I clearly wasn't meant to be a reporter

I was a pretty good reporter. I was young, I only took one journalism class, and I was never great. But I was pretty good. I was especially thorough in my research, and you could count on me for a very good 5,000-word feature on just about anything.

But there's a reason I choose to be a behind-the-scenes guy. I do enjoy the little bit of writing that blogging here and professionally affords me. But I was not meant to be part of the circus Guardian blogger Paolo Bandini describes:

Just to my left, a short Hispanic man dressed as a genie - complete with shiny black cape and an enormous gold turban - is sharing his prediction for the Super Bowl with New York Giants reserve guard Kevin Boothe. Directly ahead of me seven-time Pro Bowler Michael Strahan has just launched into his best rendition of an Alicia Keys number I don't recognise. To my right, another hack is conducting his interviews entirely through the monkey puppet on his left hand.

I mean, I'm sure I'd love press-area seats for the Super Bowl, especially in a Phoenix winter (I hate Phoenix summer, but it's not a bad town otherwise). But that just sounds like a lower level of purgatory or an upper level of hell to me.