We're always told to be afraid of terrorists broadcasting secret messages on national TV. I've always wondered: don't the terrorists have Yahoo Groups? Can't they just send out an Evite when it's time to stage an attack? To promote the new ZUG book, PRANK THE MONKEY, we wanted to show how easy it would be to broadcast a secret terrorist message not just on national TV, but on TV's biggest event.
We hacked the Super Bowl.
During the second quarter of Super Bowl XLI, a team of elite, highly-trained pranksters quietly distributed 2,350 packets to the lower east section of Dolphin Stadium. These "Party Packs" contained a six-inch light-up necklace, along with official-looking instructions. By wearing the necklace lights during the halftime show, Super Bowl fans believed they would be spelling out the word "PRINCE." But they weren't. They were spelling a secret message that was broadcast to 93.1 million people around the globe.
You're about to read a real-life heist story. Super Bowl XLI was a Level One national security event, usually reserved for Presidential inaugurations. We had to get two full vanloads of materials through federal marshals, Homeland Security agents, police, police dogs, bomb squads, ATF personnel, robots, and a five-ton state-of-the-art X-ray crane. It took four months and a dozen people to pull off the prank that ended up fooling the world.
This is the Super Stunt.
"Would you be willing to risk $20,000 on the greatest prank of all time?"
My wife and I were talking quietly in a corner at Mr. and Mrs. Bartley's, a famous burger joint in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I had just told her about the idea for my latest prank, the most ambitious publicity stunt ever attempted, which would make David Blaine look like a used car salesman. "This is like putting money down on a roulette wheel at Vegas," I said. "The risk is huge, but so is the reward." My Powerbook was open on the table. I had charted out the secret message on a grid in Excel, simulating what it would look like when displayed by 2,250 Super Bowl fans.
I watched Jade closely, monitoring her reaction. She is the yin to my yang -- and I've got a lot of yang to be yinned. Her judgment is excellent and precise. She's an incredible partner, not because she supports these insane ideas, but because she acts as a stabilizer and a refiner. Now I've made her sound like a motor oil, but she's not. Though she is well-lubricated.
"You know what I think?" Jade finally said, looking up. "'Toot Sweets.'"
She was referring to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, which we had recently watched with our five-year-old son. Dick Van Dyke plays an eccentric inventor who creates "Toot Sweets," a whistle-shaped candy. It's a big, crazy idea that fails, until the end of the movie. Then he pulls out some dynamite and blows up a bunch of Nazis. Not really, but that would have been a cool scene. Jade's first reaction was extremely important to me, so I thought carefully about her response. "Toot Sweets had a happy ending," I pointed out. "This might not."
"I want you to live your dreams," she said, taking my hands in hers. "But it seems to me that if we're going to do this, you need to make a field trip down to Dolphin Stadium."
And that, my friends, is why I have the greatest wife in the world.
The weather in Miami was balmy and warm as I watched my beloved hometown Patriots lose to the Dolphins, 21-0. I wasn't really watching the game, but doing reconnaissance work for the prank that would take place in two months, when Miami hosted the Super Bowl.
I was pleased to see that security at Dolphin Stadium was laughable: they did almost no searching, allowing me to bring in a backpack containing $20,000 worth of electronics: laptop, video camera, digital camera, MP3 player, and several dozen metal tools. I freely roamed the stadium, videotaping security personnel, their uniforms and badges. I found the perfect storage place for the 2,250 lights that we would be bringing in for the big game: obvious, but unobtrusive. Walking up a back stairwell, I found an electrical room that had been left unlocked. Had I wanted to, I think I could have shut down major transformers and the entire Dolphin Stadium elevator system -- during a nationally-televised NFL game. This country should be thankful that I only use my powers for good.
The other discovery was that most of the low-level security personnel were poorly-paid minority workers. This is not a racist statement, it is the truth: the whiter you are, the higher your security level. My team would look like a big fat loaf of Wonder Bread. 
My final field note was the godlike status of the media, who are treated as a special caste system unto themselves. Who gets to go on the field? The media. Who gets to go backstage? The media. Locker rooms? Press conferences? Free buffets? I'm telling you, this country should not be afraid of terrorists, but of the media. One of those guys goes nuts, and we're finished. And from what I can tell, some of them are already pretty close to the edge. Particularly the weather guys. I had laid the groundwork, and now it was time for the real work to begin.