I spent most of yesterday with my muscles flexed until they became sore and knotted. My jaw was set and my teeth were clenched. I was living in mortal terror of the Green Bay Packers and the New England Patriots facing each other in Super Bowl XLII in Arizona. That would have been categorically awful. Worse then a Minnesota Wild-New Jersey Devils Stanley Cup final.
It would have been excruciating because the media is completely smitten with Brett Favre. Loves him. Eats him up with a spoon and then begs for more. Brett Favre can throw six interceptions in a game and the play-by-play man will laugh and say "That's just Brett being Brett! He's just having fun out there!"
Their love for Brett Favre is only surpassed by their adoration of the New England Patriots. Tom Brady, Bill Belichick and the rest of the Patriots are seen as being cold and calculating. Their every move so masterfully strategic that we mere mortals can't begin to conceive the import of even their most subtle of decisions. Tom Brady throws an incomplete pass? No, that's not because his opponent's secondary covered his receivers or because he was pressured by a confusing blitz package. Tom Brady was setting up the next play. He's tricking the defensive coordinator into pass-protection so that he can hand off the ball. It's all part of the Patriots carefully plotted plan.
Bill Belichick accidentally throws a challenge flag against the Colts? That's just a clever way of biding time instead of wasting a time out.
Eric Mangini calls the Patriots out on taping play signals? That's not cheating. That's sophisticated scouting that we shouldn't worry about. We should move on. It's in the past. Bill Belichick has moved on. Why haven't you?
It snows in Arizona in January? You don't even want to know what kind of dark occult rituals linebacker Junior Seau had to partake in to make that happen.
In short: the Super Bowl's hypemachine would have been in overdrive. Although I love the works of Peter King, Tony Kornheiser, Ron Jaworski and the lot, the collective orgasm of sports writers coast-to-coast over a Packers-Patriots championship would have been sickening. It would have prevented me from enjoying -- or even watching -- the Super Bowl.
I don't know anyone outside of Boston and the sportscasting brotherhood who likes the Patriots. I don't know anyone who wants them to win. I can't think of anyone who isn't tired of Brett Favre's inconsistent play being dismissed as boyish derring-do. The man is nearly 40, and has been a professional football player for close to two decades. He should not be making mental errors anymore.
What I do know is that when the New York Giant's Lawrence Tynes cleared the uprights in Lambeau Field and won the NFC championship in overtime, many of my friends were relieved.
Indeed, there but for the grace of Tynes, go I.
Although I am not a Giants fan, I am breathing a huge sigh of relief that they made the Super Bowl. It has cut down the overwhelming hype by at least half.
Bring on the inconsistent passes of Eli Manning (and not inconsistent in the oh-so-cutesy Favre way) and the rumbling drives of Brandon Jacobs. Let's showcase the heaven-sent foot of Larry Tynes.
I know who I am cheering for in this Super Bowl: balanced journalism over sensationalistic hype.
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