Jan. 12, 1969.
Remember that date tonight when you watch Super Bowl LII between the New England Patriots and Philadelphia Eagles. Remember it as you view television commercials that will run $5 million for 30 seconds in hopes of making the phrase "dilly, dilly" - at least in the case of Bud Light - as popular around your home or office as Wendy's' "Where's the beef?" once was.
Remember it as you watch this year's high-tech halftime show featuring Justin Timberlake more than 90 minutes after millions are expected to be glued to their stopwatches as Pink sings the "Star-Spangled Banner," all those clock watchers hopeful they've made the right "prop" bet on whether she's over or under Las Vegas' predicted 120 seconds.
Remember it, too, if anyone in your viewing party asks, "How did we get to this point?" where a single football game is the most-watched event in the world, because the Super Bowl that was staged on Jan. 12, 1969 - Super Bowl III - changed everything.
It was the Beatles pushing aside Frank Sinatra. It was Norman Rockwell losing a magazine cover to Peter Max. Or the curves of Sophia Loren finishing second to the human pencil that was Twiggy.
It was, at its core, the white-shoed, shaggy-haired quarterback Joe Namath and his New York Jets of the upstart American Football League shocking the black-high-topped, crew-cut quarterback Johnny Unitas and his Baltimore Colts of the established National Football League. That shocking 16-7 final score inside Miami's Orange Bowl remains the only Super Bowl in which the winning team scored just one touchdown.
And while Namath over Unitas is way too much of a generalization - the sore-armed Colts QB didn't even get on the field until the fourth quarter - and it didn't single-handedly merge the two leagues since AFL champ Kansas City's demolition of the NFL's Minnesota Vikings a year later also contributed mightily to the merger, Joe Willie and his Jets made the game matter.
Made it worth watching after the NFL's Green Bay Packers had run K.C. and Oakland out of less-than-filled stadiums in Super Bowls I and II.
Made it, though the term wasn't around back then, must-see TV.
And for me, a slightly rebellious sixth-grader at Morningside Elementary School in Hopkinsville, Ky., it was a chance to win a 50-cent bet with my dad, since I was all-in on the anti-establishment Namath and he was a fierce Colts fan from his days serving in the Army around Baltimore.
It wasn't entirely that simple, of course. My dad loved order and tradition and respect for authority. He liked individual athletes but he didn't like them standing out from teammates, hence his disdain for Namath's white football shoes when everyone else wore black.
And because most apples don't fall that far from the trees that bear them, I'm a lot more like my late father now than I was then. I like conservative uniforms and somewhat cropped hair and as few tattoos as possible. And while I don't care if a team wears white shoes, black shoes or purple shoes, I do wish they'd all wear the same color. Call me a crabby conservative. Please.
But not then. Back then, like so many other boys my age, I fought at least once a month over how long I could wear the bangs that covered my forehead. I constantly griped about my parents' preferred "elevator" music on the car's AM-only radio. I'd flash a peace sign whenever possible.
So I loved it when Namath "guaranteed" victory a couple of days before the game, despite the Jets being 18.5-point underdogs. And when he held high the No. 1 sign with his finger as he ran off the field, even if Matt Snell - who scored the Jets' only touchdown - was probably the real MVP instead of Joe Willie.
Certainly, it was all a long, long time ago. To return to that afternoon, NBC's broadcast was handled by play-by-play man Curt Gowdy with color commentators Al DeRogatis and Kyle Rote. Pat Summerall (on loan from CBS) and Jim Simpson also were involved. All have since died.
How different the pregame and halftime shows? Apollo 8 astronauts Frank Borman, Jim Lovell and William Anders - who comprised the first manned flight around the moon and had returned to Earth just 18 days earlier - were the pregame stars who led the Pledge of Allegiance. Lloyd Geisler, first trumpeter of the Washington National Symphony Orchestra, performed the national anthem. The Florida A&M University band was the halftime entertainment.
The game, though a sellout, was blacked out in the Miami area.
Yet regardless of how quaint that all seems now, the Jets' win, along with KC's triumph a year later, pushed a merger that eventually would make pro football in general, and the Super Bowl in particular, the biggest thing in sports.
In a box somewhere in my garage I still have that 50 cents I won, the coin taped to a green-and-white felt cutout I'd made of the Jets logo. Each time I spy Namath - his hair now gray, his body somewhat frail, glasses on his face - I still smile and feel a lump in my throat.
But while I'd love to see another underdog team in green, the Eagles, beat the blue-dominant Pats this time around, I'll have to go with another white-shirted QB wearing No. 12, New England's Tom Brady, to bring home this year's Super Bowl trophy.
Though I sincerely hope I'm wrong, let's go with - dilly, dilly - Patriots 20, Eagles 19.
Contact Mark Wiedmer at mwiedmer@timesfreepress.com. Follow him on Twitter @TFPWeeds.