For 53 Super Bowls, Star-Ledger Columnist Emeritus Jerry Izenberg was our readers’ eyes and ears from the 50-yard line, beginning with Super Bowl I at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum in 1967 to last year’s game in Atlanta at Mercedes-Benz Stadium. But now, for the first time in the game’s history, he won’t be there.

***

"Memories light the corner of my mind,

Misty water-colored memories of the way we were."

— “The Way We Were”

Fifty-three years. That’s how long Part 2 of my pro football seasons always ended with the Super Bowl, a game whose name sounded like a breakfast cereal. Before that, from 1957 to 1966, there was a decade of NFL and AFL championship games, and I wrote about all of them, too — until now.

This year, the streak will end. I won’t be at Super Bowl 54 in Miami.

As I told Bill Vinovich, who will be the referee on Feb. 2, when the San Francisco 49ers meet the Kansas City Chiefs: “Flip the coin. You can start without me. It’s time to get off stage.”

But hold on: I’m old, not dead.

You can continue reading me on NJ.com or in The Star-Ledger. You can continue to line your garbage pails with my previous column.

So why am I not in Miami today as Super Bowl week starts?

Once my father, a minor-league baseball player, told me that all athletes have the same complaint — the legs are the first thing to go. I never imagined that would apply to 89-year-old sports columnists. I can still walk, but from this point forward, most of what you read in the future will be written from my desk here in the Las Vegas Valley. It’s a lot safer in Henderson, Nev., than the backstretch at Churchill Downs or during the hunt in the dark after the big game:

“Where the hell did they park the Super Bowl media buses?”

Once upon a time, the late Pete Rozelle, former NFL commissioner, would gather all the charter members of the Super Bowl survivors group -- sportswriters who had covered every Super Bowl -- for drinks and the unbridled swapping of lies at what he called The Super Club. There were about 30 of us back then. I remember one time when Pete got up to speak.

“I look around and it’s so good to see you again," he said. "But then I think about the faces that are gone and that makes this a bittersweet occasion.”

In response, I rose to offer our appreciation. What he got was the Jersey version of a thank you.

“Hey, Rozelle, what kind of happy hour are you running here? First you tell us we’re gonna die. Then you serve cold hors d’oeuvres and watered-down drinks. How the hell do I get out of this chicken (expletive) club?”

Regretfully, I have found a way.

There’s one other thing I should tell you. I was 36 years old when I covered my first Super Bowl. Some of my best friends were there and some of them were giants in our business, a group scattered from the Atlantic to the Pacific oceans. I guess about 10 to 20 of them. We were sure we would all grow old together.

I was closest with Eddie Pope (Miami), Blackie Sherrod (Dallas), Will McDonough (Boston) Jerry Green (Detroit), Jack Murphy (San Diego) and Jim Murray (Los Angeles). Because of the geography that separated us, each Super Bowl was a reunion. So were the World Series and the Kentucky Derby. We shared a lot of press boxes, drank a lot of bad coffee out of Styrofoam cups and beat a lot of late deadlines.

But each year or so, by Super Bowl time, we had lost another one of us. Today, Jerry and I are the only ones left among daily newspaper columnists who have covered every Super Bowl. I telephone Jerry a lot just to make sure he’s OK, and I’m thrilled that now he’s the lone owner of the Super Club newspaper guys’ attendance streak.

NFL Commissioner Pete Rozelle (center) and Jerry Izenberg (right) during a party at Super Bowl 15 for reporters who had covered every Super Bowl. (Star-Ledger file photo)SL

But sing no sad songs for what all of us once shared. The memories remain evergreen. Over the next few days, I will share some of them with you — stories many don’t know. They are what made the Super Bowl a damned good way to spend a week.

For openers, here’s one maybe you’ve not heard.

It’s about motivation and one of the best motivators I ever knew. It was 1991 and the Giants, coached by Bill Parcells, were in Tampa to play in the Super Bowl against the Buffalo Bills, who were heavy favorites. It was the general feeling that the Giants’ defense would not be able to contain the Bills’ turbo-charged no-huddle offense, which had scored 95 points in playoff victories over the Miami Dolphins and Oakland Raiders.

But Parcells had a plan to run the ball and keep the Bills offense off the field by swallowing the game clock. All week, he watched his offensive line and decided his biggest ally there was tackle Jumbo Elliot. And most of that week, Jumbo looked awful.

On the way to practice a few days before the game, Parcells called Lawrence Taylor to sit with him on the team bus.

“I need a favor.”

“Sure, Bill.”

“When I give you the signal, today, start a fight with Jumbo.”

“Say what?” LT said.

“You heard me. Don’t ask. Just do it.”

And he did.

As they rolled on the ground while Parcells watched, Bill Belichick, the defensive coordinator, ran over and shouted. “Bill, we’ve gotta stop this.”

Parcells covered up the start of a smile and said, “Yes, Bill. We should do that. I guess we really should. I am sure you are right. Well, OK, you go on and stop it.”

As Elliot, still puzzled, got to his feet, Parcells hollered at him:

“That’s how it’s gonna be for you all day Sunday if you don’t wake up."

On Sunday, the Giants held the ball, killed the clock and won.

And Elliot was terrific.

(Tomorrow: More Super Bowl memories)