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