COVID-Schmovid?

“Why are all those freakin’ people there?” I asked in disbelief Sunday night, just before the opening kickoff of Super Bowl LV, between stirs of my homemade Sloppy Joes.

Rebecca kindly explained that there were actually 25,000 fans at Raymond James Stadium in Tampa, and about 7,500 of them were vaccinated health care workers who had received tickets to the game as front-line heroes.

The sea of “faces” I saw were mostly cardboard-cutouts of real people – 30,000 of them, to be exact – who paid $100 each to have a virtual presence in the stadium. And, she added, they all had a social media link to find themselves on “fan cam” and possibly win tickets to next year’s game.

That girl’s been reading Sports Illustrated online again.

As a journalist and former PR flack, I understand that perception is everything. Scattering fake fans throughout the seats appeared normal and looked as if they were social distancing. It also achieved the NFL’s goal: Make 25,000 people look like 65,000. Size matters, even if it’s distorted.

They fooled me, those gridiron tricksters.

But what difference would it have made if the stands were mostly empty or if crowd noise wasn’t as deafening? Things aren’t normal. Why pretend they are?

The National Football League’s championship game is broadcast in more than 130 countries in over 30 languages. What could have been a teachable moment for viewers in one of the most-watched annual sporting events in the world instead became a cheesy stunt showing how things used to be – “before COVID.”

The NFL could have taken a smarter, more proactive approach to help America and the world get this virulent disease under control. Why not encourage safety, security and social distancing? At least until we can get past the worst public health crisis in modern history.

Before this clever deception, we saw huge crowds of mostly maskless fans gathered outside the stadium in the days leading up to the game, despite Tampa’s mayor practically begging everyone to mask up at Super Bowl parties. Sure. Good luck with that, Ms. Mayor.

The underlying message of truth was even more important since the Super Bowl was played in Florida, where the response to COVID-19 has been haphazard, often nonexistent and downright cavalier.

The Sunshine State’s new motto could be COVID-Schmovid.

Florida is a literal cesspool of COVID-19 germs, I’m here to tell you. No, really. I am actually here to tell you. For nearly two weeks now.

It’s appalling. The unmasked, in-your-face so-called civil rights activists. The deniers who dub it a hoax. The outright disrespect for the health of others.

Makes me homesick for Michigan.

At Sunday’s post-game festivities in Tampa, Buccaneers’ fans partied like it was 1999, not 2021. Throngs flooded the streets to celebrate their hometown team’s win amid a virus causing a deadly disease that has claimed more than 465,000 U.S. lives.

In about two weeks, a lot of them, their families and friends will likely get sick with the virus. Some will end up in the hospital, others will recover and still others will die.

You can’t fix stupid.

So, as socially-distanced snowbirds, Rebecca and I mask up, wash our hands and stay in our bubble. Kind of like being home but able to go outdoors with less chance of breaking a hip.

And we continue to ponder our daily dinner dilemma.

“Dunno. You? It’s your turn to decide. I don’t care. How about pancakes?”

I’ll leave you with this anecdote. The other day, I ran into a guy at our condo complex who drives a vehicle with a Michigan plate.

“I see you’re from Michigan,” I said.

“Yeah, we had to get out of that Totalitarian State,” he said with disdain. “Florida is sooo much free-er.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that. We fled the ice,” I said with equal disdain.

I readjusted my doubled-up mask and walked away, disappointed that I didn’t have the nerve to tell him to go pound sand – even if we weren’t at the beach.

By the way, tonight we’re having leftover Sloppy Joes.