Crunch Time

Here we are:  It's Thursday evening, January 31, 2008 and in little over 72 hours everything everyone has said about this goddamn football game won't mean a thing.  Everything will be settled somewhere in the Arizona desert on a field named after a fake university that exists only in cyberspace.  This means I'm running out of time.  Running out of time to run my mouth.  While my previous Superbowl-related posts have made a concerted effort to maintain a certain level of objective subjectivity, the hype that has since inundated my senses, mostly between wind sprints to the bathroom (see yesterday's post), has left me on the brink of madness.  So much so that, at this moment, 72 hours seems like an eternity.

If I hear how crazy Plaxico Burress is for predicting a Giants' victory one more time, I'm going to completely lose it.  The NFL is riddled with athletes who are  more than willing to speak up and out of turn at the drop of a hat.  A premier wide receiver who has actually shown up this post-season (yes, that's a jab at Randy Moss), during the week leading up to the biggest game of his life, and having been asked the same goddamn question 10,000 times by any one of the nameless, faceless, chubby, balding sports' media types, takes it upon himself to articulate a certain level of confidence?  Gasp!  Not every team is comprised to the same awe-inspiring degree of fraudulent panzies virtuosic in the art of choreographed misinformation that masquerading as class and modesty.    Obviously this is a team put together by Billy Bellichick.  And obviously his team's demeanor can with the media can be traced back to his doorstep (just follow the fucking trail of pretzels, potato chips, or anything else with salt, apparently).  Oddly, Randy Moss and Billy Bellichick are just about the only two people associated with that franchise that I can actually stomach.    If I am told, "Plaxico shouldn't have said anything," one more time by some cheesedick Tom Brady groupie, I'm going to rip someone's dick off (and it won't be mine).  "Look what happened to the other guys who made predictions!" I've been patronizingly urged.  What?  They lost?  Just a guess, seeing as the Patriots are undefeated.  Maybe if those sorry souls had just held their tongues, maybe the Patriots' record coming into this game would be more pedestrian?  Is that it?  The Patriots have won a few games this season because of locker room fodder unwittingly provided by players on otherwise superior opposing teams?  I don't think so.  The Patriots have been the better team in each of their 18 victories.  The margin, however, has gotten increasingly slim.  Plaxico's indiscretion will have no impact on this football game whatsoever, aside from a potential indiscretion/15 yard penalty on the part Rodney Harrison, the Pat secondary's resident asshole.  

Tom Brady's a pussy.  Anyone who shows up to post-game press conferences wearing a Burberry scarf, and generally looking as though he just came from a Manhattan salon (which isn't in Boston by the way, it's in New York), doesn't deserve to win anything.  He certainly doesn't deserve a Brazilian supermodel.  I'll take my "awww shucks" quarterback and his little brother complex  over that bitch any day of the week.  

Giants 23, Patriots 17   

        

Perspective

From time to time it becomes necessary for one to take a step back, to reassess, to examine.  Where is my life headed?  Who exactly have I become?   And if on this day, one just so happens to be simultaneously vomiting and pooping uncontrollably, then so be it.

This picture is not me, of course.  Because, if it was, I'd be sitting on the toilet and puking into a garbage can.  

Ah, life's many wonders...  

Check This Out!

Again, Not Premature, Timely

So this friend of mine, who just so happens to have the most ironic name in the history of the nuclear family, or clans for that matter, also just so happens to hail from South Boston. For those of you who've never lived in Boston, and your conception of Southie derives solely from The Departed and Good Will Hunting, he's part Frank Costello and part Morgan O'Mally.  You never really know if he's going to kill you, or jerk off in your baseball mitt.  As one would expect, he bleeds red, white and navy blue, sometimes to the detriment of sensibility and reason.  Per Tallent's latest blog , the seeds have been sewn for a war of words in anticipation of Superbowl XLII.

  

In and of itself, the temperate weather conditions play in the favor of speed.  If not for the giant (no pun intended) egg Brady laid last week, Tallent's assertion that Brady will put on a show might hold a little more water.  The question marks remain, however:  Tom Brady didn't play well last week, and it may have had something to do with a seemingly innocuous ankle injury. There is a very real possibility that there's a bit more to it.  The Giants' man to man defense will revolve around the performances of Aaron Ross and Corey Webster. While Ross dislocated his shoulder twice two weeks ago, and presumably isn't quite 100%, both corners have really come into their own over the course of the last month.  This, combined with Sam Madison's untimely, and potentially costly, penalty last week, I hope has secured Madison a spot on the sideline, save for nickel and dime packages.  Like McQarters, he's too old to be on the field in man to man coverage situations.   Aside from one huge play, which should not and cannot be downplayed, the Giant defense was successful in neutralizing Randy Moss in the first meeting December 29.  Without that play, we're talking 5 catches for 35 yards.  And what has Randy done since?  Besides his trademark barnyard bedroom exploits?  Mr. Tallent is correct, however, in his assertion that the Giants' focus on Moss will leave them exposed to Stallworth, Welker, and the often overlooked and under-appreciated Kevin Faulk.  Maroney, however, will not have any success running the football- 19 rushes for a whopping 42 yards December 29. And a more effective pass rush, something Justin Tuck, Michael Strahan and Osi Umenyiora are more than capable of, will temper this one dimensional Patriots' attack.   

For good reason, Belichick will throw the kitchen sink at Eli, and this is cause for substantial concern.  It is well-documented that the way to get to Eli is to make him uncomfortable, rushing him into bad decisions.  Will Eli be forced into bad decisions by Belichick's beautiful mind?  Or will his defense look its age (average age: 72), having been been slowed by a long season in pursuit of perfection.  Ultimately our hopes, and the Giants' chances, are draped around the shoulders of Eli Manning.  Admittedly, if you'd have told me November 12 that we'd be preparing for the Superbowl, I'd have likely slapped you, adding, "Not with this quarterback."  But that was then.  Now, Eli is coming off 3 games of championship caliber poise. And to take some of the pressure of young Manning, we have Brandon Jacobs and Ahmad Bradshaw, an actually affective rushing tandem.   

Confident?  No.  Not really.  Optimistic?  Absolutely.  

Wow

This is a fantastic idea.  One hell of a list.  Imagine if it was your job to do things like this.