Super Bowl XLII

Let's get right to the game:

Giants over Patriots, 17-14
My Pick: Patriots over Giants by a ton
Plaxico Burress' Pick: Giants over Patriots, 21-17

We'll start with a straightforward re-cap, mixed in with my experience of watching the game. I'll save additional ramblings for the end.

First Quarter
The Giants started with the ball at their 22 yard line and began with pretty much the exact offense I'd been hoping for all along: a pair of punishing runs right down the shoot of the defense for about five yards, and a third down completion to keep the ball. Against the Patriots, there are two lines of thought: a) an offense must score a lot and win a game with total points in the hundreds, or b) an offense must keep the ball a long time, prevent New England's offense from taking the field, and hope to win a close, low-scoring game. It seemed clear early that the Giants were going with option B. Personally, I find the idea of trying for a low-scoring game against a team with a record-setting offense and a suspect defense a bit risky: there's always a chance only one of you will successfully play a low-scoring game. Still, eight minutes later, when the Giants still had the ball and were deep in Pats' territory, I thought to myself that the Giants couldn't possibly hope for a better opening drive. I imagine there was a certain psychological advantage being taken: a) we can impose our will on your defense; b) we can keep your offense off the field; c) we're not so afraid of your offense that we feel the need to take chances offensively; and d) this game is going to be played one way: our way. Maybe the Patriots saw it that way, maybe not, but I prefer to think the message was pretty clear to anybody watching the game. When the drive ended with a field goal, I was a bit discouraged, but the fact that nearly the entire quarter had passed without Tom Brady and Co. taking the field was pretty impressive. When Laurence Maroney took the ensuing kick-off 40-some-odd yards and had the Patriots in business close to mid-field, I had a very clear impression that the entire make-up of the game would be determined by the success of the opening drive for the Patriots. If they scored quickly and easily, it could be a big-time gut-punch to the Giants, who might start quietly doubting the long-offense strategy. New England's first offensive play was a totally silly play-action, fake-reverse screen play. Two defensive linemen (Justin Tuck and Osi Umenyora, I think) didn't bother looking or caring who had the ball and dropped Tom Brady the very moment he delivered the awkward, off-balance incompletion at the feet of his receiver. Perhaps that was the perfect storm: the Patriots getting too cute, too early, versus the Giants coming out with the very clear mandate that no matter the play, no matter who got the ball and where, they were to put a big hit on Tom Brady. The Pats should have seen it coming. Frankly, I was a bit stunned by that. The play-action, fake-reverse screen is the kind of play call you get from Al Saunders, when he doesn't really understand the nature of the situation and doesn't get that failure on such a play gives a psychological boost to your opponent. Nevertheless, the Pats rebounded for a first down, then another, then another. They didn't look great or unstoppable, but they were moving the ball. On a crucial third down play from the eighteen or so, Antonio Pierce (the most obnoxious, unlikable ex-Redskin, I guy I'm thrilled to death they let get away) failed to get his head around on a seam-route to Ben Watson and instead mugged the guy in the end-zone, giving the Pats the ball at the one. The good news, however, was that the first quarter had ended with the Giants leading 3-0.

Second Quarter
The Pats made short work of their possession from the one, pounding Maroney over the right side for an easy six. On the ensuing kick-off, the Giants benefited from a short kick and a solid return and started at the 40 yard line. Six plays, three minutes, 51 yards. A quicker trip down the field, due in large part to an excellent cooperative effort between Amani Tooomer and the referees, who let Toomer get away with a pretty blatant stiff arm to Ellis Hobbes before his brilliant tip-toe sideline catch. Had this drive resulted in points for the Giants, this play would have caused quite the controversy. Two plays later, however, Steve Smith was nice enough to hook-n-ladder a ball right into Hobbes' hands on a rocket shot from Eli Manning, who threw an accurate hot-potato under pressure. If Ahmad Bradshaw had been on the bench on this play, it almost certainly would have resulted in six points for the Patriots: I don't think Brandon Jacobs is running down Hobbes, and I'm pretty sure somebody blew Eli up after the pick. The Pats took the ball at the 33 and just got nothing going. That was a running theme for them: they couldn't get going. A lot of times, I felt they were being too cute, trying to be too precise or too tricky, when they could have just run the ball or thrown a slant. Brady was under constant heat. He completed a short pass to Maroney, and then Maroney was stuffed on consecutive running plays over the left side. This was one of very few drives in the game where I felt the Patriots actually attempted to run a normal offense. With the success they've had all season running a Kitchen Sink offense, it's easy to see why this quick three and out discouraged them from playing it straight. After a Curtis Hanson punt, the Giants took over at their own 36. This drive could very well have been the turning point of the game: it was by FAR the ugliest, most inept possession of the game by the Giants, and for it to come so soon after a) a red-zone turnover, and b) a tough and well-earned three-and-out by the defense, could have been very discouraging. Eli left the pocket and was sacked, then Ahmad Bradshaw fumbled on second down, then Eli had to bury a sniffed-out screen to Bradshaw, and the Pats were back in business after an excellent Jeff Feagles punt put them at their 30. Again, I was sure this drive would dictate the rest of the game, and this became a theme of Patriots possessions: at any point, the Patriots would score and extend the lead, and the Giants would have to recover, in the Super Bowl, against the undefeated Patriots. I knew the gut punch was coming at some point, and I was constantly on edge waiting for it. Whatever anxiety I had before this drive, whatever sense of inevitability was pulling on my quiet optimism, was all crushed by the ensuing Patriots possession. On second and long, Justin Tuck and Michael Strahan met at the quarterback, and though Brady squirted away from the big hit, he fell and was touched for a seven yard loss. On third and long, Brady had no time and was dumped again for a big loss. On fourth and forever, the Patriots punted and I was just starting to get a sense that something very different was happening. Three possessions into the game, Tom Brady had been hit as many times as he'd been hit all season, the Patriots hadn't successfully run the ball for shit, and the Giants were repeatedly and obviously imposing their will on the Pats, punching them in the mouth over and over again on both sides of the ball. The Giants took over near midfield, and this was such a great possession, with the Giants running the ball on five of their first six plays, earning two first downs and draining the clock. On third and four, the Giants made what I felt was a tactical mistake by lining up in the shotgun, and Eli was sacked leaving the pocket, fumbling the ball towards the sideline. This is exactly the kind of play that the Patriots have lived on all season, forcing a turnover on a critical possession and converting it into a quick score. Ahmad Bradshaw made a play on the ball (to my eyes, at the time), missed it, it rolled up field, and Steve Smith recovered for a first down. I was on my feet, laughing hysterically and clapping, before referee (great referee, totally underrated and way past-due on reffing the Super Bowl) Mike Carey correctly penalized Bradshaw for batting the ball forward. Instant replay clearly showed that Bradshaw's swipe at the ball pushed it forward about eight yards and into Smith's grasp. I'm pretty sure Bradshaw was trying to get the ball out of bounds, but the call was correct. After the two minute warning, Feagles pinned the Pats at their eleven yard line. I never shook the feeling that the Patriots would crush the spirits of the Giants at any point (even with .35 seconds left and the whole field in front of them . . . even then, I was sure they'd kill 'em). Sure enough, on third and very long, Brady connected with Jabar "Coat-tails" Gaffney for a big gain. Then, on second and long, a connection with Wes Welker set up a third and short, which was easily converted by a quick curl-dump to Kevin Faulk. On first and ten, Brady finally got together with Randy Moss on an 18 yard out pattern, stopping the clock with .22 seconds left just outside field-goal range. I wasn't sure the Patriots would score, but I was confident. The Patriots resembled themselves: yes, Brady had taken a number of big hits and got nary a single pass of without being touched by a Giants defender, but they were moving the ball through the air. There were 97.5 million households watching the Super Bowl, so let's guess there were probably 300-400 million people tuned in. Of those, probably 50 million or so are true-blue New England Patriots fans, which is to say, they've always been for the Patriots, even when they were crap. Then there were probably another 100 million people who liked the Patriots because, like my ex-step-dad, they always and only root for front-running, hyper-competitive assholes, unlikable, unwatchable shit-eaters who exemplify the kind of rabid, demented, uber-macho, winner-take-all, ends-justify-any-means "sportsmanship" they force upon their sons and nephews. They liked the Jordan-Bulls, they love the Brady-Pats. Assuming everyone who watched the Super Bowl had, at a minimum, that base-level, Washington Post-sports-section, Tom Brady/Tony Romo/Steve Nash/"the Shaq"/A-Rod/Big Poppy, "I know and love sports because I wear a team baseball cap" kind of fan-dom (an erroneous assumption: there are a significant number of significant others watching the game, too, but still . . .), everybody else, it stands to reason, wanted the Giants, and therefore had that sick feeling in their stomachs, with the Pats at the 38 yard line with 20 seconds left in the half, having done as little as possible to earn a slim lead and about to tear the Giants' throats out. When Tom Brady fled the pocket and we saw Justin Tuck closing in from behind, we could hardly believe our eyes. I jumped up and shouted "GOT 'IM!!!" while pumping my fist like a lunatic. When the ball popped out, my eyes shot free from their sockets and dangled rudely before my face, wiping red ooze on my nose and cheeks. When Umenyora came up with it, I was awash in pure joy. Manning took a few shots at Steve Smith before half-time and came up empty, and halftime was upon us.

Halftime
I did not watch the halftime show, nor will I ever again, not even if my wife is performing. I have a feeling that of the 97.5 million households that tuned in, of the half-billion or so individuals watching the game, probably 50-75% don't pay close attention to the halftime show. What are Super Bowl commercials worth, maybe $3 million for 30 seconds? How much would it suck to have your commercial bumped to halftime because the Giants opened the game with a 10-minute drive? Anyway, I retired to the kitchen during halftime while my pal Dave cooked two pairs of sausage on his brought-from-home Foreman Grill. You see, Dave is from Boston. He grew up in Boston, his family still lives there. He even has a thick Boston accent, thick enough that I sometimes have no clue what he's saying at all. Dave was one of two Boston-natives in the room that night, which made the experience that much more interesting. Dave and I talked about what had taken place in the first half while his sausages sizzled away. We both felt that the fact that the Patriots had the lead despite their poor play in the first half was an omen: good for him, bad for me. He felt that the Pats defense had been great, but was mystified by the poor play of the offensive line. I felt that the Giants defense had been great, and that the Patriots had made only a token effort at establishing the run, much to the misfortune of Tom Brady. We both felt that the Patriots would do something huge with their opening possession. We were frankly APPALLED to find, when we got back downstairs, that the second half kick-off took place without anyone even shouting up to us that the game was underway. For fuck's sake!

Third Quarter
This was quite the drive from the Patriots. It seemed we were correct, the Patriots did do something big with the opening possession, driving quickly into Giants territory from their own 21 yard line. A nice mix of short passes and straight running plays put them quickly at mid-field, where Antonio Pierce made a hell of an open field tackle on the very elusive Kevin Faulk to stuff the Patriots on third and five. A douchebag failed to get off the field on the ensuing punt. On the replay, I was first very certain that the camera angle would not be conclusive enough to award the penalty, then very certain that the Patriots would be back in business in Giants territory. A penalty on the ensuing series left the Pats with second and long; a couple of Giants defenders made an outstanding play on Wes Welker on yet another screen, setting up third and long. The next play is one of maybe two plays on the evening that left me CERTAIN the Patriots would win. It was a very typical curl-dump to Kevin Faulk, who cut loose in the open field and somehow fell forward through three Giants defenders for a first down. Faulk weighs . . . what, 200 pounds? He carried a combined 700 pounds of New York Giant about three yards at the end of his run. That's the kind of thing that has happened for the Pats all year, whether it was Donte Stallworth (where the hell was he on Sunday?) blasting through Rashean Mathis at the end of the Jags game or Randy Moss just going up over the top against the Miami secondary, they sometimes just get these moments of superior physical exertion, always in a key situation, and many of us have long assumed that was the real genius of Belichick's coaching ability. Usually, it either sets up a score or is, itself, a score: not this time. On third and seven, Michael Strahan ate whoever-the-hell for lunch and ripped Brady to the ground, finishing up with a fucking cool little celebratory muscle-flex. That was a defining, enduring image from this game: Michael Strahan, the face of the Giants for 15 years and the face of their Super Bowl XLII defense, in an overt display of his macho physicality, flexing his muscles over the pretty-boy professional of the Patriots "high-fashion" offense. That was the story of the game, for the first and only time all season: a big, gnarly, smelly animal bent the Patriots over a bar and sought to man-rape them, and the Patriots weren't tough or feisty enough to stop 'em. I hate to use such a foul metaphor, but . . . actually, I love a gruesome metaphor. On fourth and thirteen, the Pats elected to go for it, and failed. In a vacuum, this was not an inexplicable, indefensible call by Belichick. It would have been a long field-goal for Gostkowski, and the Pats offense has had no trouble all season picking up big chunks of yards. The play was not called in a vacuum, and in the context of this contest, this was an utterly indefensible call, totally puzzling to everyone in the room. Maybe Belichick believed the hype a bit much, maybe he knew the rest of us were shitting our pants over the fact that the Pats weren't punting, maybe he knew the rest of us hope and pray that the Pats will punt on fourth down. But after that huge sack by Strahan, when the Giants defense had been playing great all game long, he took a gamble on giving yet another big-time psychological boost to his opponent and energizing not only the Giants players, but their supporters in the crowd. I have a hunch Belichick would dismiss, outright, the suggestion that such things matter in a game, but the fact is, his team has been winning psychological battles at every stage of every game all season. They're quite valuable, those encouraging or discouraging moments throughout a game that sap the confidence of one team while invigorating the other. It's the reason you score that fifth or sixth unnecessary touchdown late in a game, or the benefit of an early pick-six: it casts doubt into the minds of your opponent, it frustrates them and alters their play-to-play goals and expectations in meaningful ways, and it encourages and empowers the opponent. Period. And in this case, it gave the Giants good field position, and allowed them to turn an otherwise harmless, 8-play 28-yard drive into a punt that stuck the Pats at their own 10. And this is where penalties started to come into play. The drive opened with a false start, then an incompletion, putting the Pats at second and fifteen on their own five. Even the totally hilarious, completely out of touch token girl in the room was looking for a safety (it should be noted that this same girl had just wondered, aloud, in a room full of know-it-all football blow-hards why "number 12" was still in the game after all those sacks he'd given up. It was all I could do to keep from pointing and laughing. Oh wait, I did point and laugh. No, really. Not one of my prouder moments). When Brady and Welker hooked up for a first down, I wasn't even discouraged! Such was the success of the Giants defense, that after what should have been a disappointing first-down by the unbeaten, record-setting Patriots offense, I felt fairly confident they wouldn't turn it into points. Then another first down. Still not discouraged. Then another. Still confident in the Giants defense. Then another. Still confident. Then a Matt Light penalty, a deep incompletion towards Moss that nearly caused me to barf up my heart, then a quick hit to Stallworth that set up a fourth and five or six at the end of the third quarter.

Fourth Quarter
The fact that the game had reached the fourth quarter at 7-3 made me confident of two things: a) the Patriots would not be winning in a blow-out, and b) the Patriots would be winning a close game. See, I was confident that the Giants defense would hold, but the offense had gone a long, long time without doing much, and though the Giants were frustrating Brady and knocking him around, they still hadn't coaxed him into throwing a risky ball. I was slowly getting used to the idea that the Patriots would win a 7-3 Super Bowl, and hating it quite a bit. See, nobody would remember that the Giants outplayed them for four full quarters, that the Patriots won the game on their asses, only that they finished 19-0 and won their fourth Super Bowl in seven years. Hell with that! When Curtis Hanson punted the ball out the back of the end-zone, the other Boston-native in the room (Randy) audibly bitched. This was heartening for me: breaks were not going New England's way (for once), and it was causing Pats fans, even with a lead in the fourth quarter, to lament the wasted opportunity of a touchback. On the first offensive play of the fourth, Eli Manning threw his best ball of the night, a strike down the field to Kevin Boss, who shook loose from Rodney Harrison and took off. If only Harrison had fallen, Boss probably has enough juice to get another 15 yards or so before Adalius Thomas runs him down. Still, it was the second big offensive play of the night, and I was pretty excited. On third and four, Manning hooked up with Steve Smith down the field for a big gain to put the Giants inside the 20, then Bradshaw gashed the Pats defense to put them at the five. Eli's pass to David Tyree was on the money after a sweet play-fake, and suddenly the Giants had a 10-7 lead. By this point in the game, I was hoarse, more than a little drunk, and standing full-time. Another omen: the Patriots took a holding penalty on the ensuing kick-off, putting them back at their eleven. Brady pressed a bit in the pocked on second and third down, and before I knew it, Hanson was punting again. The Giants took a too-quick three-and-out, and punted the the Pats back to their 20. By now, Randy was openly hoping that the Giants would take more time with the ball, because the Patriots would only need one possession to run the clock out and score the winning touchdown. To hear that out-loud, while hoping so hard for the opposite, was really hard. It seemed so true, so inevitable, and lo and behold, the Pats started marching. For the first time all game, the Giants were nowhere near Brady in the backfield, and he was hitting guys in stride and letting them pick up the big chunks of yards with their feet that we're used to seeing from the Pats. Welker for 5. Moss for 10. Maroney over the left for 9. Welker for 13. Suddenly the clock is down to about five and a half minutes. Faulk for 4. Welker for 10 (4:15 left). Moss for 11, now they're in the red-zone. Holy shit. No no no no no no no. Faulk for 12 to the 6 (under three minutes). Somebody suggests the Giants ought to think about using a time-out. How can this be? Two good shots at the end-zone, then BAM!! Moss, wide open on the right, touchdown, game over. Who in the world had any confidence that Eli Manning would be up for running a two-minute offense against the Pats? With a four point lead, I was virtually certain the Giants were cooked. I wasn't beyond hoping, but I could have turned the game off, I was so sure. When Hixon got blown up on the kickoff return, stranding the Giants inside their own 20, I had the most nauseating feeling of de-ja-vu. That's what happens. They rip your throat out, then they rip your throat out. The bastards. Then Eli to Toomer for 11, stopping the clock. Then, on third and nine, Eli to Toomer for 9, and the clock stops briefly for a measurement. Troy Aikman made maybe two of the most absurd statements in the history of Super Bowl broadcasts: 1) "The Giants really need to think about going for it here"; and 2) "I think this is a good call, going for it here". There was a massive outpour of hysterical laughter at that. Of course the Giants would pick it up, too easy, right? When Eli went to hand the ball off to Jacobs, the gravity of the situation hit me and I swooned. Thankfully, Jacobs fell forward and the Giants kept breathing. Then, play of the game (to that point): Eli escapes pressure and picks up five with his feet, switching the ball at the very last millisecond so as to avoid a fumble. This was so critical. Picking up yardage is what kept the Pats from being able to pin their ears back on second and long, a situation that would have almost certainly spelled doom for the Giants. After a time-out and incompletion, the play of the game and one of the all-time great pressure plays in football (and sports) history went down, and if you weren't watching, I don't know what to say. In fact, in the room with us was a polite gentleman from Scotland named Paul, husband to the woman who'd made the excellent suggestion that the Pats should bench "number 12". I got the sense neither of them gave two shits about the game, but as it happened, Paul was in the fridge for a beer as Eli Manning somehow wrestled himself free of three defensive linemen, escaped to the right, looked downfield, and floated a ball nearly forty yards into the most unlikely scenario imaginable: Manning had spent nearly 4 seconds in the act of being sacked, such that, as he escaped, his own linemen and the Patriots defensive linemen stood around expecting that the play was over, but somehow, David Tyree and four Patriots defenders were still active, forty yards downfield as Eli rolled, righted, and let go. It's probably telling that only Tyree and Rodney Harrison made a play on the ball, the other three guys were probably standing around and then noticed that the ball was in the air. Harrison made a leap, Tyree went higher. If Eli throws that ball 100 times, in a practice setting, and Harrison and Tyree go up for it, Tyree comes down with the ball maybe five times. Most of the time, the ball hangs up and Harrison bats is away. There might be a few times where Harrison doesn't make a play on the ball, just flattens Tyree as soon as he touches it. There would undoubtedly be a few times where Harrison fails to make a play and Tyree just drops it. Harrison would surely pick a few. You get the idea. The point is, Tyree went for the ball at the highest possible point, and caught it with every inch of his body and every ounce of energy. By all rights, he should have died immediately after catching that ball, such was the force of his exertion on the play. That he got two hands on it was incredible; that he held on to it while Rodney monkeyed up his back was beyond belief; that he secured it against his helmet with one hand when his other hand was torn away . . . too much. The fact that this guy clutched that ball all the way to the ground and after he'd bounced, held onto it as the whistle blew, kept holding onto it as Harrison tried vainly to rip it away . . . I was very nearly emotional about it. I went from jumping and laughing as Eli escaped, to leaping and screaming as the ball floated, to stunned, slack-jawed disbelief when the replays confirmed the result of Tyree's remarkable effort. That was a play that transcended football and sports; on the screen, in brilliant high-definition super-slow-motion, was a person at 100% exertion, 100% concentration, virtually maxed out in every capacity, on the biggest stage in the biggest possible moment, and rewarded. That the Giants would score and win after that was, in retrospect, a foregone conclusion (can one have a foregone conclusion in retrospect?). At the time, however, all I felt was a biting, urging feeling that the Giants MUST score for such a once-in-a-lifetime, legendary moment to live on as it deserved. Who remembers the handful of best-ever plays Steve McNair made down the stretch in the losing effort against the Rams? Exactly. That the following play was a one-yard sack on a mad scramble by Eli was extremely disconcerting. On third and eleven, I spotted Steve Smith on a diagonal route to the sideline I think the moment Eli saw him, and Smith made a brilliant play to stay in bounds and pick up the first down. The ensuing touchdown was another foregone conclusion, but this time, I knew it before it happened. Plax is just too tall, too strong, too talented, and too clutch to not catch a touchdown pass with the Super Bowl on the line, this close to the winning score. The same way Randy Moss was too great to not catch his earlier score, the one that seemed to win it all. Burress OWNED Ellis Hobbes, catching him flat-footed trying to jump the slant, and was open by several yards in the corner of the end-zone. Was I done worrying, even as the extra point sailed home? Not by a long shot. What surprised me was the playcalling: the Patriots made one bad call after another, with .35 on the clock and three timeouts left. They were discouraged, it's clear to me now. They were insulted, yes insulted, that the Giants hadn't simply folded, that they were being denied their birthright. They were too busy sulking and mechanically figuring out how to look and act cool and confident and one-game-at-a-time to put forth the irritating effort required for a nuisance game-saving drive that never should have had to happen in the first place. I really mean that. Brady's first pass was way off. He got flattened on the second one, but he had no chance. The third play was the first designed roll out of the whole game, which highlighted to me the relative lack of ingenuity and adjustments on the New England sideline. Why should we adjust? We must win, we're the team of destiny! Sooner or later, they'll fold. They must! It was a hell of a ball, but I think Randy was too frustrated, tired, and discouraged to attack it in the air: he pulled a Brandon Lloyd and let the potential game-changing ball come to him as he ran along the sideline, double covered. When the Giants punched it away, I still wasn't convinced, not even with only .10 on the clock. When they punched the second one away, I was too surprised to be elated.

Post Game
I understand what happened with a second on the clock. Belichick was disappointed and a little embarrassed, not just at losing, but at being the frontrunning assholes who lost, and didn't want to be the story. So he tried to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. Then, when Mike Carey tried to get in the middle of his handshake with Tom Coughlin, he was further embarrassed and aware of his own presence, and rather than endure the humiliation of trudging back over to his sideline to await the final whistle, he finished his initial urge to cheese it and cheesed it was. Was it tacky? Yes, but not in intent. The media is in backlash mode, feeling betrayed by the team they'd been feverishly tea-bagging (gross, I know) for the better part of six months. We choked on your balls for a whole season, and you don't even win the big game? Where's our pay-off? We don't like picking a loser, especially one that treats us poorly and casts darkness on the credibility of our favorite sport! Oh, we were willing to look past that stuff while you were hot shit, but now? Screw you! Leave the guy alone. He made a bum decision, but he meant no harm.

Are the Patriots the greatest team of all time? No. Are they among the greatest teams of all time? Frankly, the subject is too subjective to offer an answer. I'll leave that to Sean "I'm a Big Gas Bag With Nothing Valuable To Say" Salisbury and the rest of the NFL cronies on ESPN. Personally, I think the only true measure of a team's greatness is the extent that it endures. Time will tell how great these Patriots were: not by whether or how soon their records are broken, but by how well we remember, admire, or even care about their achievements. I think all records are given context by the crucible of time and circumstances surrounding the actual feat itself. For instance, who remembers or admires the Minnesota Vikings offense that broke the total points records a few years back? Nobody, because that team is more remembered for what they squandered and who they lost than the record. NFL fans will always remember the Fun Bunch, and the Greatest Show on Turf, and why? Because those offensive records were set by NFL champions. It seems that Super Bowl victories, in the end, are an important ingredient in measuring greatness. As the specific details of a given year fade out of memory, the Super Bowl champion becomes the gateway to our entire experience of that NFL season, the context by which the rest of the season is remembered. I suspect the Patriots will be remembered in their context as the intimidating team the Giants upset in their legendary Super Bowl victory, and by the way, that was a record setting Patriots team, you know. In much the same way the Vikings of Dante Culpepper, Randy Moss, Cris Carter, and Robert Smith (maybe the best player on the team, no really) are more remembered for an epic meltdown and the fire-sale that followed the demise of Dennis Green than for their prolific offense, I suspect these Patriots will be remembered more for the controversy of their success and their Super Bowl ass-whupping than for their "greatness". Nobody wants to be the regular season champ that folded on the big stage: we all understand that carries with it an unspoken characterization of softness, of front-running, and of entitlement. It takes a team from being the embodiment of hard work and success to the vile bully who got his just desserts when it mattered most. I couldn't be happier for the 2007 New England Patriots and their shit-eating fans, they got exactly what they deserved. Eat it! The New England Patriots are the greatest regular season only team in NFL history. HA! Fuckers!

I watched the game at my friend Nate's house. He lives in a big ol' executive home in the country, and in his basement he's got a massive HD television with surround sound speakers. His kitchen is bigger than my home. Well, not really. He made chili, as did Randy, so we had meat and vegetarian options. Dave made the aforementioned sausages: a handful each of chorizo (excellent) and garlicky chicken (decidedly less excellent). These were served on a fresh (very important to point out the freshness, as he did about a dozen times before calling himself on it) baguette, sliced into sandwich rolls, with chopped white onions and Foreman-grilled red peppers. I had eaten already with my wife and sister-in-law, who elected to stay home due to work-fatigue. Nate wasn't sure who he was rooting for, but was leaning towards the Giants. He offered a really obnoxious explanation for his approach to the game: if the Giants were playing well and deserved to win, he'd root for them. If not, Go Patriots! What he hell is that? What are you, a robot? Dave and Randy were obviously pulling for the Pats. Dave has a remarkable ability to stay upbeat and maintain a good sense of humor about things, even in the presence of things he truly can't stand, such as me clapping loudly every time the Giants made a positive play. Randy, on the other hand, threatened to stab me in the back with a soup spoon early on. As the game wore on, it also wore on Randy, who became pessimistic. The game had not been over for 30 seconds before he was pulling his jacket on and hightailing it. He took Scottish Paul and wife Emily (Emilia? Amanda? Shit.) with him. Dave, Nate, and I discussed the very real likelihood that Randy would be wearing his disappointment like a black veil for at least a week. I was incredulous: after losing my voice from shouting and pleading with the television, after almost losing my shit altogether on The Play, I dared to suggest that Randy takes this crap too seriously. I laughed at myself after that one.

I'm not sure where this blog will go from here, probably assorted NFL, NCAA, and European Soccer (yes, European Soccer . . . I've discovered Fox Soccer Channel and GolTV) stuff with an odd boxing match thrown in for good measure.

Peace!