Lamest Superbowl Ever?

I've seen the Denver Broncos lose four Superbowls by a total of 163-50 but this game between the Indianapolis Pouty Paytons and the Chicago Very Grossmens piddled 0ut of the TV with all of the intensity of intramural bocce ball. What went wrong?

1. Technical difficulties. When I deejay a Bar Mitzvah I spend more time checking mics than CBS did before the biggest sporting event of the year. It's not like Brian Urlacher is going to alter the future with his pregame interview but it's the big game and only lip readers and clairvoyants will ever know what he said.

2. Phil Simms. He sounds like someone borderline developmentally disabled. He'd be that guy you'd have to carefully ask a mutual friend if "he's, like, you know, touched?" My brother actually uttered these words, "I miss John Madden."

3. Conservative football. No one wants to make a mistake so they unleash the firepower of a squirt bottle. The swing pass should be banned.

4. Tackling. No one wraps up anymore. The Bears defense should donate their arms to the needy.

5. Fumble drills. They are popular with old, bitter high school coaches and they should be mandatory in the NFL. Just jump on the loose ball. Don't try to run with it, lateral it or spike it until you maintain complete control of the fumbled ball.

6. The ads. Lame. I liked the Bud Light auctioneer. The FedEx/Kinkos 'mimic' spot and 'moon office' spots were good. Chevrolet really bit it.  But kudos to the indie guys making the Dorito spots.   That's a great way to save money on an ad firm.  Maybe CBS should hire some of those same amateurs to enhance their broadcast, and the Bears their offense.

Colorado Avalanche up 3 games to none. Game 7 should be thrilling.

For Colorado sports fans there is no greater agitation than having your team on top by a huge margin.  The Broncos, the Avs, the Nuggets and our minor league baseball team, the Colorado Rockies, all despise the comfort and boredom of handily beating the opponent.  Maybe it's good sportsmanship but our teams feel it only fair to let the other team back in the game.  Last night while we watched one of the best hockey games of the year, Av fans rejoiced in the bliss of being one game away from advancing in the playoffs.  These fans know not their team.  Perhaps the Avs have been paid off by the networks to make their games more dramatic, but the further they're ahead, the more likely they'll wander.  Practicing their triple axles and skating along daydreaming of their mother's chicken gorky goulash, my team will awake to a must-win game 7. 

Now you might think this pessimistic, but I grew up with the Denver Broncos.  When we were down by twenty we could comfort ourselves that there was still a chance we might win.  John Elway would lead the team on a fourth-quarter comeback.   When the Broncos were playing from behind it was more exciting.   Elway, sacked into early dementia, would summon whatever courage had not been beaten out of him and put on a show.  We never lost.  We always very nearly won.  And we could always blame it on the kicker.  (At the time it was the barefoot wonder Rich Karlis who my father nicknamed Rich Kotex.  But honestly the rules never were in his favor.  A team really should garner more points for hitting the upright.  Now that takes skill.  Especailly WHEN YOU DESTROY A CHILDHOOD BY DOING IT WEEK AFTER WEEK AFTER WEEK!)

But when we were ahead all we could do was lose.  I'm scarred, perhaps more than most, because the first Bronco game I remember was against the New York Jets.  It was 1977.  At halftime we were up 28-3.  The Broncos lost 31-28.  (Notice my acquired defense mechanism:  when we're up then I am 'we' with the team.  When they lose than they, not we, are the losers.)     Another example of the Broncos ineptitude--the first three Superbowls aside--came on a cold winter's day in the late '80's.  We were beating the hated Raiders 24-3.  My father called from the bar and asked if I wanted to put fifty bucks on the 'Donkeys'.  See, he'd been a fan for so long he knew that by being ahead twenty points they had a better chance of losing.  If they were down by thirty he would have never bet against them. 

Being a rookie I took the bet.  Monday Night Football, the Broncos up big on national TV--how could I lose?  Well, I did.  And so did they.  The Raiders came back and beat Denver 30-27.  

I won't even go into John Elway setting the record for the quickest score in Superbowl history.   After that the Redskins scored 42 unanswered points and I had tears streaming through orange and blue facepaint.  

Tomorrow the Avalanche only need to win one more game to take out the Dallas Stars.  If the situation were reversed I'd be much more comfortable.  But for now all I can do is hope is that we get behind early in game 7.  

Another Pointless Shooting

If there's a rim without a net is it even worth your while to try and make a shot?  The ripping sound of a net is really the only reason I ever make the effort to get the ball even close to the goal.   Cumulating enough points to win a contest is exciting but it's usually just me at the park shooting at the netless rims.  And today it seemed to me pointless.  "Nothing but net" means absolutely nothing but nothing.  And on several shots that plainly went clean through the hoop it looked, at least to the untrained observor, that I missed everything all-together.  I can assure you they were silent swishes.  (Sounds like an oppressed peoples.)  No ripping or recoiling of the nylon.  Just some bored guy throwing a ball in the air.  Even when I hit the rim it sounds empty.  I might as well throw rocks at a barrel.  

Except then even the novice would know when I missed.  I think I just convinced myself that no net is good.  

Goal!

Apocalypse

Many people like to look for signs of the end of the world. Maybe it's the war on terror or maybe it's the Friends' spinoff "Joey". Yesterday I thought it was Yanni getting arrested. Today it's David Hasselhoff. But you know whether you're a man or a woman or a wee person, you shouldn't admit getting beaten up by Yanni.

In other news, my friend tells me that he's hiring a 'life coach'. Apparenlty this is all the rage. I picture my high school football coach, Mr. Solie, all short and squatty and ticked off and yelling from the tight confines of his coaching spandex. I don't know why coaches, no matter how rotund, insist on the snug fit. A life coach might demand something more comfortable, maybe a muu-muu, because I'd imagine someone qualified to coach life would be familiar with maximum comfort. Which begs the question, what kind of qualifications are necessary to coach life? Would the best ones take their 'life team' to the March Madnes of living? Would ESPN's news scroll feature the latest life coach's to be fired or promoted. Good assistant life coaches would be picked up by struggling livers, like the Houston Texans. I guess I do have to hand it to Mr. Solie. Aside from often appearing in my nightmares, this shrink-wrapped spandex warrior, who made a living yelling insults at children, taught me a lot about life. For one, you have to have one before it can be coached.

Anyway, back to where we started, which was 'the end'.  Instead of the pick-up line "What's your sign?," I think a more interesting icebreaker is "What's your sign of the apocalypse?"  Perhaps it's cubicles.  Discuss.