A return to the sideline
Photos and Story
by Jon Echternacht
From October 1986 until last Monday night at the Metrodome for the Vikings-Packers match-up, I had been among the great legions of ordinary fans that enjoy the comforts of their living rooms or friendly neighborhood bars to watch the Packers on TV. Before that, for 10 years and four months, I was managing editor of Ray Nitschke's Packer Report and covered every Green Bay game during that period. They were not, by any stretch of the imagination, the Glory Years. The time included nine years with Bart Starr as head coach and a season and one-half with Forrest Gregg at the helm. That decade also offered a players' strike that eliminated seven games in the middle of a season and only two playoff appearances by the Pack. Having been out of touch for so long, I accepted an invitation from longtime friend and Packer team photographer, Jim Biever, to join him on the sideline and observe firsthand the last "border battle of the century," as it was billed by some electronic media outlets in pregame hype. It was a chance to relive days gone by. A well-known fact among those in the business is that the worst seat in the house is on the sideline. The field is a noisy - particularly in the Metrodome- chaotic, confusing, place to do business. A great majority of the photographers and other sideline assistants who work the Metrodome on a regular basis wear earplugs. A sideline observer is at eye level with the players. Any action on the opposite side of the field can be lost in a sea of bodies. The view is further limited by watching the game through the restricted eye of a camera's long lens. You don't have Boomer and Al explaining the play, the penalty or an unusual situation with instant replay. The noise level is such that you can't hear the referee's explanation very clearly over the PA system. Instant replays are shown on the big screen inside the stadium, but can be easily missed. When Viking quarterback Jeff George tossed a 57-yard TD pass to wide receiver Randy Moss after a play action fake late in the first half, I was fooled as much as the Packer defense appeared to be. I never did look up at the right time to see the replay from start to finish. I had better luck when the Packers faked a field goal and scored on a Matt Hasselbeck to Jeff Thomason pass early in the fourth quarter. I saw the play, but never had a clear shot for a picture because of the crowd on the sideline. Every time the ball moves up and down the field a small army of still photographers, TV photographers, the chain gang, various technical assistants, and a mini-version of a flatbed truck with ABC cameras aboard, moves along the sideline with the action. The only time you aren't standing cheek to jowl with a number of other hard-working strangers is if you happen to be a long way from the football. However, returning to the field after the long hiatus gave me a healthy respect for a number of things long forgotten, including: An appreciation for how hard the work of the sideline photographer can be. They are constantly on the move to get the best position for the moment, up and down and dodging the ABC truck. Those that work for the bigger operations get no rest at halftime. They are off to scan their photos of the first half to various firms throughout the world. The same is true after the game. At the professional level, the apparent mass confusion in which the coaches and players work each week is astounding. Particularly compared with anybody who spends the workweek in a quiet little cubicle with soft music in the background. On the Metrodome floor, the music is more likely to be loud rock or rap tunes intended to get the home crowd stirred up. The tunes are blasted from a couple of speakers the size of a Volkswagen not surprisingly positioned near the visitors' bench. Coaches yell instructions that can't be heard from the bench to players in the middle of the field. Hand signals have become popular for visiting teams at the Dome. And when the Vikings had a lead, the crowd was encouraged to crank up the volume another decibel to further inhibit the Packers' ability to function on offense. Those earplugs the veterans on the sideline use started to make a lot of sense by the second half. The crowd noise subsided, their numbers reduced because the Viking faithful started leaving the stadium when Minnesota took the lead for good with 8:58 left in the game. And to top it off, the Packers lost. They had a chance right up to the last second, but Viking defensive back Robert Griffith intercepted a pass by Packer quarterback Brett Favre in the end zone as time ran out . a definitive ending that gave the Vikings a 24-20 win. The noise was gone, but my head kept ringing. I didn't have earplugs. A mass of photographers hit the field to cluster around the heroes of the game and snap pictures. I took the agonizing walk to the Packer locker room following the loss. A journey I remember all too well. One time in particular was between the same two opponents when the Vikings Fran Tarkenton hit Ahmad Rashad at midfield and the fleet wide receiver galloped into the end zone in another definitive ending more than two decades ago. The Vikings won that one 27-21 in overtime. That contest took place at Met Stadium on a sunny, pleasant, fall Sunday afternoon. I have always been advocate for football as an outdoor game and it should remain thus. But as I left the Dome and walked into the night where temperatures hovered around zero and the wind chill was reported at 35 below, my 50-plus-year-old knees ached from trying to keep pace with nimble youngsters on the sideline. The icy air nipped my ears on the four-block walk to a parking lot. And I felt an internal emptiness because the Packers lost. I was, forgive me, very thankful the game was played inside on this night.
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