ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Tuesday, December 31, 1996 TAG: 9612310126
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B-3 EDITION: METRO
DATELINE: MIAMI
SOURCE: GREG COTE
Welcome to the OB.
The Other Bowl.
A year from now it might all seem closer to right again, closer to normal, but not now.
A year from now the idea of the Orange Bowl not being played in the Orange Bowl might seem a little less bizarre. But not now.
A year from now the Orange Bowl will be the designated national championship game, and the attention of college football and of South Florida will be riveted here. But not now.
Now, well, this is just plain weird.
Tonight's 63rd Orange Bowl is the one with the identity crisis. The game feels displaced, occurring as it is over here at Not the Orange Bowl Stadium. And - with due respect to Nebraska and to a Virginia Tech bunch calling this the biggest night in school history - the game feels irrelevant.
A scalper's nightmare, this first OB at Joe Robbie Stadium-turned-Pro Player Park-turned-Pro Player Stadium failed to sell out and will be lucky to draw more than 55,000 actual bodies. This, for two reasons:
1. We locals don't give a rat's end, relatively speaking. We sort of almost cared about Miami's Hurricanes playing in the Carquest Bowl here the other day. We definitely care about Gators and 'Noles and a possible national title in the Sugar Bowl. But the OB? It sits stuck in the middle of those two like some perfunctory halftime show. Or a nap.
2. Even the Cornhuskers barely care. That's why they didn't use all their allotted tickets. If you buy the game as some grand statement of arrival for V-Tech, you must admit it is a pale consolation for Nebraska on the heel of two consecutive national titles.
Pause for obligatory prediction: Uninspired Huskers 29, Fired-Up Hokies 20, Classic OB Aura, 0.
The sight, the venue, figures to override any result. Because: Can any Orange Bowl not in the Orange Bowl feel like an Orange Bowl?
This jars the senses. It's like the Cleveland Browns playing in Baltimore. Like staging the Rose Bowl at Stanford Stadium. Like the Cubs not in Wrigley. Like peanut butter in a ham sandwich.
It's not as if the Orange Bowl Committee had a real choice, of course. It was made clear to the gents in the orange jackets that their game would be excluded from the mighty Bowl Alliance rotating the title game unless they voted to abandon a decrepit old stadium in favor of a brighter, newer one.
What they gained: More parking and better toilets and the guarantee of an occasional championship match.
What they lost: A continuity of tradition built over 62 years.
They voted to move with a pragmatic gun at their temples. The vote was prudent, I suppose, but still it was a hard, hard trade.
I ventured out to Brighter, Newer Stadium for ``Media Day'' Sunday to get some players' opinions on the OB-at-PPS. To find out if players cared.
Began randomly with Tech linebacker Cornell Brown, the defensive end with the Ivy League name.
``No comment,'' he said.
(Turns out Cornell Brown does not speak with Your Friend the Media.)
Why not, Cornell?
``No comment.''
Nice day, huh?
``No comment.''
If you were a tree ...
``No comment.''
Hey, your hat's on fire!
``No comment.''
Next I moseyed on up to Nebraska running back Jay Sims with a pop quiz. I asked him where he was.
``Miami,'' he said.
We were in unincorporated Dade County, technically, but that was beside the point. I clarified and asked him to name the stadium in which he stood. He paused.
``I have no idea,'' he said, laughing.
No seriously, I said.
``I am serious,'' he said.
Ever heard of Joe Robbie?
``No.''
Ever heard of Pro Player?
``Who?''
Poor fella. Until I told him, Sims had no idea whatsoever he was standing inside Greg Cote Stadium.
At last I told him the real name of the place.
``Knowledge is power,'' he said, smiling.
``Hey, we could be playing in somebody's backyard for all I care,'' Sims added. ``To me, every game in Miami is the Orange Bowl.''
Concurring was Tech wide receiver Shawn Scales.
``A field is a field,'' Scales said. ``It's still in hot weather. That's all I wanted.''
You, too, Cornell Brown?
``No comment!''
Other players were more discerning. One, Tech offensive guard Todd Washington, proved himself to be particularly intelligent, in that his opinion agreed with my own.
``I was growing up knowing the Orange Bowl was always in the Orange Bowl. So this is strange,'' Washington said. ``Now they move it, and I feel like they're taking something away from the city of Miami. They're trying to transfer a lot of history and tradition, but you can't do it.''
Washington recognizes that the Orange Bowl Stadium was the quintessential college arena, all ambience and aura; ugly, septic, yet full of character. Pro Player Whatever gives you acres and acres of parking and wonderful, neat toilets. The OB offered everything else including the one intangible a bowl game cannot be great without. Atmosphere.
``When you stepped into that Orange Bowl, it's like you were taken into a different time zone,'' said Washington, who has been there with Tech to face UM. ``You saw Miami take the field through that smoke, with their cutoff jerseys, do-rags on their heads, shields on their helmets - it was intimidating.''
Some of that same mystique and aura transferred to those 62 Orange Bowls played at the Orange Bowl, carried from one to the next by the proud, mighty beasts History and Tradition.
Tonight, all of the memories will be a few miles south, captive in an empty ghost of a stadium.
Tonight, the aura of what used to be the Orange Bowl will be different, forever diminished. But the toilets will be nice.
Greg Cote is a sports columnist for the Miami Herald.
LENGTH: Long : 119 linesby CNB