Outside the TKTS booth in Times Square last Friday afternoon, at least a thousand tourists stood in line waiting to buy discount show tickets for that evening's performances.

As a large red FDNY fire engine, a yellow ribbon affixed to its grille, made its way down Broadway at a decidedly non-emergency gait, the throng burst into a spontaneous ovation. The firefighters on board waved back in grateful acknowledgement of the applause, which lingered until the vehicle disappeared from view.

Last week's journey for the Bernard Hopkins-Felix Trinidad middleweight championship bout marked our first visit to New York City proper since the September 11th bombings. Resilient types that they are, New Yorkers appear to have adapted remarkably, although one couldn't help but note that whenever one's eyes travelled southward to where the World Trade Centre used to be, one quickly averted one's gaze.

Between acts of The Tale of the Allergist's Wife last Friday night, an usher at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre told me that among the 17 Shubert-owned theatres, 10 plays had closed down within a week of the Trade Centre disaster. After Friday night's curtain call, actress Valerie Harper reappeared onstage, congratulated the members of the audience for their bravery, and thanked them profusely "for coming out to see our play" in the prevailing circumstances.

When Hopkins-Trinidad was still scheduled for September 15th, I'd purchased four tickets, but by the time the new date rolled around, only three of them had been used. Although last Saturday's boxing match was sold out, not even a New York ticket scalper is interested in trying to flog a single ticket, so a few hours before the bout I strolled over to a nearby firehouse on West 31st Street, and gave the ticket to the lieutenant in charge, suggesting that he designate one of his men to attend. Since that evening's shift had just come on duty at 6 p.m., I further suggested that the lucky recipient of my $75 seat might be provided with a pager.

"Besides," I joked to the lieutenant, "if Hopkins wins you guys are all going to be over there later anyway." As it turned out, Hopkins DID win, but the beating he meted out to the previously undefeated Trinidad was so convincing and so one-sided that not even Trinidad's rabid supporters (who comprised the preponderance of the 19,000-plus crowd on hand) were disposed to argue, much less riot.

Hopkins, a 36-year-old ex-con from Philadelphia, was handily winning on points even before he knocked Trinidad down in the final round, bringing the beaten fighter's father Don Felix out of the corner in a gesture of surrender that saved his son further punishment.

IT appears that New Yorkers will catch at least one break this week if, as expected, the protracted negotiations between the National Football League and the National Automobile Dealers Association result in an agreement that will allow Super Bowl XXXVI to go forth in New Orleans on February 3rd.

As related here last week, by pushing back its season a week, the NFL had found itself in conflict with the motoring body, which had long scheduled its national convention in New Orleans for the weekend in question. Although the car salesmen initially maintained that it would be utterly impossible for them to change the date of their convention, the NFL's offer of an $8 million sweetener was enough to get them to the bargaining table.

A week later the offer was up to $12 million. (To cover "losses and liabilities," of course; the NFL does not offer bribes.) You might have thought this was enough to bring them running, but you'd be wrong. Two days ago New Orleans mayor Marc Morial said: "This is not a done deal yet," and NADA spokesman David Hyatt added: "We have logistical problems. We have some other problems."

Hyatt said a NADA committee sent a reworded copy of the latest NFL proposal back to the league for what he called "technical clarifications". Although the past week's negotiation was clearly about money, the league periodically restated its threat to play the Super Bowl in a city other than New Orleans.

It should be evident that this was a transparent bargaining tactic, but about the third time he heard Pasadena, Miami, and Tampa mentioned as alternate sites, New York Congressman Charles Schumer came up with the brilliant idea of making New York the host city.

Playing the Super Bowl at Giants Stadium, proposed Schumer, would not only be a defiant response to the terrorists, but would provide the city's hotel and hospitality industries with an opportunity to recover some of the millions in tourist revenue lost since September 11th.

Our first reaction to this proposal was: Haven't New Yorkers suffered enough? We're not sure how many Super Bowls Schumer has attended, but there are reasons why the game is traditionally played at a warm-weather venue, and the annual Super Bowl Classic golf tournament is only one of them.

On the two occasions the Super Bowl has been played north of the Mason-Dixon line it was staged in Minneapolis and Detroit - cities which have domed indoor stadiums. Giants Stadium in early February is more apt to be encased in a block of ice six inches thick.

Besides, if the NFL really wanted to strike a blow against terrorism, it ought to play the Super Bowl in Kabul.