In today's sporting world, the Big Board has become Big Brother. It exposes your awkward boogaloo when the timeout music blares; demands that you pucker up when the KissCam settles on your seat; reveals to the world your choice of tube-steak condiments. But you love it. You want it. Unless you're Wrigley Field, one of the few well-known sports shrines still bereft of bells and whistles on its board.

The birth of giant, glittering video scoreboards can be traced to 1980, when Mitsubishi installed its Diamond Vision technology?a significant upgrade in high-resolution graphics at that time?in the scoreboard at Dodger Stadium. By the turn of the 21st century, virtually every pro stadium, ballpark and arena (as well as many college and even some high school venues, including the fictional Dillon High in TV's Friday Night Lights) had bowed to consumer demand and either souped up its scoreboard or installed a new one altogether.

Big boards are part of all sports?the giant ones in Kauffman Stadium and Time Warner Cable Arena are better than their respective tenants, the Kansas City Royals and the Charlotte Bobcats?but in no sport are they as organic a part of the action as in football, whose stadium atmosphere is tailor-made for Riefenstahlian spectacle. There is no respite from the relentless scoreboard cacophony, an audiovisual assault on the senses designed to rev up the home team and deflate the opposition. The spectacle would've provoked a smile from the Emperor Vespasian, under whose rule Rome's Colosseum was built in the first century A.D.

But today's giant scoreboards?collectively called jumbotrons, though that was a specific model produced by Sony, which has been out of the board biz since 2001?are far more intrusive than anything in Vespasian's wildest imagination. Since these vehicles of information overload are now on steroids (the largest in the U.S. is the 55-by-134-foot "Godzillatron," which towers over the south end zone at the University of Texas's Darrell K. Royal stadium) and every bit as high-def as your home TV, they have become a pixel-perfect part of the action, which is viewed in real time by the very participants for reasons strategic, recreational and, of course, narcissistic. "Yeah, if I make a sack, of course I'm going to watch the replay and see me celebrating," says Baltimore Ravens linebacker Terrell Suggs. "That's all part of the fun."

Many running backs and wide receivers say that once they get into the open field, they use the scoreboard like a giant GPS, glancing up to locate potential tacklers. During the Nov. 24 Monday-night game, New Orleans Saints wide receiver Lance Moore took two or three peeks at the Superdome scoreboard as he turned a short pass reception into a 70-yard touchdown play during a 51--29 win over the Green Bay Packers. "I don't usually look," said Moore, "but [a fellow player] said to me two years ago, 'You got the jumbotron up there. If you ever need it when you break into the clear, use it.'"

Indeed, Saints wide receiver Devery Henderson rues not heeding that advice earlier in the season, when he was tripped up at the two-yard line after an 81-yard reception during a 31--17 win over the San Francisco 49ers, also at the Superdome. "I didn't really see the [tackler], so I should have looked up at the jumbotron," Henderson said.

If glancing up seems risky, it beats turning your head to see what's behind, according to some players. "One time in Pee Wee football I looked back during a long run," says Carolina Panthers running back DeAngelo Williams, "and the momentum shift carried me out-of-bounds. That's why I don't look back anymore."

Minnesota Vikings wide receiver Bobby Wade says the scoreboard acts like a giant rooting teammate, helping you to "get into race mode." San Diego Chargers star LaDainian Tomlinson likens the scoreboard to a "rearview mirror on your helmet" and claims that a glance at the board now and then has helped him gain more than 1,000 yards in each of the past eight seasons. Says LT, "It's become part of the game."

And not just for the glamour guys. In 2007, during a rare excursion toward the end zone?it happened in the Cason hot-dog game?350-pound nosetackle Shaun Rogers, then with the Lions, decided to use a stiff-arm on Selvin Young after he looked at the jumbotron and saw the Broncos running back gaining on him. The maneuver helped Rogers finish up a 66-yard touchdown run. "It just happened that way," said Rogers. "We have a beautiful stadium and a beautiful jumbotron." And isn't it wonderful that someone has something nice to say about the Lions franchise?

Detroit linebacker Paris Lenon can't benefit from real-time scoreboard viewing, but he checks replays to study blocking schemes. "I want to see exactly where a play hit," says Lenon. "It might help me later."

An opposing school of thought holds that watching live action on the big board can be detrimental because there is sometimes a slight delay on the scoreboard feed. Saints quarterback Drew Brees says his former teammate Tomlinson almost got caught from behind on one long run because he was watching the board. "Because of the delay," says Brees, "LT thought the [tackler] was a lot farther away than he really was."

Players also watch the board during timeouts, which can be highly distracting. Ravens wide receiver Derrick Mason can recount, in absolutely Proustian detail, the animated grocery-cart races shown on the giant board at Nashville's LP Field when he played for the Tennessee Titans. "I rooted for the different little characters all the time," says Mason. "I wish we did something like that here." He even remembers the protagonists: Molly Moo, Texas Pete, the Coca-Cola Polar Bear and Ernie the Keebler Elf.

The board casts the same spell over players in other sports. The Phoenix Suns' video team often uses players in its scoreboard shows at U.S. Airways Center, and former Suns coach Mike D'Antoni says he gave up talking during timeouts whenever one of his players appeared on the board, say, hunting down a rival team's mascot. "It was more interesting than what I had to say anyway," says D'Antoni, now coach of the New York Knicks.

At the U.S. Open tennis tournament in September, second-seeded Jelena Jankovic couldn't help using the big board in Arthur Ashe Stadium as a megamirror, running her hand through her hair and blinking mascara out of her eyes. "Oh, I keep watching because you go to serve and you see your big face up there," Jankovic said after losing the Open final to Serena Williams, adding later, "I cannot focus, because I keep looking at it. I think they should turn it off." That, Jelena, is just not going to happen.

Though there have been some near disasters with big boards?such as when the new $4.5 million scoreboard crashed to the ice at Marine Midland Arena on Nov. 16, 1996, hours before the NHL's Buffalo Sabres were to play the Boston Bruins (no one was hurt)?the jumbotron arms race is proliferating. Bigger, sharper and clangier: That is the mantra. Fans and players alike let their franchise know when its titanic timekeeper does not meet the latest standards. "Our jumbotron sucks," says Browns wide receiver Braylon Edwards. "It has terrible graphics and outdated technology. Someone needs to be in their ear and let them know how to run the show."

AND MAKE no mistake: It is a show. By 10 a.m. on Nov. 23, three hours before the kickoff of the Miami Dolphins--New England Patriots game at Dolphin Stadium, Jeff Griffith, the Dolphins' director of programming and production, has convened his pregame meeting in the scoreboard room, which resembles a TV studio. About three dozen employees listen and take notes. "All right, at the quarter break we've got the promotion of halftime," says Griffith. "It's going to be a Dolphins logo. Then we have some music, and we're asked to hit a crowd show again. Then something new this game?we're going to announce the cheerleader Pro Bowl winner. So we have the bump, the Bud Lite cheerleader welcome, then we'll go to a camera shot of all the girls, then the Pro Bowl video, then we hit a camera shot of her, then we go with them into their routine. We also have one 'Thank you for marrying me,' one 'Will you marry me?' and one 'Get well, Chad.'"

As kickoff nears, the atmosphere in the room can be described as controlled chaos. "Remember, we have flyover west to east," says Griffith, referring to the choppers whose arrival is timed to coincide with The Star-Spangled Banner. But they're late. As anthem singer John McWhinney stretches out "land of the free," Griffith shouts, "That's it, John, you hold it, baby!" and the room erupts in laughter.

Over the next three hours Griffith is a veritable Martin Scorsese, calling out camera shots, cueing music and asking for stats, all for the giant scoreboard made by Daktronics and for the smaller "ribbon board," the ticker-tape-style display that circles the stadium. Seated near Griffith, director Jim Clark stares at a bank of TV screens that show the work of his nine remote cameramen (one of whom controls a camera mounted on each goalpost). Clark chooses the shots that appear on the big board, subject always to Griffith's override.

The next most important cog in the scoreboard wheel is Eddie Fernandez, who sits in the front row at the music console. "I'm sensing turnover, Eddie!" Griffith yells during a first-half Patriots possession. "Hand on Give It Away."

"I feel it too," says Fernandez. "My hand is on number 1." Hitting that button would cue up the Red Hot Chili Peppers hit. (But there will be no Patriots turnover.)

After a personal-foul penalty against New England, graphics specialist Heather Pearson yells, "Get ready for Naughty, Naughty, Eddie," referring to the John Parr song. On it goes.

As they have evolved, giant scoreboards have assumed one principal function: to provide a home field advantage. Yes, they give the score, the time, stats, out-of-town results and franchise-burnishing info such as how bountifully the players feed the poor on Thanksgiving. "But priority Number 1," Griffith says, "is to help the home team, within the rules, win the game." That's true in any sport, but it's in football that the scoreboard has the largest presence?more personnel, more noise, more home-team help. "I love this job, and I wish I could do it every day!" Fernandez shouts after cueing up Metallica and watching some 67,000 fans start to gyrate. He is the wizard, the man behind the curtain. Says New York Giants center Shaun O'Hara, "The 12th man is definitely the fans, and if there was a 13th-man award, it would probably be the jumbotron."

League rules in all sports keep the wizards from unleashing anarchy. In Major League Baseball all moving scoreboard graphics must stop once the pitcher settles in to face the batter. NBA rules list 11 "traditional fan prompts" (such as "Charge," "Defense" and We Will Rock You) that are the only scoreboard noise allowed when the visiting team has the ball. In the NFL, once the play clock begins ticking, the boards must stop flashing or creating other distractions; when the huddle breaks, all graphics must cease?though live game action is permitted. If allowed, the scoreboard crew would show endless replays of bad calls against the home team, but there are restrictions. "The home club is ... to use discretion in the showing of replays that could cause strong fan reaction," reads the NFL game operations manual. "If the game is stopped for a replay challenge or review, no replay may be shown on the in-house video board except the network feed. Once a decision is made on a review, no replays may be shown of the play that was under review."

During the New England--Miami game, Patriots wide receiver Randy Moss gets away with a push-off on a 29-yard touchdown pass?the Dolphins are actually called for pass interference?and cries of protest fill the scoreboard room. "If you got it," Griffith says, "show it." Up goes the CBS replay on the big board, followed by the predictable cries of outrage from the bleachers. But the Dolphins follow the NFL mandate and don't show it again.

Of course, scoreboard taunts are part of the game. As New York Giants placekicker Jay Feely prepared for a potential game-winning 36-yard field goal at Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia in 2005, the Eagles' scoreboard crew rustled up video of Feely missing three field goals two weeks earlier, which had cost the Giants a victory over the Seattle Seahawks. Feely says he sensed what was happening but didn't look up. He then made the kick to give the Giants a 26--23 overtime victory.

Back at the Dolphins-Patriots game, there is gloom in the scoreboard room. Miami has self-destructed and is about to lose 48--28. "There is nothing we can do up here if things are going bad down there," Griffith observes. A few minutes remain in the game, though, and Clark stares glumly at his bank of screens.

"What else do you want to use, Jeff?" he asks Griffith. "Crowd? Out-of-town scores?"

"Just stay on the game," says Griffith. Finally, inevitably, he adds, "If you have kids or cheerleaders, show them."

Kids and cheerleaders?the last refuge of the defeated.

THE SMALL, pyramid-shaped wrestling scoreboard rests on a landing inside the headquarters of Daktronics, a scoreboard company in Brookings, S.D., about 55 miles north of Sioux Falls. Anyone captivated by the history of scoreboards should make a pilgrimage to this quotidian shrine and pay homage to the wrestling board's MATCH PERIOD TIME ADVANTAGE MATCH-SCORE simplicity, for it is a pivotal link between the unassuming boards of yesteryear and the riotous electronic Goliaths of today.

Daktronics was founded in 1968 by two South Dakota State electrical-engineering professors, Aelred Kurtenbach and Duane Sander, who'd been dismayed by the relentless exodus of the state's brightest engineering students. Daktronics began by designing and manufacturing electronic voting systems for state legislatures. "That kept the lights on around here for a couple years," says Reece Kurtenbach, Al's son, who now heads up the company's live-events division. Everything changed on the day the South Dakota State wrestling coach asked Daktronics to design a matside wrestling scoreboard. "It was a simple engineering problem," says Al Kurtenbach, who's still chairman of the company's board of directors.

The wrestling boards sold quickly, and orders came in for others. Daktronics moved on to boards for high school, college and minor league sports. More orders came in. Can you make a judo board? the engineers were asked. Sure can. Hey, soccer doesn't have a distinctive board; can you design one? Swimming, diving and taekwondo boards followed. Scoreboards for All Sports became the company slogan, in time for the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid, for which Daktronics made all the major boards?necessitating a quick study of exactly what the hell a biathlon is. Today, Daktronics has scoring and/or display equipment in 27 of 31 NFL stadiums, 25 of 30 major league stadiums, 19 of 29 NBA arenas, 21 of 30 NHL venues, six of Major League Soccer's seven purpose-built stadiums and hundreds of college venues.

Daktronics' story is amazing: a simple idea turned into a manufacturing operation with 3,000-plus employees and revenues of $500 million. It still sits just off I-29, on the treeless, windswept South Dakota flatland. The operation has a mom-and-pop feel: The affable Kurtenbach, 75, still rambles around dispensing sage advice, and Midwestern hospitality prevails throughout the facility. There's a fingers-crossed Daktronics tradition of calling the scoreboard business "recession-resistant." But while it's a major player, it competes against a global giant, Mitsubishi. The brain trust in South Dakota constantly looks for ways to implement new technology in scoreboards, to enhance what everyone in the board biz calls "the stadium experience."

Still Al Kurtenbach says that thinking ahead of the curve is not nearly as important as talking to people to see what they want. "I always tell our guys," he says, "'We didn't hire you to play God.'"

THERE IS, though, something celestial about the Dallas Cowboys' new stadium in Arlington, Texas, which is scheduled to open before the 2009 season. Two gently curving steel arches, each 1,225 feet long, form a retractable roof and give a reaching-for-the-sky feel to the edifice. That pleases Cowboys owner Jerry Jones, who, one supposes, would never rule out playing God. The stadium's cost is estimated to be $1.1 billion. Naming rights are still available, in case you've got a little extra cash.

Such a bold, spit-in-the-eye-of-recession venue needs a bold score-telling, product-selling, emotion-shaping mechanism, of course, and so this glittering Texas palace will feature the apotheosis of the scoreboard: the NFL's first center-hung board (Jones's idea), which spans 60 yards and looms 90 feet above the field?higher, the Cowboys hope, than any punt could ever reach. Made by Mitsubishi (the Daktronics boys were a little bummed that they didn't land this one), the board is 160 feet wide, 72 feet high and will weigh about 600 tons when the electronics are installed. The Statue of Liberty could fit into its frame. It is as yet unnamed, but, as the world's largest scoreboard, its moniker needs to eclipse Godzillatron. Titanotron, perhaps? The board display includes 10,584,064 LEDs and has a pixel pitch of 20 mm?we don't know exactly what that last thing means, but we're still impressed.

"What we wanted to do was really step out into the melding of technology and fan experience," Jones said recently in his office at the Cowboys' Valley Ranch headquarters. "[Former Cowboys president] Tex Schramm sat right on that couch and told me, 'Jerry, we can't have a studio game.' We have to have the pageantry, the crowds, the excitement. We are not selling football games?we are selling events."

To emphasize that point, Jones contrasts the new Cowboys stadium with its Arlington neighbor, Rangers Ballpark, the classic old-timey stadium where a big league Baseball team plays beneath a modest scoreboard. "Now, I think that park is beautiful, just beautiful," says Jones, "but it's not us. That's the past. This is about the future! The spectacle! Our football scoreboard just wouldn't work in a Baseball setting."

His comparison almost demands an appearance by the late George Carlin to update his old football-versus-Baseball routine. Baseball is a sport governed by a simple statistics-driven scoreboard that in no way intrudes on the idyllic pastime below. Football demands a Brobdingnagian compendium of collected data offered in an extravagant explosion of color, a mind-altering orgy of sight and sound!

The idea for the center-hung board came?as most great ideas do?at a Celine Dion concert in Las Vegas. Jones was in the audience watching the Canadian chanteuse perform in front of a huge LED board. So there was Celine, and there was 40-foot-tall Celine. "Because of seeing her at an exaggerated size," says Jones, "I noticed everything about her expression, her movements, her emotion, things you couldn't see from watching just her. When it was over, it didn't register whether you had seen her or the projection behind her. Whichever it was, it was fabulous."

This may have been a McLuhanesque moment in the march of time: Soon a live act will be irrelevant unless it is accompanied by real-time, supersized images of the live act. At any rate, the concert convinced Jones that a gargantuan, high-res scoreboard is de rigueur for the 21st-century stadium. (Dare he call it Celine-a-Vision?)

It remains for someone else now?someone confident that pro sports remains a recession-resistant business and that fans are always looking for the Next Really, Really Big Thing in a scoreboard?to out-Jones Jones, take it to the next level, whatever that might be. Virtual scoreboards that hover, ghostlike, above the stadium? Hologram boards whose displays disappear between downs and then?poof!?magically re-form before the ball is snapped?

In its own way, though, the center-hung Dallas board?more visible to fans in the upper deck than to players on the field?is retro. Scoreboards, after all, were originally tools for spectators. Now, at least in Big D, open-field runners will have to watch out for approaching tacklers the old-fashioned way.

TO STAR RUNNING BACK TOMLINSON, THE SCREEN IS LIKE A "REARVIEW MIRROR ON YOUR HELMET."

"IF I MAKE A SACK, OF COURSE I'M GOING TO WATCH THE REPLAY," SAYS SUGGS. "THAT'S PART OF THE FUN."

"WE HAVE TO HAVE THE PAGEANTRY," SAYS JERRY JONES. "THIS IS ABOUT THE FUTURE! THE SPECTACLE!"

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