Indeed, as the headline stated, it was hardly a Bull run.

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First off, I want to apologize to my loyal readers for taking a couple of weeks off. I was in the process of finishing my latest book, Around the World Cup in 40 Years, An American sportswriter’s perspective. With that behind me, I will be focused on the World Cup, and of course, View From the Front Row. I have some interesting pieces planned, and probably some things that will pop up between now and July 19.

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With Super Bowl LX set for Sunday, I figured I would share this unusual story with you.

If you have covered enough sporting events as I have, a writer’s media credential collection could be quite sizable.

I have never counted how many I have, but it probably goes into the hundreds.

There are press passes for MLS Cups, World Cups (men and women), Olympic football tournaments, Concacaf Gold Cups, U.S. Soccer matches and events.

And, I have covered plenty of other sports - baseball, basketball, hockey (ice and field), lacrosse, tennis, softball, sailboat racing, fishing and even shark fishing.

Somewhere in my collection, I have my very first press pass as a professional, when I covered the Section V high school boys basketball tournament for the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle many moons ago.

I occasionally mention and suggest to younger writers to keep their credentials. They’re sort of a trophy of what we have written about.

Usually, their response is that they already have saved theirs. Glad they get it.

As it turns out, I have one credential in my collection in which I did not cover the event - the third Super Bowl.

Yep, the one in which Joe Namath the New York Jets upset the Baltimore Colts, 16-7.

I watched it on TV - a portable black and white TV in our den, by myself. I was a teenager at the time, and the only football fan in the household (for years. Some members of my family wondered where I came from).

Well, let me explain how I got in possession of the press pass.

Back in the day, the legendary Stan Isaacs, who wrote a column, Out of Left Field, for Newsday, the daily Long Island newspaper, would have his annual Christmas Grab Bag. He would have a list of questions for the readers to answer. He promised “prizes,” for the best responses.

As an avid reader and follower who enjoyed Isaacs’ unusual take on sports, I would answer his questionnaire and mail it in (yes, mail with a stamp, and not email).

Sometime in January the prizes came in the mail. One year I got a picture of Art Heyman. Another year I received a horse racing media guide.

In 1970, to my astonishment, I received a photographer’s press credential, an unused one, for the third Super Bowl, which was played at the Orange Bowl in Miami, Fla. I don’t know if it was for any of my witty answers or just plain fortunate.

Interestingly, the media credential did not mention those two magic words, Super Bowl, anywhere on it. There was a good reason. While many media called it that, the NFL hadn’t officially anointed the game yet with that name.

The pink credential came with a string tie at the top.

It had the insignia of the AFL and NFL, followed by:

WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP

GAME

Orange Bowl, Miami Fla.

Enter Gate 9 133

It was then perforated with the same information.

And like I said, unused!

Pretty cool, huh?

I don’t know how much it is worth, but that press credential always will be a unique part of my sports memorabilia collection.

Isaacs, along with New York Post sports columnist Larry Merchant, taught me to think out of the box and beyond the usual meat and potatoes of being a sportswriter (not that there was anything wrong with that) on occasion.

In fact, several years later, when Isaacs was Newsday sports editor, he hired me for a summer intern position at the paper.

I called it the best summer ever. But that’s another story for another time.

Michael Lewis, the sixth recipient of the Clay Berling Media Career of Excellence Award in 2025, can be followed on X (formerly Twitter) and Bluesky at @Soccerwriter. His 10th soccer book, Around the World Cup in 40 Years: An American sportswriter's perspective, will be published this spring.

With LA28 announcing that New York City, Columbus, Nashville, St. Louis, San Jose and San Diego will host group stage and some knockout round matches of the 2028 Summer Olympics, I thought I would share my experience of when I covered games at a satellite venue at the 1984 Olympics. Those Games were hosted by Los Angeles.

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On the first and 15th days of each month during 2026 I will share a story of my seemingly countless press passes I have accumulated throughout the years. I have saved every one of them, whether it was for the World Cup or a high school basketball tournament. There is a story beyond each and every one. Yes, believe it or not, I have covered other sports through the years. That is another subject for another time.

My first World Cup was Mexico ’86.

I went for the final two weeks and with the attitude that this might be the only one I would cover. Got to see the infamous “Hand of God” goal, survived a scary flight to Guadalajara and saved Grahame Jones from getting beaten up by some drunk Germans.

A little background about that competition.

Trying to find out the status of my credential was like a Marx Brothers movie. Every time I contacted the Mexican Organizing Committee, I received another answer, that they got it, they didn’t get it. They misplaced it. They were going to send an official letter to me that it had been approved. That they didn’t send one.

Finally, I did get approval, but in my frustration, I wrote a column for Soccer America assailing the incompetence of the Mexican (Dis)Organizing Committee.

At the time, I just started as a sports copy editor at Newsday and then sports editor Dick Sandler, in his infinite wisdom, gave me two weeks off to attend the World Cup, even though I did not write a word about it for the newspaper. So, I decided to attend the final two weeks and needless to say I am glad I did.

I arrived in Mexico during the Mexico-Bulgaria match, when Manuel Negrete scored his “butterfly goal.” Just about everyone in customs was watching the game on TV and I walked through without being stopped or questioned. Yikes! No security.

My fears of the (Dis)Organizing Committee were buried when I picked up my credential in record time. I also got my $500 back. Oh, I didn’t tell you about that. Back in the day, all journalists had to pay $500 to FIFA for their credentials. FIFA would return the money after the journalists checked in. It was a way to make sure journalists would actually show up and an underhanded way for FIFA to draw interest on the $500 each member of the media had to pay, even over a short period of time.

I wound up staying at El Presidente Chapultepec, which had a bridge to the press center in Mexico City. I paid $80 a night to stay at what was a damn good hotel. I couldn’t complain at all.

My first World Cup game ever was Argentina vs. Uruguay in the rain in Puebla. I remember sitting in press seats — no room for a typewriter or computer — or electricity near the back of the stadium. The wind and rain were so hard that part of the stadium behind us that made clanging noises as the metal/aluminum bounced off each other. I don’t remember much about the game, which was pretty mediocre (Soccer America columnist Paul Gardner who was working as a TV analyst at the time, attended the game). I do remember a South American journalist asking the coaches a question that was so long that it sounded like a soliloquy.

Yes, I saw the Hand of God game live.

The American contingent, all 10 of us, sat together. The press box was, well, less than spartan and seemed to be miles away from the action somewhere near the top of the stadium. We sat on concrete (OK, time to insert a stone-age joke in here, folks) and there were no desks, at least not for us gringos. Thank heavens most, if not all of the games, were not on any sort of deadline.

England and Argentina played for the first time since the Falkland Wars, which was a battle between the two countries over several islands east of Argentina in 1982.

There were banners all over the stadium, including ones claiming the Argentine attack was powered by Exocet Missiles (those French-built weapons were used by Argentina in the conflict).

Diego Maradona, however, made certain no one would remember what transpired four years’ prior in a 2–1 victory.

Six minutes into the second half, Maradona had tried to play the ball into the penalty area, but English midfielder Steve Hodge out battled the Argentine for the ball and lifted a back pass to goalkeeper Peter Shilton. Maradona and the keeper arrived at the same time and the Argentine knocked the ball into the net with his left hand. Despite protests by the English, referee Ali Bennaceur of Tunisia pointed to the center spot.

When Maradona batted the ball into the net, I exclaimed, “It’s a hand ball!” I looked at the linesman (that’s what assistant referees were called in those days) waited for some sort of reaction, but nothing at all. He never had his flag out. I was astonished.

Maradona later claimed “the hand of God” scored that goal.

As if to make amends, Maradona embarked on an amazing journey four minutes later. He took possession of the ball 10 yards into Argentine territory. He performed a 180-degree turn that left Peter Reid and Peter Beardsley standing in their tracks. He then raced down the right side into English territory past Ray Wilkins. Terry Fenwick tried to pull him down at the top of the penalty area, but Maradona shrugged him off. Shilton came out of the goal, committed himself and fell to the turf, eight yards out. Terry Butcher tried a last-ditch effort with a sliding tackle under Maradona, who pushed the ball into the unattended net.

Heck, there was no wireless or internet to do fast research or a TV to watch the replay. To do so, we had to wait until after the game and press conferences. I gave up my press credential for a tape of the match, and we huddled around a TV until we got to the right times of the goals.

Total time of the second tally: ten seconds. Number of touches: nine.

Interesting aside: I have a unique perspective with Argentina-England battles in the World Cup because I attended all three confrontations (1982, 1998 and 2002).

We traveled to Guadalajara for the semifinal between France and Germany. We took off during a severe thunderstorm. Some journalists who were on a plane ahead of us wound up getting after us. Perhaps their plane circled the Guadalajara airport before getting the OK to land.

Phil Hersh of the Chicago Tribune, my roomie in Mexico City, shared a motel room with yours truly on that trip and I think we paid $20 total for that night. Grahame Jones of the Los Angeles Times and I walked over to a nearby bar for some drinks. On the way back to the hotel, we passed a table of two of West Germany supporters who were hoisting beer mugs, singing, outside their hotel adjacent to a pool.

Jones, who had a drink or two or perhaps three in his system already, started yelling, “Vive la France! Vive la France.” I pulled him away before the German fans could hear him and retaliate. I didn’t think anyone wanted to read about two American journalists found at the bottom of a Guadalajara hotel swimming pool the next morning.

If you read my affiliation on the pass, it says Berling Communications. I was covering the cup for Soccer America, which at the was owned by the Berling family. There were so few American writers at the competition, even though we were neighbors with Mexico. After reading my affiliation on my press pass, some international journalists thought I was from Germany (probably East Germany because it was a few years before unification). Berling and Berlin.

I am happy to say I went onto cover eight consecutive World Cups, each one memorable in its own way. Given the state of the world these days, I am uncertain if I will be able to attend or cover another one. While that might disappoint me, I feel fortunate to have witnessed and written about soccer history.

I plan on attending my ninth World Cup this summer.

With the Super Bowl LIX set for Sunday, I figured I would share this unusual story with you.

If you have covered enough sporting events as I have, a writer's media credential collection could be quite sizable.

I have never counted how many I have, but it probably goes into the hundreds.

There are press passes for MLS Cups, World Cups (men and women), Olympic football tournaments, Concacaf Gold Cups, U.S. Soccer matches and events.

And, I have covered plenty of other sports - baseball, basketball, hockey (ice and field), lacrosse, tennis, softball, sailboat racing, fishing and even shark fishing.

Somewhere in my collection, I have my very first press pass as a professional, when I covered the Section V high school boys basketball tournament for the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle many moons ago.

I occasionally mention and suggest to younger writers to keep their credentials. They're sort of a trophy of what we have written about.

Usually, their response is that they already have saved theirs. Glad they get it.

As it turns out, I have one credential in my collection in which I did not cover the event - the third Super Bowl.

Yep, the one in which Joe Namath the New York Jets upset the Baltimore Colts, 16-7.

I watched it on TV - a portable black and white TV in our den, by myself. I was a teenager at the time, and the only football fan in the household (for years. Some members of my family wondered where I came from).

Well, let me explain how I got in possession of the press pass.

Back in the day, the legendary Stan Isaacs, who wrote a column, Out of Left Field, for Newsday, the daily Long Island newspaper, would have his annual Christmas Grab Bag. He would have a list of questions for the readers to answer. He promised "prizes," for the best responses.

As an avid reader and follower who enjoyed Isaacs' unusual take on sports, I would answer his questionnaire and mail it in (yes, mail with a stamp, and not email).

Sometime in January the prizes came in the mail. One year I got a picture of Art Heyman. Another year I received a horse racing media guide.

In 1970, to my astonishment, I received a photographer's press credential, an unused one, for the third Super Bowl, which was played at the Orange Bowl in Miami, Fla. I don't know if it was for any of my witty answers or just plain fortunate.

Interestingly, the media credential did not mention those two magic words, Super Bowl, anywhere on it. There was a good reason. While many media called it that, the NFL hadn't officially anointed the game yet with that name.

The pink credential came with a string tie at the top.

It had the insignia of the AFL and NFL, followed by:

WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP

GAME

Orange Bowl, Miami Fla.

Enter Gate 9 133

It was then perforated with the same information.

And like I said, unused!

Pretty cool, huh?

I don't know how much it is worth, but that press credential always will be a unique part of my sports memorabilia collection.

Isaacs, along with New York Post sports columnist Larry Merchant, taught me to think out of the box and beyond the usual meat and potatoes of being a sportswriter (not that there was anything wrong with that) on occasion.

In fact, several years later, when Isaacs was Newsday sports editor, he hired me for a summer intern position at the paper.

I called it the best summer ever. But that's another story for another time.

My press pass from the 2005 Concacaf Gold Cup.

By Michael Lewis

Fifteen years ago today, on Dec. 18, 2009, my Cocker Spaniel, Jennie, passed away.

I wouldn't be writing about a dog in this space, but she does have a rather unique soccer story, and even beyond that.

As incredible as it might sound, Jennie also had the honor of winding up on my credential for the 2005 Concacaf Gold Cup.

Honest.

Let me explain.

When they asked for photos for the 2005 Concacaf Gold Cup press credentials, I sent in the best one I had of myself. It just so happened to be of me and Jennie. We had our picture taken at Paumanok Veterinary Hospital during one of their charity drives. I had used it as my main photo on many pass credentials for years and every time Jennie was cropped out and my face dominated the photo.

That this, until 2005.

When I picked up my tournament credentials at the media tent at Foxborough Stadium in Foxborough, Mass. I could not help but notice that you could hardly see my face. The entire photo was used with Jennie sitting on my lap. I brought that up to the attention of one of the officials there, fearing I would not be allowed into the stadium.

Talk about Concacaf being Concacaf’d by itself!

Communication officials thought there was no problem with the picture, and even got a good laugh about it.

I did not have a problem entering the stadium.

The U.S. advanced to the semifinals at Giants Stadium in East Rutherford, N.J. and I joked about bringing my dog along since she was in the picture, even if her name wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Of course, I didn’t.

Jennie would have stolen the show in the press box because she was so cute.

Oh yeah. As for the game, the semifinal turned out to be a classic. In one of the most memorable finishes in competition history, the Americans struck twice late to clinch a place in the final. Mario Ivan Guerrero (30th minute) had given Honduras a first-half lead, but John O’Brien (86th minute) equalized and defender Oguchi Onyewu (two minutes into stoppage time) headed home a free kick in stoppage time to complete the comeback. U.S. head coach Bruce Arena was dismissed in the 59th minute for his verbal interaction with a referee.

That ejection knocked Arena out of the final. Assistant coach Glenn (Mooch) Myernick ran the show in the championship match.

That encounter turned out to be anti-climactic as it was a scoreless tie between a hungry Panama squad and the U.S. for 120 minutes. Goalkeeper Kasey Keller saved one of four penalty kicks and MetroStars midfielder Brad Davis converted the game-winner for a 3-1 shootout victory.

Here’s Jennie’s story. She was a rescue dog.

My previous Cocker, Shannon, had passed away in 2001 and I couldn’t find a rescue Cocker Spaniel on Long Island.

So, I wound up flying to Kansas City, Mo. and I got Jennie from Save Our Strays rescue, operated by Connie Guthrie and her husband David (When I flew in to pick up Jennie, David and I talked about one of our boyhood heroes, Mickey Mantle, who had come from Oklahoma). It was worth the trip in so many ways.

They told me the story of Jennie, how she had a loving home for the first five years of her life, how she was given to friends, who kept her outside, how these "friends" were ready to dump her in the middle of nowhere if Connie didn't take her in.

Connie did. She said that Jennie arrived in decrepit condition, and it took a while to get this poor animal back to normal.

Connie said that Jennie was special and that she was her baby.

Connie had no problem with me coming to Kansas City to pick up Jennie.

Then came the biggest challenge -- finding a way to get Jennie from K.C. to New York. As it turned out, I found an airline, Midwest Express, which would charge me $75 for transporting a pet on top of my $250 roundtrip ticket.

I decided to go ahead with it.

I flew into Kansas City on a beautiful Saturday morning. I have to admit. As I drove to the PetSmart in the suburbs -- SOS has it adoption days -- I felt like I was a seven-years-old boy going to pick up my dog for the very first time (yes, I was seven-years-old when I got my first dog).

I wish I could say it was love at first sight for Jennie. Connie gave her to me to walk around the PetSmart. But Jennie didn't want to have anything to do with me. She wanted to hang out with her mom. Don't blame her at all.

I finally took her outside to get acquainted.

Slowly, but surely, Jennie took to me.

When I brought Jennie home, I bought her own set of toys. She never wanted to play with them. She only wanted to hang out with me.

When I had picked her up after I boarded her for the first time -- fortunately, my veterinarian had a boarding facility - Jennie jumped into my arms, much to my surprise. I guess she was happy to see me.

She knew how to beg in the classic dog way. As she grew older, I realized her knees were bothering her more and didn't ask her to beg.

She also was a smart dog. When I asked her if she loved me, she would give me a big wet kiss on my nose. When I brought her to the vet for a medical appointment or boarding, I would ask her the same question and she wouldn't kiss me.

Who says dogs don't understand English?

Unfortunately, my wife Joy wound up allergic to Jennie and I was forced to give her away in 2008.

Through Abandoned Angels Cocker Spaniel Rescue (http://www.petfinder.com/shelters/NY408.html), I found Joan M. in Manhattan. Joan gave Jennie a loving home for the last 1 1/2 years of her life until she passed away on Dec. 18, 2009 (Joan since adopted another Cocker Spaniel).

It is sad when anyone, including a pet, close to us, dies. Still, I look at Jennie's life as a happy occasion because she lived so long, especially when she was in danger in her early years.

In dog years, Jennie had an incredible run, passing away two days after her 17th birthday.

In soccer years, it wasn't too shabby as well. She was around for the 1994, 1998, 2002 and 2006 World Cups, including qualifying for 2010.

She was the sweetest and one of the smartest dogs I have ever encountered. Anyone who met her know what I meant.

Jennie led an intriguing life, living on a farm, in the suburbs and in the city. Joan, who brought her to work many on many days, said that Jennie still wanted to chase pigeons in her old age, not unlike the birds she wanted to bolt after on Long Island. All she wanted to do is hang out and make friends because she loved cats as well.

Jennie's story would make a great book or movie.

When I think about the 2005 Gold Cup, I remember the USA’s great semifinal comeback, a giant letdown in the final, despite a victory, and of course, when Jennie the Cocker Spaniel found her way onto a press credential.

Then again, she had found her way into my heart years prior.

In wake of what transpired in Miami on Sunday, July 14, with the barbarians at the gate of Hard Rock Stadium, I was reminded of another ugly incident at another venue in Miami almost quarter century ago.

By Michael Lewis

One by one, the out-of-town U.S. national soccer press corps left the Orange Bowl press box after finishing their Concacaf Gold Cup stories on Feb. 19, 2000.

The U.S. men’s national team had just been ushered out of the competition in the quarterfinals after a disappointing and distressing loss to Columbia via a shootout while losing a pair of one-goal leads in the process.

There was no need to stay for the second game of the doubleheader.

Except for the local papers, which included the Miami Herald and Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel, the lone out-of-town writers who decided to stay for the nightcap — Grahame L. Jones of the Los Angeles Times and yours truly

Heck, we really had nothing else planned for that Saturday night. It was a soccer game to watch and perhaps write a bit about.

What we witnessed was an entertaining attacking game in which Peru and Honduras just about matched each other goal for goal. Then in the 87th minute, chaos reigned, as bottles, seats and other debris rained down on the historic field in Miami in what can be considered the a rare American soccer riot.

Riot police were called in and more than 100 Miami police officers and security personnel battled some 2,000 angry fans for nearly 45 minutes.

The ruckus began with Peru leading 5-3 when referee Mario Sanchez of Chile red carded Honduran international Carlos Pavon. Sanchez disallowed a goal by Pavon, who then kicked the ball into the stands. Not a smart move and he was ordered off the field.

The smoldering pot boiled over in a hurry. The Honduran bench bolted onto the field and Milton Reyes bumped Sanchez and he was given his marching orders.

Then fans invaded the pitch as the teams scurried for the safety of their locker rooms as security raced to protect Sanchez and his assistant referees.

That’s when the fans started to throw anything they could find onto the field.

Police reinforcements were called in. Sirens and cars flashing red and blue lights ringed the Orange Bowl as a helicopter circled the stadium. Some 34 fans were arrested, although some reports had more than 50 spectators were taken in. Some policemen suffered minor cuts and bruises.

It was an ugly scenario, the ugliest I had ever seen in the USA up until then.

I watched the surreal scenario from the press box. I eventually went downstairs to inspect the battlefield and yes, there were beer bottles, garbage and seats that the crazed fans pulled out from their moorings and threw onto the field.

Wow!

Oh, and unfortunately, I don’t have any photos of the riot because remember, this was 2000 and I don’t think cellphones had cameras back then. Well, at least mine didn’t.

Interesting addendum: I called the Daily News sports desk and explained that I had a story about the riot and that I could give them a new story. They said they were satisfied with my first edition story, but that I could write a paragraph they could add to the end of it. I could not believe they were turning down an eyewitness account (and with facts, of course) of what happened. Could not see that happening today.

Missed opportunity, no doubt.

I did get an opportunity to write about it for my column on CNNSI.com (CNN and Sports Illustrated worked together to operate a sports website back then).

Jones, incidentally, wrote a separate in the L.A. Times, which was packaged next to his story of the U.S. men’s Gold Cup debacle. Got to give the Times credit; the paper knew (and still knows) how to cover soccer.

Needless to say, I was frustrated, unable to write my version of what transpired on the field and in stands. Instead of getting angry, I turned my disappointment into positive energy.

I had run into too many of these incidents and situations. It helped give me the idea to start BigAppleSoccer.com with Charlie Cuttone in 2004. I felt that tri-state soccer fans were missing out on a lot of really good stories, from news to features and opinions.

And one last thing, as you can see, I have a photo of my Gold Cup press badge and my parking pass for that particular game (yes, I even saved some of them). After witnessing what transpired in the stadium, I was pleasantly surprised that my rental car was untouched in the parking lot.

Still, that unforgettable scene in the Orange Bowl has been etched into my mind forever.

By Michael Lewis

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