Nittany's trained horde
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Once upon a time, attending Penn State's annual football media day was like spending the afternoon at the theater minus the cost, admission line and the plush velvet seating. The affair was definitely more Off-Broadway than Broadway, but certainly entertaining, and it had something Manhattan will never have - plenty of free, available parking.
The food wasn't too bad either, and for some media types who have already spent far too many waking hours doing laps around the buffet table, it was the highlight of the afternoon.
But no more.
Despite a multi-million dollar payday for winning the Capital One Bowl on New Year's Day, that long-standing tradition of food before the fury has gone the way of the Wing-Tee. It was the dearth of food that cemented home just how sluggish the economy remains - not to mention that the right to park in Beaver Stadium's overgrown cow pasture will now run you a cool $40.
Although Joseph V. Paterno's stage time throughout the years has diminished similar to Barack Obama's approval ratings, no one makes the trip to talk politics unless it's about the expansion of the Big Ten.
Everyone, from the minions in the Penn State sports information office to the army of assistant coaches ,have their roles to play, with the Brooklyn octogenarian toiling as the magical puppeteer, pulling the strings ever so subtly with his hands always in full view. After 61 years as a member of the Penn State coaching staff in one capacity or other, the College Football Hall of Fame head coach could play any role he desires. After all, he's earned it.
Penn State's media day, like the Big Ten's edition of the same held two weeks earlier in Chicago, is mandatory, and being the good sportsman that he is, Paterno makes the best of it despite an inner loathing for such negligible doings. Most seniors his age would be satisfied ambling through on a Florida back nine with a par 8, while making minimal head calls as they bask in their sunset years.
Not Paterno. He's out not only to win a Big Ten title, but to contend for the national championship.
Veteran scribes know there is never any authentic news to account for other than an off-season rehab, surgery or injury report. And even that can be vague. The questions that rained down on this living vestige of college football come mostly from local reporters who, for the most part, had this particular day highlighted on their laptop's calendar for months. The major media horde were either covering the Phillies, Pirates, Steelers and Eagles, or spending the day at the beach looking for those disappearing tar balls from the Gulf.
The bulk of these nebulous queries are of the slow pitch softball variety - the kind that would make another Brooklynite, former longtime CNN interviewer Larry King, squeal with envy. Any mention about DUIs, assaults, criminal investigations and academic probations were taboo and off limits just as the Beaver Stadium turf is to the horde of 107,000 who faithfully fill the stands for every home contest. No cub reporter would dare question the living legend on anything that would draw his indignation. After departing New York's City's famed "borough of churches" six decades ago, he still intones, with most syllables, a conspicuous Brooklynese.
Paterno put questions of his health and his prolonged "stomach virus" quickly to rest after initially addressing the assembled herd saying, "I'm not going to die." Such aliments, no matter how benign Paterno says they are, will not stop him from fulfilling his life's vocation. Neither will a nomination for the Presidential Medal of Freedom. In this season's campaign, Paterno will venture into uncharted territory with victory number 400 only six away.
You've got to love those Brooklyn-bred Italian-Americans. They are a tenacious, sarcastic bunch if there ever was one. I was privy to such talent growing up. But in the clutch, when it comes time to step up and get it done, there is none better. The administration at Penn State knows this, and that is why the endless questions about when Paterno will retire have been, well, retired.
In retrospect, it is probably best to cover such events from the comfort of your couch, tuned to the Big Ten Network. The network has its work cut out for them too because with Nebraska coming on board next year, they are going to have to come up with a new logo.
New logo or not, I bet the Big Ten still does lunch.
(Maresca, a local freelance writer, composes "Talking Points" for each Sunday edition.)
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