This is his account of the world behind the curtain.  Entry: Unlike the poor saps who have regular tickets, the media line is much shorter. It's a small entryway on the opposite side of the building from the ticket window. Security is pretty lax. A screener tells people with cell phones they have to punch 1-2-3. I guess that's supposed to prove it's not a bomb or something. (Note to terrorists: Make your detonator code 4-5-6, and you'll fool us all.) They also do a poor job of bag checking, only looking into one of the multiple bags we're carrying. You get the sense they don't really want to be there.
When you first step off the elevator, it looks like your standard-issue hallway. Heading off to the right, you start to hear the crowd, and then... The Press Box: Rows of tabletops and desk chairs stretch almost the entire length of the sideline. Periodically spaced above the tabletops are banks of two televisions. The top TV shows constantly updated stats. The lower TV carries the network game feed. If you continue past the press box area, you see one of the coolest and most intriguing rooms of all time.
I weigh the potential consequences of bursting in and screwing with the dials when my attention is drawn by...
There's a sign-in sheet near the fountain drinks that says you "must sign in" before you eat. There's a spot for the date, your name and your affiliation. I briefly consider signing in until I read some of the other entries. One guy signed in as "Billy Crystal - funny guy." Another signed in as "Hillary - Bill's wife." Clearly, I want to be one of the cool kids. I skip writing anything and I carry my plate over to my designated booth. Auxiliary Room #4: Because WWMT isn't as important as, say, NFL Films or the Detroit Free Press, we get kind of a bad spot. It's on the corner of the end zone. It, like the other media slots, is also really high in relation to the field. So on some plays, you'll lose track of the ball. That's annoying, but you have a clear view to one of the big screens.
Lara returns with a plate of food, but before I can strike up a conversation, some dope barrels in and sits to her right. She apparently knows the kid, because she talks to him for the duration of the game. I sit and smolder. In order to walk off my bitterness, I head out to the hallway. This time, I need a traditional stadium snack. Fresh Popcorn: This, too, is free, and it's right next to the buffet. A Ford Field employee is dumping a fresh batch of the hot 'n' buttery into the machine. I stride in after she leaves and start scooping. About 10 seconds later, she returns. "Oh, you were waitin' on me!" she says. "I'm lookin' for the free food," I reply. "I know what's up." She laughs. Armed with fresh popcorn and a Mountain Dew refill, I try to forget the idiot who screwed up my hook-up and head back to...
The Game: In all the coolness, I had lost track of the game. But kickoff arrived just as I returned to the room with my snack. The Lions jump out to a quick 10-0 lead, which is awesome. Unfortunately, I can't cheer. It says so on the card left in front of me in the press box. (See picture, below.) Journalists are supposed to be impartial, you know. As the game wears on, and Minnesota breaks out the whoopin' stick, I don't need to cheer anyway. While you're sitting in the room, some Ford Field employees drop off quarterly stat sheets. It was pretty sweet, since I could calculate fantasy stats without getting off my bum. I check and recheck the numbers to distract me from the really small tattoo on Lara's exposed ankle. Must... concentrate on...
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After you pass through "security," you head over to the window and announce your affiliation. Providing photo ID gets you a groovy pass. I affixed mine to a belt loop and slipped through a turnstyle. A short walk to the elevator, and you're almost there. The elevator has an operator... something I've never seen in real life. Journalists and photographers ride to the 7th floor.
The NFL Replay Room: Oh, man! Right there. It's the replay booth! The videos that decide the outcome of the game are recorded and played back behind that very door. (See picture, below) And possibly the best thing is that sign from Commissioner Paul Tagliabue. No one goes in there. No one, except high-ranking NFL officials. It's like the Pandora's Box of small rooms.
The Buffet: What's this? Free food? Hell, yes. We're talking tortillas, beef fajitas, rice and some sort of chicken dish. And your choice of fountain drinks or a cooler full of soda and bottled water. I grab a Mountain Dew and pile a plate with three tortillas and a heaping helping of beef fajita and rice.
I found my place and sat down to start eating, when the door behind me opens and in walks an angel. I try to avoid snorting a beef fajita out my nose, swallow quickly and introduce myself. She tells me her name is Lara, and she works for the NBC affiliate in Flint. Then, she sits down next to me and I start thinking up names for our babies. She asks if the food is good, and I tell her it's "alright." She takes off to grab some and I prepare the story I'll tell our grandchildren about how "it all started in Auxiliary Room #4 at Ford Field at a Lions game."
Auxiliary Room #4: When I return, I glance over and notice that Lara has blotted her lipstick on her napkin, probably after reapplying it after she finished eating. I shove my mouth full of popcorn and try to concentrate on...
Bill Laimbeer?!? What the... Hey! On the jumbo screen, Bill Laimbeer is waving. Cool! The screen pops up, "Congratulations, Shock!" And then some WNBA player sitting next to Coach Laimbeer stands up holding the championship trophy. I'd rather get a lobotomy than sit through girls' sports, but it is fairly awesome that someone would bring a championship trophy to a different sporting event. What happens if you get distracted with your nachos and forget where you put it? (The WNBA trophy is pretty lame. Just a silver sphere attatched to a base by three legs.)
