Minutes after Beyonce blew up Super Bowl XLVII with an electrifying halftime performance the game went from blowout to blackout. Ninety-eight seconds into the second half with the Baltimore Ravens leading the San Francisco 49ers 28 – 6, fully half of the stadium lights inside the Superdome in New Orleans went dark. You may remember the moment.
At that very moment I was standing next to the author of this book. Frank’s official title at the time was senior vice president of Events for the NFL. In his words, he was “the ringmaster” of the biggest sporting event on the planet, the man in charge of everything from broadcast operations to communications to transportation to game day operations and more. Much more. As I later wrote, “the sum total of a thousand parts broken down into a million pieces.”
For the better part of two months I’d observed Frank in a number of different settings, relative to his job. I’d seen him stand in front of some 300 high-level employees and quickly and efficiently lay out the groundwork and ground rules for the game. I watched him tool around the vast confines of the stadium in his souped-up Segway, double-checking power cords and party preparations. But you never really know how a leader operates until things go wrong.
And, in Frank’s case, I mean really wrong.
Franks came out of nowhere—as they so often do—inside NFL Control, the league’s nerve center wedged into a section high above the field of play. As part of what would become a 33-minute behind-the-scenes feature for 60 Minutes Sports, I was conducting an interview with Frank when out of the corner of my eye I noticed an entire bank of stadium lights snap off. Then another. Then another.
“Oh, oh,” I uttered aloud. “That’s not good.”
Think about this scene for a second: More than a billion people watching around the world; more than 80,000 people crammed into an indoor facility, with the only escape route up aisles potentially packed with panic; all communications cut off, and the NFL’s command post completely in the dark. I must admit my first reaction was equally as dark as half the park: Is this some kind of terrorist attack? As those thoughts were running through my head, Frank turned his, and like a powerful mainframe computer assessing faulty code, calmly and directly began the search for answers.
“Frank,” responded one of his colleagues. “We lost the A feed.”
It was not a time for guesswork. Or pretending to know more than he did.
“What does that mean?” Frank said.
“It means about a 20-minute delay.”
I’d like to report during several other critical exchanges over the next few minutes a hint of hesitation or uncertainty crept into Frank’s voice. But that would not be accurate. There simply wasn’t. Not once.
No, instead what our crew witnessed (and captured on video) was a cool, collected leader assessing information. Actually applying the principles on which so much of this book is based.
“Do we have PA?” Frank asked at one point, citing the stadium’s public address system.
Yes, he was told.
“Let’s give people the PA”
Meaning, let’s tell the stressed-out crowd exactly what we know and why. Tell them they’re safe.
As the delay stretched into what would become 34 of the most surreal minutes in NFL history, Frank made one clear-eyed decision after another.
“Everybody, listen up, this is important,” he said as power began to trickle back. “We’re not going to start again until I know all systems are up.”
More than once over the last six years Alan Goldberg, the lead producer of that 60 Minutes Sports piece, and I have marveled at how Frank acted that night. In honor, Alan even came up with a nickname Frank has come to enjoy.
In part because of the events of February 3, 2013, we have become good friends and dinner companions. I dare say after reading this book you’ll find yourself wanting to sit down with Frank and discuss the invaluable wisdom herein. And if the lights ever go out, or something else goes wrong, rest assured.
You’re in good hands with The Cog.
Armen Keteyian