp, there’s no access up to the curb! The only option is for three security guys to team up and lift the awkward weight of my 300 pound chair.

“Ready… one… two… three. Urrrrrrrrrrrrgh!”

Press Pass Mess
Nearing 10am, I arrive at the entrance to the stadium and am quickly ushered up an elevator to the 3rd floor mezzanine level. I ask for the media room and at this point, Security notices that I don’t have credentials.

“I called the NFL office yesterday and was told to go to the 3rd floor Media Center to get “day pass,” I explain.

“Day passes are issued at the Media Center at Convention Center.”

I soon learn the Convention Center is a 30 minute drive from Reliant Stadium! I’ve driven 100 miles, flown across two states and now, I’m 50 yards away from Media Day with no access to the event!

Disability services people are contacted and I’m thinking “What does this have to do with disability?”

Security is not smiling. I get on my cell phone and call the NFL office. They take my cell phone number and promise to call back. Tense moments pass as a group of about 8 people converge to talk about what to do with me, and they’re not talking to me. They’re talking to Peggy, this woman that I just met. Suddenly, I’m quickly ushered back out of the building.

“We didn’t realize you didn’t have credentials, and you’ll have to wait outside.”

The chilling breeze is piercing. 20 minutes drag by. My frozen fingers cease to function. Finally my phone vibrates and I muster the strength to unfold it and lift it to my ear. An NFL rep says he’ll see if it can be arranged for someone to bring me a pass.

A small group wearing red “Disability Services” jackets continues to direct their discussion about the situation to Peggy, as if she is controlling what is done with me. To force my way into that discussion would mean I’d have to turn and face the wind. Instead, I work my angle with “The League.” As a result, I’m out of my own loop, not really knowing how everything is transpiring.

I’m calling different people at the NFL, and waiting for calls back as the clock nears 11. Now, it’s too late for the Patriots media session. The frustration mounts. Finally, we are allowed access to the field with a Marine Corp escort, thanks exclusively to Disability Services.

As I enter the stadium and roll down the ramp to the sideline zoo that is Media Day, I’m grateful that the retractable roof on Reliant Stadium is closed. It’s far too crowded for me to maneuver without running over feet. Carolina Panthers players are standing among the crowd in uniform. Podiums are reserved for the stars like head coach John Fox, running backs Stephen Davis and LeShaun Foster, quarterback Jake Delhomme and others. Camera crews and reporters surround them. Seated in my chair, at butt level, I quickly realize that I’ll have no chance to get sound from those guys.

Other Panthers are available, but I hesitate because I have no roster! I made the assumption (I know what you’re thinking) that “media guides” or “press releases” would be available on “Media Day.” And they were, but not for media castaways with Marine Corp escorts.

The Panthers are an obscure combination of talent and teamwork. I’m a true football fan, but this team had exploded onto center stage without much advance billing. I hadn’t really followed them well enough to know jersey numbers. And it is so crowded that I can’t discreetly roll my chair behind a guy to look at the name on the back of his shirt. Besides, what kind of a weirdo would I look like, already sitting butt level, rolling behind for a quick glance at a guy wearing spandex football pants?

So I’m making eye contact with players without knowing who they are. You can’t just go up to somebody you don’t recognize and start asking questions. You’d look stupid. So I shift my strategy. I start looking for media folks I recognize and planting the seeds for some coverage of this novel “Strength Coach Radio Show” concept!

Former Atlanta Falcons running back/current ESPN reporter Jamal Anderson stands 4 feet away. I align the tip of my chair into the huddle of the group he’s talking to, but nobody notices to look down. I yell his name, probably much like an autograph seeker. He leans down to acknowledge me and I reveal the fact that we are fraternity brothers. We do a short interview and cheese for a photo.

“Thanks bruh!”

Next, I spot ESPN Radio’s Mike Golic. I’m impressed that this big fella squats so that I can talk to him eye-to-eye and comfortably extend my mic. Next I bump into Michael Smith and Mike Holley, two young sportswriters who appear on ESPN’s “Around the Horn.” We hit it off well and I lay the Strength Coach concept on them.

I’m starting to see how this is gonna work out. All the while, Peggy is snapping photos and handing out Strength Coach press releases. After his crowd thins, I call DeShaun Foster down from his podium perch and he gives me a short interview and a liner.

“Hey this is DeShaun Foster and you’re listening to the Strength Coach with Greg Smith.”

A public address announcer starts the countdown on Media Day. “15 more minutes.” I talk to Running Backs coach Jim Skipper and conclude my work by interviewing animated rookie safety Jerrod Cooper, who squats down to my level.

I begin with an observation. “Jerrod, everybody else seems to have a “business trip” attitude here today, but you are jubilant and in a festive mood.”

“Hey, this is to be enjoyed…”

Suddenly he springs to his feet after giving me that one sentence. He rips his shirt off. He flexes his biceps and giggles his pecks. Cameras approach like sharks around a cloud of blood. A voice from behind me, perhaps veteran teammate or a coach yells, “Put it back on.” He quickly obeys.

“I love the media!” he screams, as I wonder if I might have that same affect on the Panther’s cheerleaders.

The PA speaker blares, “Media Day is over. The Panthers need to gather for a team photo.”

The Marine gestures toward the exit. From her post at the base of the ramp, a young lady wearing a security jacket smiles and asks with a sing-song tone, “Did you have fun?”

We make arrangements to take that ride across town to the convention center on a Disability Services bus. This time, they move fences out of the way instead of lifting my chair down the curb.

Working the Working Press
As we arrive at the George R Brown Convention Center, security is again tight. I roll through the door and notice radio talk show icon Jim Rhome gliding down the escalator. Again, like an autograph seeker, I holler his name twice. He hears me and steps up as I deliver my staccato pitch, like a quarterback in a huddle.

“New syndicated radio show. The Strength Coach. It’s about inner strength. Lifting the weights of life’s challenges.”

He’s interested. I lay down my “street cred.”

“I’m an old sportscaster. Hosted “Cardinal Talk” on KTAR in Phoenix when you were sparring with Jim Everett.”

He smiles. Introduces me to his producer. I give him a folder. Moments later, a similar scene with Stuart Scott of ESPN. I’d met him before, but he didn’t remember. Now he knows about the Strength Coach.

Soon I’m rolling down “Radio Row,” featuring about 100 remote setups with hosts live on the air conducting interviews. Good place to pass out flyers. We venture into the much quieter “working press” room. Rows and rows of reporters on laptops. No talking. Lots of coffee mugs and the clicking of keyboards. The big papers have their own areas behind the privacy of blue curtains. Like a special ops unit, we discreetly deliver the “mission” to the Chicago Tribune, Boston Globe, New York Times and others.

I don’t realize it at the time, but next, the most significant event of the day happens. We bump into Bob McNair, the owner of the Houston Texans who gives me a short, profound interview.

Later, former Cowboy’s receiver Michael Irvin speeds by, as if late to a meeting.

“You need to know about me, Michael!”

“Ok, I’ll catch you later!”

If Michael Irvin says he’s going to “catch” something, I believe him. Like Irvin, the afternoon moves quickly.

“Disability Services” offers me a ride back to the airport. As I approach the bus, standing next to me on the curb is Michael Strahan. I give him a card and request an interview. He says he’ll call me.

I’m exhausted from a long day. I’m triumphant that I made the contacts and that I had the inner strength to deal with the adversity and complete the mission. My back pain reminds me of the days of my youth prior to my spinal fusion surgery. Hours later, after the flight back to New Orleans I’m driving home, taking inventory of my accomplishments.

Things didn’t go nearly as well as planned. But considering the last minute nature of my attempt, and the severity of the setbacks I overcame, I’m feeling productive and stronger from having lifted the weight of this challenge.

Back at home, I plug my mini-disc recorder into my studio mixer and turn up the sound.

“Beep – Testing, one-two-three, check, 1-2-3”

“Beep – OK thanks a lot, I’ll be in touch”

“Beep – (off mic) Yeah, I’m going to Hobby airport”

“Beep – The Strength Coach here with Houston Texans owner Bob McNair. Bob as one of the most successful people in Houston, what are some common things you repeat when giving advice to those you mentor?

“A lot of times things go against us. In other words, we want something to happen and it doesn’t happen that way. And we think that’s negative and that’s bad, and yet I can look at many things in my life that happened. And at the time it was not what I wanted to happen. But as it turned out, it was wonderful and I wouldn’t be where I am today if it had not happened.”

“Beep – This is Michael Strahan and you’re listening to the Strength Coach!”

“Beep -- End of tape”