Living with "The Ring"

The New Orleans Saints will be getting their own conversation starters this summer.

Each year, the NFL buys rings for the winner of the Super Bowl game, setting a maximum price for each, adjusted for inflation.  When I was with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and we won the Super Bowl in 2002, that price was set at roughly $5,600, as I recall, and if the club exceeds that price, the NFL pulls their contribution (quick math: the owners had $840,000 in incentives to keep the price in check).

It probably wasn’t that hard to keep a handle on the amount, since Tiffany, Jostens, and a host of others were clamoring to design and supply the rings.  Although ownership never requested our input, players and we front office types were happy to supply it anyway, suggesting white gold and no skull-and-crossbones or pirate battle flag designs.  (As an aside, when I arrived in Tampa, I was told of the process used to move from the old, orange and red “Bucco Bruce” to the new battle flag design.  At least some research was embarked upon, I’m told, where it was discovered that a white pirate flag meant that no harm was sought, while black meant war and plunder.  The red that was chosen as the flag’s background meant “and when we arrive, we’re going to kill everyone.”)

That’d be nice to have on a ring.  The flag in rubies, maybe the inscription below?

That June 14, roughly five months after we’d beaten the Raiders in the Super Bowl, we gathered at a Tampa banquet hall for the ring ceremony.  The 49ers held their ring ceremony in Hawaii, but it probably didn’t compare to a Tampa banquet hall.  To the backbeat of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself”  and a Buccaneers highlight video, waitstaff came pouring into the room carrying trays with the bright blue boxes of Tiffany.  Those at my table held our breath as we opened the boxes, hoping for “A rings” and no skulls.  We had heard tales of differing classes of rings, based on the club having to purchase rings beyond the 150 provided by the league’s support.  Stories of no diamonds or smaller versions, which were dubbed "B rings," leaving the NFL-bought rings as "A rings."  (Of course, since I have the fingers of a twelve-year old girl, a smaller "B ring" might have been just right.)

We sighed with relief.  Fifty-four diamonds in the shape of a football and the Lombardi trophy.  It was yellow gold, but -- mercifully -- no skulls. 

The following season my wife and father were seated at a Buccaneers game with professional golfer Paul Azinger, and I came down at halftime (from the coaches’ box where I was viewing) to visit my wife.  As long as I was there, I figured that I should introduce myself to Azinger, who through a series of events, was our guest for the game.

We shook hands and he looked toward my hand.  “Well, let me see what an ‘A ring’ looks like.”

I moved to show him my new ring when warning sirens went off in my head.  Definitely a set-up.

I showed him my left hand.  “Here it is,” I said, displaying my wedding band.  “My ‘A ring.’  And this old thing is my Super Bowl ring.”

Paul and Amy laughed and shrugged – foiled.  I usually don’t think fast enough to save myself.

Over the years, it’s been a terrific icebreaker for those occasions that I’ve worn it.  We’ve had people come up from across rooms to ask, interrupt business meetings, and wonder quietly from a distance.  I’ve introduced myself as a former linebacker, and have been asked if Tony Dungy gave me his Colts ring as thanks for working on his memoir.  My wife overheard people next to her speculating as I crossed the room.  “Must be baseball.  Can’t be football.  No way he played football.”

The best comment that I’ve received came two weeks ago.  I forget where I was, but with roughly 9,000 Super Bowl rings in worldwide circulation, was pretty sure that I was the only person in the room with one.  A young woman saw the ring.  “That’s beautiful.  What is it for?”  I responded that it was a Buccaneers 2002 Super Bowl ring.

“Cool.  Did you get it out of a catalog?”