30 years of irrelevance

Elia Powers

Irrelevant Week, the ultimate salute to the underdog athlete, turns

30 on Monday.

That’s three decades of partying, sightseeing, toasting, roasting

and pigskin hyping -- all in honor of the final pick of the National

Football League draft.

“It’s the unofficial beginning to the football part of the

season,” said Vince Casey, the NFL’s senior editorial manager. “When

Irrelevant Week comes in late June, you know training camps are a

month away.”

Thirty years. An obvious milestone, certainly worthy of an earnest

reflection from the event’s founder, Paul Salata ... right?

“It’s not relevant,” he answers.

Spend any time with Salata, the Newport Beach resident who takes

draft afterthoughts and makes them local celebrities, and you’re

bound to hear him utter that phrase.

Salata isn’t big on official titles. Few rules govern Irrelevant

Week.

Everything is fluid. Nothing is sacred. Self-effacing humor is

welcomed, if not mandatory.

A perfect example: the signature Lowsman Trophy, given to Mr.

Irrelevant, which shows a fumbling football player.

“I was a middle-management type of player,” Salata says of his

career as a wide receiver for USC and the San Francisco 49ers.

A DRAFT-DAY IDEA

It was after his athletic career ended that Salata had his biggest

score.

While working as an NFL draft-day liaison for the San Francisco

49ers, Salata observed that football fans and sports journalists

flocked to New York for the first day of the event, but largely

ignored day two.

“At one point, I suggested that everyone still in the crowd stand

up and tell a little bit about themselves,” Salata said.

Then he had another idea: Why not add a little drama, and reward

loyal fans by honoring the final pick?

Salata floated the concept to then-NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle,

who gave him the go-ahead.

The origin of the event’s name is a big surprise to some. Salata

was taking a jab at those who were involved with the 1960s

counterculture movement.

“I listened to people say, ‘That’s not relevant,’ all the time,”

Salata said. “Everything was about political relevance, and if it

wasn’t what they thought, it was irrelevant.”

AN APPROPRIATE BEGINNING

In 1976, Salata announced the first Mr. Irrelevant: Pittsburgh

Steelers 17th-round pick Kelvin Kirk.

Back in Newport Beach, Salata and his staff planned to kick off

the inaugural event with a 4 p.m. news conference. There was one

problem: Kirk had missed his flight to Southern California.

When Salata learned of Kirk’s absence, he scoured the neighborhood

for an impostor. And so, the event began with a Safeway butcher

filling in as Mr. Irrelevant.

“We were prepared to go without him,” Salata said. “It couldn’t

have been planned any better.”

Kirk arrived in the middle of the press conference, relieving his

body double of his duties. Salata said the stunt set a perfect tone

for the event.

The first Mr. Irrelevant didn’t make it past training camp. Many

of his predecessors suffered the same fate. It wasn’t until 1983 --

New York Giants rookie John Tuggle -- that an honoree made an NFL

roster.

In the early days of Irrelevant Week, event organizers took their

guest of honor through a dizzying social schedule. Pub crawls bled

into late-night parties, and Mr. Irrelevant got one last look at

college life.

“They wouldn’t sleep for seven days,” said Jim Dale, Hoag Hospital

vice president of major gifts, who is on the event’s steering

committee. “This was probably the biggest week of their life.”

Salata called on his daughter, then-USC college student Melanie

Fitch, to add pizazz. She and her friends served as groupies,

flanking Mr. Irrelevant and waving pompoms when he walked into a

room.

Fitch, now chief executive officer of Irrelevant Week, said for

one stunt, the girls joined Mr. Irrelevant in a helicopter that

landed near a throng of event attendees.

The city of Newport Beach hadn’t given organizers clearance to

land the helicopter.

“That was irrelevant,” Salata said.

A PLAYER’S WEEKEND

Over the years, Salata and Fitch have catered Irrelevant Week to

fit each player’s personality.

Most draftees like to golf, Salata said, which is why he planned a

golf tournament. One Mr. Irrelevant came to Newport Beach with his

wife and kids, so Salata set up a miniature golf tournament instead.

For this year’s event, Salata has invited every past Mr.

Irrelevant. He said he expects at least eight to attend.

The recipient is New England Patriots draftee Andy Stokes, a tight

end from William Penn University who was selected No. 255. Stokes, a

St. George, Utah, native, will receive bags of gifts, a letter from

NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue and his share of stage time.

“He’s from nowhere, went to Nowhere University,” Fitch said. “He’s

going to see more people here than he’s ever seen before.”

Because of Patriots’ training camp obligations, Stokes can stay in

Newport Beach only until Tuesday night. He is taking a chartered jet

owned by a local company to New England in the wee hours.

Events will continue after Stokes leaves Orange County.

CHANGING TIMES

Both Dale and Salata admit Irrelevant Week is tamer these days.

“We’ve all gotten older,” Dale said. “We don’t have the energy to

stay out until 6 a.m.”

Newport Beach Fire Chief Tim Riley, a steering committee member,

said that during the past four years, event organizers have turned

the focus to charity. This year’s main causes are the Orange County

Burn Assn., Cure Duchene and Costa Mesa United.

Casey said another major change is the draft format. Over the

years, the NFL has cut rounds out of the event.

“These are all legitimate players,” Casey said. “General managers

know that the lower picks are just as important as the higher ones.”

Does that mean Mr. Irrelevant isn’t so irrelevant anymore?

That’s not relevant, Salata would say.

* ELIA POWERS is the enterprise and general assignment reporter.

He may be reached at (714) 966-4623 or by e-mail at

[email protected].