It was the summer of ’65 in Kansas City, I was seven years old, and I wanted what every kid wanted… a Super Ball. You would drop this magical ball and it would bounce back up into your hand (well, technically 92% of the way back, but we thought it was 100%). It also did magical things when you spun it and bounced it. My father said it was a waste of money, that there was nothing Super about this ball, that it was about the same as a “handball” which we had several. It wasn’t, but my father was stubborn. And had little money to spare.
My older sister had my back as usual. Or maybe it was one of my two brothers. Regardless, I had a Super Ball. And it was magical. A few weeks later, I was briefly in the hospital…tonsillectomy. Back in the day, it required a couple of days in the hospital. I had my trusty Super Ball with me. One of my brothers suggested we drop it out of the hospital window. We were on the 5th floor. Back in the day, hospital windows opened. It seemed like a reasonable thing to do. It would bounce back up and we would catch it. And it was almost so, but not quite… the 92% got us. On the second bounce, it must have hit a rock and bounded wildly across the parking lot. Proud owner of a Super Ball no more.
Thousands of other kids had Super Balls. One of those was Lamar Hunt’s (owner of the Kansas City Chiefs) son. At that same time, Lamar and the AFL-NFL executives were debating on changing the name of the AFL–NFL World Championship Game. Obviously something snappier than that was in order. Name after name was tossed out, none seemed all that striking. Colleges had bowl games… Rose Bowl, Cotton Bowl, Orange Bowl. “Title Bowl”, “Final Bowl” just didn’t hit the spot. Winning creativity sometimes comes from melding two dissimilar things. Super Ball… and college bowls… became Super Bowl… thanks to Lamar Hunt, his son, and the wildly popular toy ball of the day.
Here is wishing, hope against hope, that this is finally the year the Chiefs, and Lamar Hunt’s son reach the Super Bowl.