it's a charmed life

(photo from The Boston Globe)

it only took me two and a half days to recover from, what has been dubbed by all the obnoxious media types as, "Super Bowl 41 & a Half." (gimme a break here! it was still baseball season a week ago! my sports fan self hasn't had to be this conditioned since 2004! errr... i need to stop right there...)

seriously, i think i stopped breathing for about twenty-five minutes. *football* minutes.

early on, even though New England went three-and-out in their first possession for the first time this season, i felt good as i saw the defense actually exhibit something it hadn't much thus far: red-zone defense. two trips into scoring territory netted only three total points for Peyton & the Golden Boys.

i swear the angels sang when Vinatieri missed that first field goal attempt, right after the sportsholes raved how he's never missed here in the (non-crowd-noise-enhanced) RCA dome.

but then things started to get a little... shall we say... *tense* here in the Land of Broken Road. Tom doubled his interceptions on the season, throwing two. the Patriots were getting yellow-flagged every time they so much as blinked, to the point that i cringed every time i saw one hit the ground. there were pass interference calls flying faster than f-bombs in a Josh Beckett post-game press conference. Joseph Addai exposed the glaring holes i kept telling people existed in New England's defense -- you know, the fact that they are old & slow: if they get their big hands on you, you're going down, but if you just zoom past them, they'll all drop dead of heart failure after twelve yards of chasing you while you skip merrily in for a touchdown. the offensive line took a freaking nap & Tom was left looking bewildered up at the big domed ceiling. i'm not sure *what* Matt Light thought he was doing with all the unsportsmanlike conduct & leg-whipping & such.

but most frustrating of all, for me, was watching the Patriots play this game like Peyton. maybe they had to dink & dunk & run the ball a lot to gain yards before. and by "before," i mean pre Brady having his receivers, the likes of Moss, but also Stallworth, and my personal favorite: Wes Welker (who, by the way, was my golden pick for Fantasy Football this year!). i kept pacing, asking my tv, in lieu of being able to shriek at whoever was responsible for this play calling or play execution or whatever was at fault, why on earth we came to Indy playing a different game all of a sudden?? we didn't get to be 8-0 with shovel passes & short yard gains. we throw 55-yard bombs down the field for Randy Moss to pluck out of the air, leaving everyone slack-jawed.

the last eight minutes of the game, when suddenly Tom reverted back to throwing touchdown passes down the field, in vintage Brady fourth-quarter comeback style, i finally sighed with relief & felt some hope. when suddenly our defense wasn't chasing Addai's dust down the field, in futile pursuit, but was pressuring Poor Peyton. and then that glorious moment when Jarvis Green strip-sacked the Golden Boy, and the ball squirted out right into Rosey Colvin's hands... nothing was sweeter than watching Poor Peyton pound the turf with his fists in temper tantrum rage. except for maybe noticing how he put his helmet back on when it came time to do the whole "shake hands with your opponent" thing after all was said & done. someone needs to tell that boy there's no crying in football either.

i am not by any means gloating. i was terrified for at least two-thirds of that game, because Indy *was* the better team. it was one of those games, that until Peyton's fatal turnover with three minutes remaining, had the potential to go either way. and *that* was what made it an exciting game, one almost worthy of all the blathering & hype inflicted upon us since Week Six when the Patriots unseated the Cowboys in Dallas.

which brings us back to all the talking head spouting things we don't talk about as (supremely superstitious with their belief in jinxes) New England/Boston fans. things that include numbers like "sixteen," and even "nineteen." things i won't say here, because *i* don't wanna have fingers pointed at me for being the jinxer! i will say that i'm tired of hearing about it already, and not just because i'm flipping out over superstitions. i think Fire Joe Morgan says it well with: "Is there any more annoying and insufferable group of people in the world than the 1972 Dolphins? We get it. You went 14-0. You were awesome. You're the best. No one else will ever be as good as you. You're the [expletive] 1976 Reds of football. Enough."

i refuse to end on that note though. going into a bye week that the fans may actually need even more than the team, i'm going smilingly (is that a word? eh, it's my blog, so it is now) to quote someone i never thought i would (Mike Lupica of the New York Daily News) about someone i never thought i would admit to liking: "Just so we don't have to go over this every Sunday the rest of the pro football season: Randy Moss is open."

the magic can all come to a tire-squealing halt in a split second. this is a violent sport, and just like that, seasons and even careers can end. don't think i forget that *ever*. and unlike my Sox, there aren't 161 other games to play that can make up for one you drop. every week in the NFL can haunt you. but this has been quite a season to be a Boston Red Sox/New England Patriots fan. what an incredible ride...