Sad Chad and Lynch star at Madden Bowl XIV
For most of this week, you wouldn’t know the Super Bowl Hosted by Matt Leinart was in town unless you were at an NFL event. Or if you passed by a scary poster for the Saturday Night John Travolta Spectacular. The streets are quiet and I haven’t seen many fans down for the game. Old Scottsdale is the nighttime epicenter of the area, but we walked around early Wednesday night and most places was closed or empty.
That changed dramatically Thursday, where the party weekend kicked off with Madden Bowl XIV, among other shindigs. I covered the event while Tiffany Simons got a pep talk from Fifty Cent and played ping pong with Donovan McNabb.
The place was quiet upon media arrival with Patrick Willis and Shawne Merriman on couches playing video games upstairs. After overcoming some early fears about turning into Billy Bush, I interviewed Willis and then approached Chad Johnson.
Johnson, wearing black converse, was standing at an outside console playing Madden against a nice looking woman while Drew Rosenhaus chatted in his ear. This was not the Chad Johnson we’re used to seeing. It was sad Chad. The Chad that wants to be traded. I noticed him earlier walking around like someone stole his dog, but he said he’d talk for one minute.
The second the camera light turned on, he transformed from sad Chad to Ocho Cinco. He boasted about his Madden skills and talked about the Super Bowl. Although he wouldn’t give the Patriots any “I desperately want to play for them” love, he did play as the Pats in Madden tournament.
Rosenhaus saved our night a few minutes later. Or at least got us footage. I asked him for an interview, but instead he brought us to talk to the rest of his clients in a players-only lounge above the main dance floor. (We had been turned away before.)
These parties pay the players to come, but allow them to stay away from everyone else when they want. Marcia, our intrepid camerawoman, and I talked to his other clients, Jon Beason and Kellen Winslow, then hung around nervously waiting to get kicked out. It took another 30 minutes.
Laurence Maroney, with Kool Aid hat on, was surprisingly at the party and entered in the tournament. When he lost in the first round, he blamed it on wanting to make curfew.
Trey Wingo was the “host” of the party and painful to watch. He stood on a stage doing his best Roast Emcee impression while the players' competed in Madden on big screens behind him.
Nothing prepares you for Trey Wingo using the phrase “cutting the tracks” while giving the DJ “props.” When he was introduced, there was no reaction, so the DJ jumped in to ask “I can’t hear you … I said are you ready for some fun tonight?”
Never a good omen.
Some highlights from the Wingo hilarity:
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As the tournament was wrapping up, many more NFL players showed up and the place became packed. ESPN had a large continent, from Mark Schlereth, Merril Hoge, and Ron Jaworski. Hashmarks noted that the DJ felt the need to yell out, "Schlereth is in the House” every ten minutes, although that was true with anyone who showed up.
Marcia and I watched the festivities from close to the stage, occasionally jumping onstage to interview players like Willis McGahee. McGahee was relaxed, saying his old wild reputation is a thing of the past. “This is the ’08 Willis McGahee.”
McGahee played as the Jaguars because of their “potent” defense. He took the title over his replacement in Buffalo, Marshawn Lynch.
Lynch was the most likeable player in attendance (Winslow a close second), dancing like crazy to Lil’ Wayne while playing, giving us off-the-wall answers to every question, and taking photos with tons of fans. Perhaps I was just hypnotized by his diamond-encrusted grill.
This isn’t the same one, but worth checking out.
We had to leave the party early to drop off our camera and tapes, and couldn’t get back in after that. We searched for the Deadspin party, more my speed, but couldn’t find it. I find out now we parked two blocks away.
On the way back to the car, we walked by a Dallas Cowboys bus, and the Terrell Owens party, which looked empty. That made me happy. We also passed the Paris Hilton party, which appeared to have the most action. Or at least the longest red carpet with the fans watching.
We stopped to watch a couple policemen break into the party on horseback, eventually coming out with a few disappointingly small men in handcuffs.
As we approached our parking garage shivering, Hilton’s thin, nasal voice echoed into the night.
"What’s up Phoenix?"
I didn’t hear a reaction.
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