The Super Bowl Start Time Problem

a football referee standing on a field with his arms in the air

There’s an old sales line I’ve leaned on for years in our customer experience work: nobody wants to buy a drill. They want a hole in the wall.

For two decades, we built the entire web on the opposite assumption. We acted like people wanted the drill — pages of data, articles, posts, the things themselves. And a whole industry grew up around selling drills better than the next guy. More pages. More keywords. More of the same answer, dressed up a little differently.

Then the hole started showing up on its own.

That’s what Google Zero actually is. When someone asks a question and the answer appears right there — inside Gemini, inside ChatGPT, inside Claude — their journey is finished in that moment. They got their hole. They never needed your drill. And now you’re nowhere in the story.

The running joke in the SEO world was always “What time does the Super Bowl start?” You could search that phrase and find hundreds of nearly identical pages, all racing to rank for it. And here’s the part that drove people up the wall — you’d click one of those results and have to scroll past four paragraphs of throat-clearing before you got the one piece of information you came for. The kickoff time. That’s it.

So when an AI assistant just tells you the kickoff time, accurately, in the moment you ask — that’s not the machine being clever. That’s the machine finally doing the thing the publisher should have done all along, without making you wade through the filler first.

Here’s where I’ll be contrarian, because the headlines have decided this is a traffic apocalypse. The numbers are genuinely brutal — referral traffic from Google to publishers dropped by roughly a third in a single year, and some sites lost seventy, eighty, ninety percent. I’m not waving that away. For a lot of publishers, this is close to an extinction-level event.

But notice *which* publishers. The ones getting hit hardest are the ones who treated their audience as a commodity — interchangeable clicks to be aggregated and sold. They never built a relationship. They built a toll booth on the road to a fact, and the road just got rerouted.

The brands and publishers who built something real with their audience? They’re in a very different spot. Because if people come to you for judgment, for reporting, for a point of view they can’t get assembled out of thin air — the machine can’t replace that. It can only point to it.

And here’s the part the panic misses entirely. If you’re a brand — not a publisher, but a company using your website as a way to communicate — the ground actually shifts a little in your favor. For years you’ve been competing for those same scraps of attention against everyone else racing to rank. Now the bar changes. The job becomes acting like a journalist *for your own brand* — reporting honestly on your work, your people, your impact — so that when an AI assistant builds an answer about your category, it has a reason to consult you. To verify against what you’ve said. To put your voice in the room when the question comes up.

That’s a different muscle than most marketing teams have built. It’s not about publishing more. It’s about being a source worth citing — which is a much higher standard than being a page worth clicking. The toll booth never had to be trustworthy. A source does.

So the question worth sitting with isn’t “How do I claw my traffic back?” It’s a harder one. If a customer can get the bare fact they wanted somewhere else, instantly — what’s the reason they’d still want *you* in the conversation?

If your most-trafficked page is something an AI can now answer in one sentence — what are you building to take its place?