01:00 AM EST on Monday, January 30, 2006

Like the Patriots, I won't be going to Detroit this year for Super Bowl XL.

Unlike the Patriots, I'm happy about it.

Detroit most definitely is not nice this time of year.

Or any other time of year, for that matter.

A Super Bowl never should be held in a place that people wouldn't want to go on vacation.

"Okay, darling, here are the choices: Vegas or the Virgin Islands, Miami, Maui, or Motown?"

"Oh, honey, forget about those other dull and boring places -- let's go to Dee-troit City!"

Yeah, right.

People were poking fun at Jacksonville last year. (Full disclosure: I may have been one of those people.) Well, compared to Detroit, Jacksonville is Shangri-La.

I would go back to Jacksonville. Not in early February, but I would go back. I would go back for the golf, for the beaches, for the seafood.

I have been to Detroit a number of times and wouldn't go back unless

somebody paid me. Or, like so many Motown residents, I had a scheduled court appearance.

I have covered 24 -- oops, make that XXIV -- Super Bowls, going back to number XIV, at the Rose Bowl, in sun-drenched Pasadena, where the Steelers, with Terry Bradshaw at quarterback, won their IVth championship under Chuck Noll by beating the Los Angeles Rams.

I'd be hard-pressed to say at which of all those Super Celebrations, overflowing with Super Excess, I had the Most Super of Times. Part of the problem is that I'm hard-pressed to remember many (any?) details of the times I was in New Orleans.

Be that as it may, it's easy enough to name the worst Super Bowl of them all: Number XVI, played in the Pontiac Silverdome, in January, 1982.

Not the game, now. The game was pretty good. That was the first Super Bowl win for a young Joe Montana and the 49ers, who beat the Bengals -- not so much because of the passing of Montana (although he was named MVP) in Bill Walsh's brilliant offense, but because of a goal-line stand in which the '49ers kept the Bengals' big back, Pete Johnson, out of the end zone.

I remember the game well. It was the week preceding it that I'd just as soon forget.

Because the NFL declined to provide each member of the media with an armed escort, the press did not stay in downtown Detroit. Instead, we were hosteled in suburban Dearborn, where the most exciting thing to do was take a tram to a nearby shopping mall.

Oh, yeah -- there also was a party at the Henry Ford Museum, where the relentlessly wholesome Up With People danced and sang amidst the Model A's and Model T's on display. Which, let me tell you, was a far cry from the display by Janet Jackson at Super Bowl XXXVIII in Houston.

But, if there was one thing that summed up that Super Bowl week in Detroit, it was the trip to the Silverdome.

Because we expected to go directly from the door of our hotel to the press gate at the Silverdome, few members of the media were wearing more than a sports jacket. Which became a problem when, well, let Edwin Pope, former sports editor of the Miami Herald, and still a columnist with that paper, describe what happened to him.

"That was a very memorable experience," Pope said to me on the phone last week, sounding like a man who'd prefer to have put the whole experience out of his mind.

"I made the terrible mistake of not leaving [the] hotel until 2 1/2 hours before kickoff. Midway into the ride to Pontiac, the motorcade for George (H.W.) Bush came barrelling through and stopped all traffic for about an hour. It wasn't until about 20 minutes before kickoff that our bus finally arrived at the stadium.

"That's when we discovered that some enterprising entreprener had sold the parking space for the bus, and we had no place to park. The bus driver had to drive away a bit, and let us off what seemed like a mile from the stadium."

It may not actually have been that far, but it seemed further. I know, because I made the same, dismal journey, feeling all the while like I was with Admiral Byrd, heading for the North Pole, and wishing I had a dog sled.

Temperatures were below freezing, an icy wind was whipping across the parking lots surrounding the stadium, and footing was treacherous.

"I didn't have a scarf, or hat, or any gloves," Pope said, his teeth starting to chatter at the mere memory of his misery, "because I hadn't figured on spending any time outdoors.

"It's the only time in my life I've thought I was going to die. All around me, people were sliding on the ice, falling down. People were slipping, and dropping their computers. In those days, most of us carried those big Telerams. You can imagine what happened when they hit the ground."

The Teleram, used to transmit stories directly via phone line, was the size of a small suitcase, and weighed what such a valise would if it were packed with several of the metal balls used in the shot put.

"I didn't think I was going to make it," Pope said. "Somehow, Willie McDonough (the late Boston Globe columnist) saw me, and came over, and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, and hauled me to the stadium. It was as if I was drowning -- going under for the third time -- and he pulled me to safety."

My other memory of covering football in Detroit is from the 2000 season, when the Patriots were playing the Lions on Thanksgiving Day in the Silverdome.

As an aside here: How 'bout them Lions? You think William Clay Ford Jr. is doing a worse job with his football team, or his auto company? Since he's laying off 30,000 workers, don't you think Matt Millen ought to be given a pink slip?

Anyway, to get back to the story, my colleages and I ate together in the press lounge at the stadium before the morning of that holiday game, trying to be as festive as possible.

As we gobbled our turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, and squash from plastic plates, using plastic utensils -- a bunch of middle-aged men with nowhere else to go -- my Journal colleague, Ed Duckworth, looked up between bites and said: "This must be what it's like today at the shelter."

Ah, Detroit. Super (Bowl) City. Wonder how many people, as they're leaving the airport next Monday, will turn as they go down the ramp and say: "Had a great time! You can bet we'll be back again!"

jdonalds@projo.com / (401) 277-7340