Honolulu Weekly

The Pro Bowl / The NFL Pro Bowl is probably the biggest non-event in the sporting world. Every year, the most overpaid and overpraised football athletes take a paid vacation in Hawaii, doing interviews with fawning reporters, and playing a little football with the clear understanding that no one gets hurt. For the last 30 years, we’ve been a part of that non-event. It makes perfect sense that we have long hosted the post-season hurrah. Football players, we’re guessing, never talk to each other saying, “Hey, remember that time we played in Detroit? That was nice. I’d like to go back there once we finish the season.” No, the Pro Bowl is their E-ticket for playing well, a reward made even more sweet because they don’t actually have to go to Disneyland.

For fans, it made even more sense. Deprived of a NFL home team, we still set the alarms for the ungodly 6am wakeup call so we can gather at our favorite watering holes and cheer. Go into a bar in Waikiki during a Sunday game and say football isn’t alive and well in the hearts and minds of Hawaii, evidenced in a rainbow of different jerseys from different shores. We, like the players, were rewarded for our efforts. The Pro Bowl was our reward.

But now it’s all over. Miami gets the game in 2010. After that, Arlington, Texas looks probable. Still, last local Pro Bowl or not, tickets were a hard sell, with the NFL twice extending the deadline for sales in order to qualify for broadcast. And, as in the 30 years prior, it did finally make an 11th hour sell-out. But the party was, of course, in the parking lot. Not really a surprise, as $9 beers that you can’t sit down with at the game and a fair likelihood that you’d swelter in the sun isn’t as appealing as drinking under a canopy next to a full-sized pig roasting on a spit.

For those with the connections, the business cards and the cleavage, you could roam from party to party. I didn’t have any of these but I had friends, and without a doubt, the two places to be were the Better Brands tent, which had the best customized van possible. Forget the ’70s with its waterbeds and airbrushed Frank Frazetta paintings on the sides—I want a van with six or seven beer taps dispensing Smithwick’s, Guinness and a variety of beers from the Pyramid line. From there, it made sense to hit up the Harbor Pub/Chart House tent, which had the forethought to bring its own bathroom facility. The two neighbors at the Ala Wai Harbor combined the lunacy of the lower-level patrons with the excellence of Chart House’s food, serving up meat in nearly every imaginable form. It’s the kind of environment that means you’re going to hear a lot of whooping and hollering, surrounded by people who should be sated in both beer and food, but continue to try and force more down their throats. And it’s such a good time that most people can’t put it into words anymore. You can see the thought process with people, heads swimming in adult beverages, thinking, “I can’t think of any statement that properly encapsulates this particular moment in my life. So, to summarize—Whoo!”

Whoo, indeed.

So, let Miami have the Pro Bowl next year. I suggest we meet in the parking lot of Aloha Stadium as we’ve done for the last 30 years. As both spots set up TVs and computers to show the game, we really won’t miss anything but the admission charge. I’ll be the guy who lines up next to the taps on the side of the van. Whoo! —Dean Carrico