It is February 1, 2004 and I am standing at midfield of Reliant Stadium, Houston, Texas. In just 15 seconds, TV will return from commercial and go live to me, as I am to ask the legendary Y.A. Title to please toss the coin for Super Bowl XXXVIII. What an honor for me to be here, the Referee of this Super Bowl, but to add in the opportunity to actually meet and talk with the one and only Y.A. Title . . . things can't get any better than this. There are now 10 seconds until TV returns to me and 170 million people in this country, over a half billion world wide, will watch as I ask Mr. Title to toss that coin. But wait. Y.A. is asking me something - "Ed, I get the coin, don't I", he asks. "I'm sorry, Mr. Title, but I can't give you the coin." And then come those words I shall never forget. Words that may actually have been worse to hear at mid-field of the Super Bowl than from the witness chair in the court room - "But I promised my Grandson, Ed. He is so excited. I promised him he could have the coin."

What was I to do? How do I say no to Y.A. Title and his excited Grandson. But then I looked over at the sideline at the 50 yard line where the three big security guards stood; all decked out in full uniforms; side arms in their holsters, at least for the time being. Those three security guards who's sole job was to get that coin from me right after the toss, and guard it with their lives until it was placed in the waiting display at the Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio. Security Guards . . . .or Y.A. Title's Grandson. 5 seconds to go. What to do.

Was I reliving a nightmare from my last trial? Standing before the jury in a large exposure wrongful death case. I look back at my defense table and see my truck driver client; who had been rejected from the "Average Joe" TV show based on his looks; and who was the first person to use all three lifelines and miss the first $500 question on "Who Wants to be a Millionaire". Actually, I think he's dozed off to sleep, which is just as well because he can't see the jury glaring at him with hate in their eyes, or the tears running down the cheeks of the widow sitting at the plaintiff's table. I think he's starting to drool, though, and it's dripping on plaintiff's exhibit #1 - his driving logs. Logs with a credibility rating somewhere between World League Wrestling and the glint in the eye of a used car salesman.

Okay, I say to myself. Where would I rather be? What's tougher -- my Lawyer job or my Referee job? Well, I guess it's like anything. It comes down to which decision do I have to make at the moment. That's always the toughest. At the moment, I have to decide who to face - Y.A.'s grandson, or those three Hall of Fame security guards.

So what did I do? True story: TV cues me. We're on the air. Several hundred million people watched me reach into my pocket and pull out the coin. I said a few words (Welcome to Super Bowl XXXVIII . . . . blah, blah, blah). I reached into my pocket and pulled out my spare coin - the silver dollar that I flip every week of the regular season. Y.A. flipped it; came up heads; the teams made their choices and left the field. I handed that silver dollar to Y.A. Title for him to take to his Grandson - truly the coin that he flipped in the Super Bowl. I then took the special commerative coin out of my other pocket and jogged over to those three nice gentlemen with their guns, and handed them their coin to take to the Hall of Fame.

Now, how can I work out a substitute defendant to substitute for the real one in my next trial . . .