“Now that you’ve won the Super Bowl, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to Euro Disney”
Ok, I don’t think it would go down like that. Actually I don’t think anyone should ever say “I’m going to Euro Disney” and mean it. It’s Euro Disney (Well, renamed to Disneyland Resort Paris) for chrissake. A French journalist wrote:
…a horror made of cardboard, plastic and appalling colors, a construction of hardened chewing gum and idiotic folklore taken straight out of comic books written for obese Americans.
Disney may not have a good name in Europe, but the people, the obese Americans, at the National Football League do. (Have you seen an offensive line recently? They have average weights above 300 lbs.) Or so the NFL would have us believe they have a good name. They are in some preliminary investigations with Europe… I picture this as a noir style investigation (also it’s Tagliabue not Goodell doing the investigation in my mind because I think “P.I. P. Tagliabue” would look better on the frosted glass window to a Private Investigator’s office.):
I was enjoying a Mediterranean pleasure cruise. It was a cloudy day, so I had the sun deck to myself. But then she — a beauty; high style and finesse — showed up.
“Hey Paul, It’s me, Europe,” she said. She said this to me. Standing there I soaked her in — Tall, blonde, beautiful from her Italian sandals to the ends of her Scandinavian blonde locks. I responded politely, and we began to chat. We weren’t talking long when she got to her point. I knew she had one — no beautiful broad like this shows up out of nowhere to not make a point.
Europe wanted football, and all the other commissioners don’t hold a candle my football. But I can’t turn my back on my current owners, the fans, and countless others who have a stake in my league. My mind was racing for an acceptable answer. I didn’t want to turn cold to Europe. We were cold once – cold like a winter night with a broken furnace. The early nineties and the creation of what is now NFL Europa were tough. “I — I don’t… know” I stammered. I had nothing. A blank slate – tabula raza.
“Perhaps, you could add one more game to the season, and have each team play one game here?” She said it like a question, but she knew it could work. I said I’d have to think about it. She leaned in and kissed me, gently, on the cheek, and said, “don’t think too long.” Then she left.
I was alone again. Thinking.
For a real reporters view on the story, follow.