My Blue Heaven

This time around, the Giants play the giant-killers. And the part of Goliath, aka Kurt Warner, aka Earl Morrall, will be played by Tom Brady.

Eli Manning is in much the same situation Tom Brady faced after the 2001 season, three super bowl rings and two supermodels ago. Back then the Brady was the unproven phenom on the rise, facing huge odds against the offensive juggernaut Rams. Now Page Six Tom is the establishment.

Thus the upside for Manning this year is that much higher, as the juggernaut Pats he is facing are Pursuing Perfection. Unprecedented all-time glory is there for the taking – or at the very least the biggest glory since lamb chops Namath in SB III.

Plus, every decent American not afflicted with Patriotitis is rooting for the Jints. “Unless you’re a cheater-loving chowderhead” is how the loveable NY Post drew the battle lines in this morning’s paper, including their political style USA mockup with the continental US all in blue save the New England states, including the classic halving of Connecticut down the CT river. Clearly the Post editors has some lingering Yankee bitterness to expunge, and lest they get too caught up in their us vs. them mentality, I’d like to remind them not to exclude Alaska, Hawaii, Guam and Western Samoa who I understand all are blue as well.

There were so many bright spots in an absolute classic NFC Championship Game at Lambeau. Plaxico times three great catches in the first half, laying out tipping balls to himself, domination over the Packers corner Al Harris. The ageless Amani Toomer’s tiptoe act, touching a single blade of grass with each toe before going out of bounds. And you had to applaud Coughlin’s handling of the two pronged running attack. After the Packers got punched in the mouth by the bruising Brandon Jacobs, Ahamad Bradshaw would come in with a whole other gear and knife through the secondary for 10+ yards.

Sure there was plenty of bad play and bad luck. None worse than McQuarters Fumble #1, which lodged itself in the stomach of wayward Packers lineman Mark Tauscher to preserve the possession within the red zone on the way to a TD. But listen, Domenick Hixon seemed to have radar tracking on the ball amongst a sea of green jerseys while recovering McQuarters Fumble #2, and then you had Corey Webster in the right place and not dropping Brett Favre’s interception in OT. And of course one good kick out of three.

And that shows me enough game plan, enough game-ready performances and enough luck to believe the Giants won’t embarrass me when I prepare to make The Greatest Prediction in the History of Sports in one sentence from now. The Giants will win Super Bowl XLII.

Editors Note: That would come exactly one year to the day from the current Greatest Prediction Ever, which was my call of a return TD by Devin Hester on the last Super Bowl's opening play. More on that this week when I return with this years edition of my Super Bowl Magic Moments.

Pats Light Shines On

As the Pats prepared a fourth and 1 quarterback sneak, their fragile gem of a perfect season on the line, a jumpy-handed Ravens assistant coach signalled the time out. At that moment the future fractured into two paths, What Might Have Been, and What Is. The attempted quarterback sneak by Tom Brady only existed in the land of What Might Have Been, but in that land Brady got popped! Halted in his tracks a yard behind scrimmage, he toppled over, defeated, the Pats perfect run ended. Demoralized, the Pats lose their mojo, lose to Pittsburgh, lose to Indy in the playoffs again and see the reputation of their cantankerous head coach sullied by their epic collapse as the rest of the league delights.

But none of that happened, because in the Land of What Is, the Pats are protected by a glowing light, a mysterious force which guides them and made the Ravens call timeout. It doesn't matter whether this magical light is in the "T"-shape of that Ravens coach's hands, in the eye of the referee who ruled Jabar Gaffney's hot potato routine in the endzone was a TD catch, or in the mouth of the back judge who rattled Ravens defender Samari Rolle with his alleged in-game epithets. Any one of these ripples in the space-time continuum might have been sufficient to derail the Ravens upset bid by itself.

On a night where the Pats were outhustled and outplayed, and looked far from dominant, its amazing that they always seem to have just enough pixie dust to sprinkle on the field when they need a little luck. One thing is clear, the Pats "We're not on a quest" quest for a perfect season has taken on a life of its own. Emboldened by a chance at football immortality, Pats opponents are taking aim at The Streak itself and coming up with the games of their lives.

Unheralded, uncelebrated and most would say unskilled QBs A.J. Feeley and Kyle Boller had career days chasing anti-Pat history on consecutive weeks. That is a clear indication that The Streak is exerting a powerful influence on Patriot opponents, an influence which is growing exponentially as the season approaches its final chapters.

Next on the Pats agenda are the Steelers, in great shape to end the perfect season and have their efforts live on for years of NFL Films glory. Steelers are no 25-point underdog like the Eagles, the Steelers have a revitalized Big Ben, Steelers have that D, Steelers have something to prove for their youthful new head coach who bravely declared "This is no Appalachian State vs. Michigan." All of which would only lead one to the conclusion that this time the Pats are REALLY going down.

However, until the spell is broken and someone finishes a victory to the final second, its hard not to believe the orb of light will rescue the Pats once again. Furthermore, Tom Brady's desire to silence the annoying Mercury Morris of the 72 Dolphins has gotta be considered another exponentially growing force.

The Buns Rule Wrigley

We came down from Milwaukee on I-84, our bellies filled with bratwurst and German beers. We were flush from a Brewer victory and 12 stadiums deep in our family’s quest to make it to all 30 MLB parks. Halfway to Chicago I shed my new Prince Fielder Brewers t-shirt and new Brewers hat and donned my Cubs shirt and hat. We came into the Windy City anticipating the quintessential Wrigley Field experience. Sadly for us, that’s exactly what we found, that fateful and wet night on the North Side.

Did you know that the first team to take the field at the ballyard now known as Wrigley was not, in fact, the Cubs, but a squad known as the “Buns?” Back then, (in 1914), it was called Weeghman Field, named for Charlie Weeghman, who built it for his baseball team that played in the short-lived Federal League. Weeghman had made his fortune as the owner of a thriving string of Chicago luncheonettes called “Weeghman’s”. Lacking an official team nickname, legendary baseball writer Ring Lardner helped give rise to the unofficial name “Buns” as a reference to the typical luncheonette fare.

The Buns were the only team ever to celebrate a championship on the field now known as Wrigley, in 1915. (By then a fan vote had named Weeghman’s squad “The Whales.”) Even this faraway and forgotten title had its asterisk. The Whales benefited from two rainouts which did not get made up, affording them (after winning the second game of a darkness-shortened doubleheader on the last day of the season) a fractional .0009 percentage edge over the St. Louis Rebels, who actually won 87 games on the season to the Whales’ 85. The Federal league folded after the Whales won the last game, and Weeghman bought majority shares of the Cubs and moved them to his field on the North Side.

World War I at once spelled doom for the leisurely luncheon counter lifestyle and introduced gum-chewing cynicism throughout the world; consequently Weeghman saw his fortune dissolve as William Wrigley’s wealth multiplied. When the gum magnate bought out Weeghman in 1918, that was the official beginning of 89 years of remarkable failure in the still-continuing saga, known as the Cubs “curse”. It’s a saga that does anything but leave a minty fresh taste in their fans’ mouths.

The Wrigleys’ legacy is plain as day the moment you walk into the park, even now in 2007. The field is impeccably groomed by a groundskeeping crew at least three times as large as any I had seen at other stadiums. The park itself is a jewel, the team, traditionally, not so much, evidence of the allegedly reversed priorities of the Cubs’ ownership. P.K. Wrigley (William’s son) notoriously did not care about the team’s success as long as he could reap the stadium’s profits. A pirated scorecard sold to my Dad in front of the stadium was filled with these same accusations of the Chicago Tribune, the present owner.

In keeping with this greed-before-baseball philosophy, you’d expect the Cubs to milk the concessions as much as possible in a rain suspension situation. That’s exactly what we witnessed. After a soaking rain kept the tarp on the field for 30 minutes, we waited and waited for our game with the Cardinals to resume, even waiting long after the drops had completely ceased. We ate the hot dogs and drank the beer of necessity, trusting in our hearts that the end of the real rain must mean there would be baseball.

Alas, after a full two hours of delay, the announcement was made that the game was called. Fans booed loudly and those in the outfield bleachers littered the warning track with garbage, in protest for wasting two irretrievable hours of their already dismal lives (as Cubs fans). Interestingly, no announcement was made about not throwing garbage on the field. The army of groundskeepers just came trotting out to scoop it up in their big garbage bags, like it was part of their job, like they were expecting it, like it was just an acceptable expression of Cub-fan frustration.

We learned that casually throwing on the mantle of Cubs fanhood for one night is a potentially perilous proposition. There are many years of baggage and many hardened scars that you instantly put on when you toss that blue cap with the red “C” on your head. The hot dogs, however, really were the best we had at any park this summer; I guess great dogs are necessary as the last line of defense against fan riots. They’re grilled to a blackened color and served with onions, in a perfect poppy seed bun that really makes the dog experience. The Buns, after all, have Wrigley’s only winning legacy to uphold.

Vick, Donaghy Reflect Dark NFL, NBA Truths

Michael Vick and Tim Donaghy underscore negative fan perceptions of their respective leagues. Yet somehow Barry Bonds ends up making baseball fans feel better about their sport, even if the majority of fans choose to hate him openly.

Dogfighting is a startling analogy for the NFL itself. The vicious hits and spiteful taunting that have become commonplace create an environment where cruelty at times seems celebrated. Players flaunt a lack of concern for their peers’ safety (or even dignity, in the case of some taunting) in a way that feels mercenary and “dog eat dog”. Vick seems to have taken the delight in cruelty to a new level. That he would use his wealth and celebrity to create a veil of secrecy under which dogfights could take place really is a scary and powerful answer to the average fan’s question of what lies in the soul of an NFL player.

New NFL commissioner Roger Goodell can attempt to institute a culture shift and distance the league from Vick. David Stern is not so lucky with the Tim Donaghy nightmare, as referee control of games and excessive fouls are already the biggest problems with the NBA, even without gambling and fixing in the mix.

The NBA has constant whistle interruptions, the last minutes of games are sliced into infinite fractions of time, with commercials in between. The overblown arguments and clashes of wills between referees and players plays out like a pro wrestling match. A referee already has too much control over the game and it seems like he can easily change momentum for one team or another based on his mood if he, say, had some indigestion or had just gotten in a fight with his wife, or of course if he owed some money to the mob. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. As the league became a highlight reel, windmill dunk, sneaker commercial of a pro wrestling league with a ball, it also became whistle-heavy and scripted, and, it seems, totally corrupt.

Meanwhile, with Barry Bonds a homer away from Hank Aaron, MLB has had ages to get its story straight. The Bonds/steroids/record saga, for any young child watching baseball, is a massive passion play about how cheaters don’t win, and how crime does not pay. It’s still a significant number being crossed out of the record book, but Barry has been stripped of his fanfare and denied his celebration. He’s not exactly sitting on the beach sipping champagne having gotten away with the crime of the century.

Whereas the hate of racism stained Aaron’s chase, Barry’s pursuit has lost even more to hate. But it’s a reversal of the situation the heroic Aaron had to face. The anger against Barry is a righteous indignation, a diatribe against cheaters. It’s a dose of “justice of the people” meted out one booing fan, one clever sign, one perfectly timed media allegation at a time.

So while the NBA and NFL are totally caught with their pants down, MLB has become a forum through which good values and ideals ultimately get expressed and have a voice. The cycles and traditions of baseball have always been ingrained in American culture and always have been a mirror of the times, whether in the Black Sox Era, Jackie Robinson's first game, Aaron’s chase, and now Barry’s march, in what's already being called a Steroid "Era". Baseball will go on, Barry, ultimately will not really win, and people feel good about that.

Lastings by a Nail

The Mets 3-2 nail-biter was won by a fingernail. The fortunately unbitten fingernail on the outstretched finger of Lastings Milledge, who needed every millimeter of his digits as he glided just wide of the glove of Reds catcher David Ross, and scraped the corner of home plate for the Mets winning run. Milledge’s feet seemed to stutter-step as he left first early on the two out Ruben Gotay single, so the sneaky slide just barely made up enough for the time he lost before his speed kicked in.

Milledge was recalled from AAA New Orleans today, and represents some hustle and zip in the lineup, as the Mets waive goodbye to 57 year old Julio Franco, who is going straight into the Senior PGA. Also making the most of his opportunity was Gotay, playing second for the injured Jose Valentin, whose finger was bandaged up after breaking up a fight in Puerto Rico during the All Star break. The solid .342-hitting Gotay made team history homering back to back with Jose Reyes to start the game, which, oddly never happened since they started this crazy Mets journey back in 1962.

Its vexing that the veteran Valentin would get injured during what one assumes was a liquor- soaked late night situation during his shore leave from the Mets ship. Mets fans hope that looking back, Jose would rather the two combatants have bashed each other senseless while he lounged at home drinking mango juice and reading the Ted Williams book about hitting. While Gotay seems ready to be leaned on increasingly, its Milledge who will be quickly exposed if he fails. With the curse of injury to anyone who plays leftfield striking Moises Alou, Endy Chavez and Carlos Gomez, fate turns the lasting glow of its spotlight to Lastings Milledge.

Billy Wagner meanwhile, managed to bounce back from the two run homer he allowed to the Indians’ Victor Martinez in the All Star Game with the save. There is a mental disconnect when you throw closers into the dreaded “non-save situation” during the Midsummer Classic, so it was reassuring to see Wagner return to his dominant form when back in his ninth inning role, with all the “save situation” theme music and ceremony he seems to require.

Mets' Maine Man

John Maine began his outing tonight in most auspicious fashion, becoming the first player in major league history to strike out four batters in an inning. Astros leadoff hitter Craig Biggio waved at a subterranean strike three slider, as did #2 hitter Hunter Pence. When #3 hitter Lance Berkman lost his bat in a flailing strike three attempt, it went flying into the on-deck circle, striking #4 hitter Carlos Lee and knocking him flat. Four batters felled in one swoop of a first inning.

Maine went on to fan a career high nine batters in the much needed, tide-turning 6-2 victory in Houston, coming after a late night escape flight that capped a brutal sweep by Colorado.

In the sixth, with runners on first and second and none out, Maine whistled a flame-trailing 94-mph offering high and tight past a lunging Berkman. Capitalizing on the big whiff, he crossed up Lee, who was way out ahead of a vicious and tantalizing slider for strike one. He later went back to the inside heat for a swinging strike three to Lee, and then got Loretta to pop up harmlessly, stepping right out of trouble with a calmness and even emotion you don’t usually see in second year players.

For seven solid innings the Astros offense was pushed down and prevented from breathing by the stifling Maine, until he ran out of gas in the eighth, 119 pitches deep. Lee, got his revenge with a run scoring double and scored himself on a Loretta single. With the score 5-2, the Mets were able to tiptoe out of further damage thanks to Pedro Feliciano, who struck out an angrily looking Morgan Ensberg, silenced the Astro rally and “set up” the closer Billy Wagner for a nice n easy ninth.

Maine’s rousing effort stopped some pretty serious Mets bleeding. After the Mets experienced a Rocky Mountain reduction of their psyche at the hands of Colorado – 47 Coors-aided hits and 34 runs allowed in 3 increasingly demoralizing losses - they were grateful for the poise of Maine and his instant heat out of the gate to set a different tone. Mets play-by-play guy Gary Cohen was inspired enough to anoint Maine as the Mets new “stopper”, and instantly the SNY cameras find the browbeaten visage of Tom Glavine in the dugout, who seemed to somehow sense that his inconsistent performance had just gotten him demoted out of that role.

NY vs. NY a Wagnerian Saga

“Nein, W.” is the answer.

“Do you spell your name with a “V”, Mr. Wagner?” is the question. Or so goes a favorite joke of my classical music aficionado father.

The question for the Mets was how were they going to break a losing skid that saw them drop nein of their last ten games? And how would they do so against the suddenly resurgent Yankees, who have won nein in a row? The answer, like the joke, lies with a Mr. Wagner. Was the tonic for the Mets ills some type of psychological victory? Nein, it was a W, as the Mets triumphed over their Bronx rivals, 2-0 last night, on Wagner’s perfect neinth.

The somewhat unpredictable starter Oliver Perez pitched brilliantly, scattering six hits over his 7 1/3 shutout innings. And the Joe Smith/Pedro Feliciano two-headed monster that picked up the last two outs of the 8th suddenly seems like a serviceable replacement to the one confused head of Aaron Heilman. The perfect 9th Billy Wagner pitched was downright necessary for the Mets. To have blown, or even jeopardized the fragile 2-0 gem the Mets had pieced together would have been more devastating than if they got shelled from the get go.

After getting behind in the count to Posada (with his surprising .349 average) Wagner got Jorge to pop up, then froze Hideki Matsui with an unappetizing offering; an outside fastball that swerved in to skim the black on strike three for the second out. Robinson Cano, seeing Matsui’s open-mouthed hesitation, vowed to swing at Wagner’s nasty outside heat, and flailed at strike three, missing by a foot.

Billy Wagner’s lifetime .188 opponent’s batting average is best among active relievers. His continued ability to locate his feisty arsenal of pitches is needed to unlock the Mets potential, as we enter the heat of summer and the land of the 4-3, 3-2 one run games.

Mets Balk At Their Past

No moment better epitomizes the hope of the Mets young season than the two 12th inning balks committed by the remarkably hesitant Armando Benitez of the Giants out at Shea on May 30. With Jose Reyes juking and jiving on the bases, it was like the Mets past (symbolized by the flinty ego of Armando Benitez in the painful memories of his ’99-‘03 Mets stint) flinching at its immediate future, the irrepressible Reyes. A leg twitch by Armando, a hesitation of will which told of his fear, the smile of Reyes like a deadly and charming feline predator.

After Reyes scored on balk 2 and Carlos Delgado homered, the Mets were dancing around home plate in glee and, in a classic case of “don’t shoot the messenger,” Benitez was immediately shipped off to the Marlins in exchange for a fellow reliever, David Messenger. While the positive symbols were obvious to any Mets fan whose gastrointestinal health suffered when Benitez used to take the mound, it’s hard to celebrate in a season where its been declared “anything less than the World Series is a disappointment.”

Delgado's slump has continued; he struck out looking with the bases loaded Sunday, as the Mets got snakebit 4-1 by the D-Backs. The clutch bat of this wily veteran has provided its share of late inning magic, but cannot be counted on alone. As Beltran sat with a busted knee and Wright, just back from back spasms, looked tentative, the Mets offense, including an all-reserve outfield of Endy Chavez, Ben Johnson and Carlos Gomez, was punchless and beatable.

The Mets, at some point in their quest, will meet an opponent who won’t flinch. Reyes clearly will always be dancing and deadly and will be smiling a lot. And Delgado will be magic sometimes. However, in order to triumph, the Mets will need Wright and Beltran to be not just at their average selves, but stepping it up to that other level.

Gallows Readied for Torre

The recent failures of the Bronx Bombers have left Yankee Nation wearing its smugness and arrogance like the Emperor’s new clothes. The NY Post quoted a CT woman who was commenting on quotes by Anaheim shortstop Orlando Cabrera after a recent Bronx outing. Cabrera had the audacity to say Yankee fans, essentially, were mean spirited louts who would rather berate opposing players than see “good baseball.”

“When’s the last time the Angels drew four million?” asked Yankee fan Lisa Prisco in response to Cabrera. This kind of circular logic dominates the Yankee mentality, the notion that their history of success and being a bigtown favorite makes them more than human. YES announcer Michael Kay will tell you once an hour in a network commercial that the Yanks have won the most championships in the “history of sport.” (First of all whose version of “history”? Are we including the ancient lacrosse wars fought on this continent centuries ago?)

The ineptitude of the superhuman Yankees has reflected on Torre, evidenced by a portion of “The 4 Million” booing Torre on a mound visit with the derisive tone Cabrera decried. The weight of the Yankee expectation and payroll creates an illusion… it MUST be Torre’s inability to lead a team of high priced all-stars to blame for their failure. As Torre is the symbol of a program gone awry, and the inevitable gallows are prepared for a leadership change, this Mets fan believes Torre is being wrongly blamed.

In fact, its more circular logic… “it must be the over-the-hill Torre’s fault because the Yankees couldn’t possibly be this terrible on their own” is how the sentence finishes in the mind of the booing fan. In fact my Yankee friends, you are this terrible because you are this terrible, and the Cashman plan of the all star smorgasbord is not really working. The right mix of leadership, system-grown talent, and heart does not exist on their roster this year, plus the pitching simply is bad and/or banged up. Firing the veteran Torre wont change that.

Only the belief in the fundamentals which Mr. Cabrera eloquently described as “good baseball” can change that.

Abolish "The Cycle"

I can’t believe they implicated Mom in the idiotic media charade that is “The Cycle”.

This Sunday, Mother’s Day, Fred Lewis, rookie centerfielder of the San Francisco Giants, playing in only his 16th big league game as a daytime sub for Randy Winn, hit an imaginary and unimportant smorgasbord of hits known as “The Cycle.” Immediately, the journalists who have suffered through the Giants’ 15-2 dismantling of the Rockies are reporting: It’s a Mother’s Day Miracle. “I called to tell her I didn’t get her anything,” Lewis was quoted as saying, “until now.”

In defense of Fred Lewis’ Mom and the good of baseball, it should be pointed out that the unusual combination of single-double-triple-home run is nothing but an artificial statistical oddity, and the fact that Lewis attained it does not make his Mom love him any more, and should not be a substitute for buying her flowers or at least a nice card. Game winning hits and clutch performances should be celebrated above all. If you want to celebrate a statistical oddity, wouldn’t four homers be a hitter’s perfect game? Or two grand slams? If you were going for the individual statistical gusto in a blowout game, and you had a homer, triple and double, why on earth would you want a single instead of another home run?

Yet that was exactly the unexpected situation which the rookie Lewis found himself in. “There were fans behind the on deck circle who were yelling that I needed a single” Lewis reported. He obliged with a quick little singles swing and a ball lined into right against the beleaguered Colorado bullpen, as “history” was made. There should be much less significance to this “full house” of all the hits, the media really needs to let up. Or if they must persist with “The Cycle”, at least have the decency to leave Mom out of your circus.

Coach Rob Stood for Respect

On a week including the resolution of the Final Four and the beginning of the baseball season, I would never have guessed that Grind It Out Sports would be addressing a college football story. Granted the Georgetown game was a big disappointment…even though Hibbert outplayed Oden in the most hyped matchup of 7-footers since Olajuwon-Ewing over 20 years ago, an uncharacteristic string of Hoya turnovers opened the door for Conley and company to score on fast breaks, as the Buckeyes kept Georgetown at bay to advance to the finals. A finals which was more a coronation for the Gators than a game as Ohio State never really got involved. The game, which was played right after the first Passover seder was disappointingly “like any other night” in which the Gators superior talent and depth allowed them to coast to victory.

None of that seems as significant as the passing of former Grambling State head coach Eddie Robinson this week at age 88. “Coach Rob”, as he was affectionately known by his players coached that team for 57 years, and is not only a bridge to the past, but a man whose unique presence made a meaningful contribution to the changing social environment of our country.

Just the sound of Grambling State’s former name connotes a bygone era in our country: “Louisiana Negro Normal and Industrial Institute”. Robinson took over the coaching job at this traditionally black college in 1941, and in a segregated America his interpretation of his coaching duties included making sandwiches for his players when they went to road games, since they were not welcome at any restaurants along the way. "Coaching is a profession of love.” Robinson would say, “You can't coach people unless you love them." Anyone whose Mom or Dad made them sandwiches can relate, but what must it have meant for these young men, away from the home for the first time, to have the soothing, upbeat, and gentlemanly presence of Robinson to give them courage and teach them what it means to be a man – in a nation where they were treated as less than men.

That Robinson set the record for coaching wins is a fitting tribute, less to his X’s and O’s than to his consistency and unwavering dedication to his purpose in life. He found at Grambling a platform that allowed him to touch the lives of thousands of young men, 200 of which went on to the NFL. Within the reach of his little college he was able to lay down his own rules. Saying that he treated each player “like he wanted to marry my daughter”, Robinson created a place where every individual was respected. It just took America a little while to catch up to him.

Thanks for the legacy you created for all human beings to learn from, and rest in peace Coach Rob.

Hoyas Scrape the Tar Off Heels

Every year for the past 15 March Madnesses, I complete brackets against my brother and father for a Champion T-shirt and the bragging rights that it brings. This year my brother Andrew had the first ever perfect Elite 8 AND Final Four, very impressive, clinching victory before the last three games are even played. Andrew thinks in spreadsheets and has a deadly and unsentimental ability to divine winners, skills which have greatly contributed to my 3-12 lifetime record in the Reichman Pool. Andrew's latest victory has taken away some of the joy I would otherwise feel at picking 3 of the Final Four correctly this year, possibly for first time ever, with only Texas A&M betrtaying me. Furthermore my Hoyas-over-Bruins final outcome prediction still looks like a great call.

Most amazing of all were two emotional, nail-biting, come-from-behind Georgetown victories.
G'town advances past Vanderbilt on a clutch bank shot by Jeff Green in traffic with 10 seconds remaining. Green backed into the lane, almost lost the ball in a black-jerseyed haze of the Vandy double team, only to uncoil and go glass to put the Hoyas up. This after Hoyas had to gradually claw their way back from a big Commodores lead, as big 3s from Vandy's Byars and Foster forced all the time off the clock by the time the Hoyas were able to creep close.

And then, in the last game before the Final Four, the Meadowlands showdown between the Hoyas and UNC, won in incredible fashion by the Hoyas in a case of divine intervention. With the coffin lid closing on them, Georgetown showed Grind It Out heart and fearless determintaion coming from 11 down in the final 10 minutes to scrape the Tar right off the Heels of NC. A succession of good defensive plays by Green, Sapp and Hibbert kept allowing the Hoyas to shave UNC's lead, climaxed by Green's pass over the basket to a wide open Ewing Jr. for 2, and then the ultimate - Jonathan Wallace for three with 31 seconds and he cans it(!) tying the game at 81. In OT its off to the races as Wallace, the smallest player on the court, sneaks through the back door for two and the Hoyas never look back, going up 12 before the Heels get their only OT basket. The Heels Hansbrough, confounded by the swarming Hoya D loses concentration with traveling calls, missed foul shots and the Hoyas never blink steaming through to an almost unbelievable victory. The powder blue seas parted for G'town as just abourt everything that had to go right did over the last 10 minutes of the game and OT.

Sixteen Candles

A look at those burning the brightest in the tournament so far...

Best Game (Texas A+M vs. Louisville)
This game was a war. The lead changing hands every possession. Everybody in foul trouble. Exhausted. Each possession taking the game to new heights. This game was a heavyweight fight to the final bell. Texas A+M survived against Louisville, led by their fearless point guard Acie Law IV and a surprise 21 points from defensive Captain (Dominique) Kirk, who boldly went where he had never gone before with his career high. Player of the game though was Louisville's freshman point guard Edgar Sosa, who went 20 above his average dropping 31 on the Aggies...including 15 of 15 from the charity stripe UNTIL...less than a minute, Aggies by one, and he misses them both!! After a Cardinal foul, Aggies miss both of theirs as well, but Sosa's unnecessarily rushed and too deep 3 bricked off the rim and A&M prevailed. The Freshman took Louisville farther than they could have ever expected but in the end couldn't close it.


Cheating Death (Ohio State vs. Xavier)
The X-Men comic books are about regular people who get superhuman powers after they get too close to a nuclear explosion. Similarly, the X-Men of Xavier University are an ordinary team that played with the strength of a super hero, irradiated by their in-state hate of Ohio State, who stole their coach and is too afraid to schedule regular season games against them (*last contest over 20 years ago). Xavier had the Buckeyes flatlining, leading the game throughout and holding a 9 point advantage late. Ohio State then executed a stunning turnaround, capped by a perfect 3 by Lewis with but a second left in regulation and the Buckeye nation erupting, sending it into an overtime that they would dominate against the suddenly crestfallen Musketeers. Is this is a case of a champion showing the guts to walk through fire or a simple case of the Buckeyes not being that great a team? Next round against TN will show…

Best Dunk
Patrick Ewing Jr., who threw down a stirring reverse slam reminiscent of his Pops (who was there supporting him) at the most key 11th hour.

Best Block
Vandy survivied in double OT against Wash St, thanks to an unbelievable soaring swiping block by their leading scorer, Derrick Byars, as the Cougars were shooting what might have been the winning shot.

Big East a Subtitle for Hoyas?

Time is frozen. Georgetown’s Jeff Green, the basketball cradled in his forearms. Bent into a 45 degree angle whose corner is wedged into the thigh of Notre Dame’s Luke Harangody. Game tied less than a minute left. Time unfreezes at the perfect instant as he steps and curls toward the basket, gliding through Harangody’s forearm shove and uncoiling the ball in a catapulting hook shot at the top of the lane. The ball strikes the front of the rim. The ref’s whistle blows at Harangoday’s blocking foul. The ball hits the backboard. The ball falls softly through the basket. The tide turns as Georgetown takes a lead they will not relinquish, and, following a businesslike throttling of Pitt in the finals, they walk out of Madison Square Garden Big East champs for the first time since 1989.

The tournament and a potential number one seed awaits, but what does this classic and emotional sub-championship foretell of the Hoya’s fate in the true contest that awaits? All the complementary pieces needed to support the sublime and versatile Jeff Green are in place. The fine ball handling and 47% three point shooting of point guard Jonathan Wallace give Georgetown the prerequisite floor general. Jessie Sapp slashing at the basket can break down a defense when their pinpoint passing goes through a stretch where they can’t find a good shot. And 7’2” behemoth Roy Hibbert remains Coach Thompson’s ace in the hole, grabbing dunks and rebounds in moments when his size advantage seems unfair, yet his minutes always managed by Thompson so to never have his clumsy stiffness on the floor at the wrong time. Add the final ingredient, the X-factor hustle of role player Ewing Jr diving after lose balls, grabbing key steals, appearing out of nowhere for the offensive rebound and putback.

One could view the Hoyas as a lock for the NCAA title, but could not the jubilation of their conference title satisfy some of that hunger and desire which is needed for the journey ahead? At Grind it Out Sports, we’ve learned how ridiculously impossible it is to attempt to answer these questions coming into the tournament, and seek only to point out that Georgetown’s clutch performance in their defining moment creates a yin/yang situation whose upside could be a title and whose downside is a possible fizzling out of intensity resulting in a Sweet Sixteen loss to a lower seeded opponent.

Similarly, we examine the defining moment for each of the other tournament favorites, with the yin/yang question whose unknowable answer holds the key – either to tournament glory or humiliation.

UCLA’s defining moment was the only 3 points scored by their leader Arron Afflalo in their loss to Cal (first game of Pac 10 tourney). “Worst game ever” in Afflalo’s own Comic-Book-Guy-like opinion. This “I’ve hit rockbottom” epiphany could be the turning point toward a more determined Bruin effort just at the right time, or it could be just a plateau on the way to the real crash landing, if Afflalo gets tight and comes unglued again.

UNC’s moment came courtesy of a nose-breaking, Kobe-Bryant-style arm swinging by Duke forward Gerald Henderson. Suddenly bloodied, quiet Tar Heel leader Tyler Hansbrough first has an emotional reaction to fight back, later is thrust into a media spotlight, and eventually plastic masked for the following games. His anger flushed out, Hansbrough could be more aggressive and cutthroat with the mask on. Or a subpar performance in their ACC tourney title run could mean his spirit has been broken as well, which leaves UNC up the creek.

Florida, who just waltzed through a crummy SEC to a conference tourney title, saw their defining moment come when they were struggling right before. While getting trounced on the strangely designed court at Vandebilt, forward and emotional leader Joakim Noah exchanged shoves with the opposing coach under the basket where the Commodores bench was placed for some reason. Later a sulking Noah got his curly pony tail into a further tizzy, flinging his towel to the ground in a dramatic display. The passion of Noah and his mates in pursuit of a repeat title could keep them focused down the stretch, or the fallback of a title under their belt could make them lean back, make excuses, and give up.

The defining moment for Wisconsin and Ohio State is later today in their head to head matchup for the Big Ten tournament chamiponship. Regardless of who wins, you can almost rest assured the loser will be angrier, will have more left in the tank, and will do better in the tournament.

Finally Kansas. Sorry Jayhawks, you don’t deserve a defining moment after losing in the first round each of the last two years to Bradley and Bucknell. The defining moment for the Jayhawks comes in the upcoming tournament, where their recent colossal failure will be the story when they take the court…will they respond by erasing or widening the agony of their fans?

Active Seniors

Mostly mental. That’s how you could describe a trend through this week in college basketball. Home underdogs, often clad in orange, slaying visiting giants on Senior Day. The emotions of defending your turf one last time, taking pictures with Mom, shouting senior students getting louder than ever out of nostalgia. All the makings of classic upsets, and nothing but further confusion for serious bracketologists.

On Monday, the Orange entities, formerly known as orange men, coasted on a 14-0 second half run to a rousing defeat of the mighty Hoyas, ending Georgetown’s 11 game winning streak. Syracuse came out inspired to play smashmouth defense, placing distracting orange imps in front of Jeff Green every time he attempted to shoot. (He went 3-of-13). Senior Demetris Nichols burned the Hoyas with his inspired 3-point shooting and later would join fellow senior Darryl Watkins atop the scorers table in an arm-waving farewell to the raucous people of orange descent. The extra motivation for Cuse was evident in their aggressive desire to end the season partying down (as opposed to partying down slightly less if they had lost).

Tuesday saw a similar result down in Knoxville. Tennessee women’s coaching legend Pat Summit regaled the crowd, while in a cheerleader outfit, with her version of “Rocky Top”, a sharing of spirit with men’s coach Bruce Pearl who covered his bare chest in orange paint to salute the women’s team earlier this season. “Rocky Top” refers to the rocky soil of the Volunteer state preventing the growth of corn, and yet those plucky Tennesseans managing to get their corn out of jars. Against Florida, Tennessee was able to open up another kind of jar, this one containing some whuppass. A 17-0 first half run and 50-31 halftime lead paved the way for another feel-good orange senior celebration.

Then Wednesday the victorious orange was of the burnt variety, as Texas outlasted their in-state rival A+M in a double overtime thriller. Aggie point guard Acie Law IV had incredible answers to the Horns with laser-guided non-rotating three balls to tie things up at the end of regulation and overtime one. Unfortunately for the agricultural and mining interests in the state, Law couldn’t get down a bunt after the two home runs, as overtime two and the game ended on his intentionally missed free throw, which was unintentionally not rebounded by the Aggies. Texas freshman sensation Kevin Durant is essentially more of a senior himself, as his 30 point 16 rebound performance was surely his farewell to the Austin faithful, as sneaker companies have lured him to the NBA to become the new Kevin Garnett.

Presumably, when the whistle blows both teams want the victory the same amount (a lot). Yet on Senior Day that home team wants it more than a lot. Will this extra gear be available for these orange underdogs in the neutral emotion of the neutral site NCAAs? And are top seeds G’town, FL and A+M vulnerable? All signs point to “who the hell knows.”

Winter is DUI Season

Woods beats Henry 3 and 2 at match play
Peyton redoes deal, saves Colts cap room
Illinois G Smith surrenders to police
Pacers Tinsley, Daniels charged in fight
Dolphins sign Holliday for $20M, 4 years
DUI hearing for Colts’ Rhodes postponed
Cincy’s Thurman pleads no contest to DUI
Chief Illiniwek to perform for last time

Yahoo sports is listing 8 top stories this evening…amazingly half of them are drunken athletes out of control. Three athlete DUIs (counting Illinois G Smith, who was in fact detained over a horrible DUI wreck which left his teammate with a critical head injury). Four liquor-soaked ballers in all counting Pacers Tinsley who was charged with felony intimidation for his bar fight. And Cincy's Thurman has to do 90 days in the slammer for his repeat violation. Sadly, the days of alcohol fueled craziness and athletes are in full swing. Why? Perhaps the $20M in 4 year contract above sheds some light on the sense of entitlement some ballplayers have.

Compare the drunken free-for-all above with the maturity and sacrifice of Peyton restructuring his contract to keep the Colts on top, and the continued slaughter at the hands of the unstoppable Tiger Woods, Inc., and you either have a profound contrast or a world waiting for March Madness and baseball.

Meanwhile Chief Illegalwek has been banned, but is rumored that he will take to the streets of Champaign, IL for bootleg pep dances.

Norv By Norv-west

The Chargers hiring of Norv Turner as head coach today can be compared to a date in which you offer to take your companion to Wendy’s, she objects, you offer to take her someplace better…only to pull your car into McDonald’s across the street. Norv is a poor man’s Schottenheimer – on a good day! Turner was noticeably ineffective in his years with the Skins and Raiduhs – earning a whopping one trip to the playoffs (with Washington). Just ask an Oakland fan about his 1-11 record in division games with the Raiders over his two years, and, assuming you don’t get a silver and black medieval mace to the face, suddenly Schottenheimer’s 5-13 playoff record won’t seem so terrible. Schottenheimer at least brings a successful regular season and a consistent competence at making the playoffs.

The Chargers, fresh off their botched showdown with Belichick and co. were nonetheless Vegas favorites moments after the Super Bowl ended. Vegas knows the casual fan who just suffered through three hours of Peyton in the rain would love nothing more than to dream that next year a new champion will emerge. The gaudy offensive production of Tomlinson and company and their 14-2 record perhaps MUST make the Bolts a favorite in the circular reasoning of America’s millions of brainwashed fantasy players.

One wonders, will Norv immediately have to inherit Marty’s “LaDanian is the best player ever” viewpoint as a condition of taking over? LaDanian can get four touchdowns in every game and they still wouldn’t be an inch closer to the Super Bowl if Norv can’t strategize a playoff win…likely against Belichick and/or Dungy no less. Norv’s inability to lead a team seemed to have him relegated to coordinator status for good, yet clearly the Chargers wanted to go with head coaching “experience” which is like saying we’d rather go with someone predictably mediocre than some young guy who is untested. No one has more experience being predictably mediocre than Marty Schottenheimer, who is a better Norv than Norv is, even.

The powder blue and yellow lightning bolts of SD seem forever doomed with this one to enter the realm of classic teams that apexed short of the Super Bowl. Not even a strategy of giving the ball to LeBron Tomlinson every single play will make these Cleveland Cavaliers of the NFL successful if they aren’t managed properly as a team, and remain unable to adapt to changing circumstances under pressure. Can Norv change that? You know the Raiders are licking their chops at two chances to show the world the answer is “no.”

Hoya Toughness

Georgetown showed Grind It Out tenacity in defeating Villanova Saturday, capturing the latest opportunity for a measure of revenge for the eternal Hoya pain from the ’85 title upset. Nine consecutive victories for Georgetown have fans dreaming that the current “Ewing Jr. Era” will represent not only Patrick’s role player son’s presence on the team, but also a taste of the same NCAA glory his pop achieved. Let’s just say they have at least achieved an “Iverson Era” level of success, which feels good for fans after a lean decade there.

Georgetown’s 7’2” Roy Hibbert may get the publicity, but the Villanova game showed it’s the sharp shooting and toughness of Jeff Green around which the Hoyas revolve. Green’s fake 3 and smooth step-out to drain a laser 15-footer put Georgetown ahead for good at 56-55, and was the last field goal of the game. The fake worked nicely because of Green’s silky quickness and also because he is potentially deadly from outside. Green absorbed a smack in the face in a rebounding scrum a play later and shook off the circling tweety birds to nail two clutch free throws as the Hoyas triumphed 58-55.

The versatile Green, who finished with 19 points, 9 bounds and a career high 8 blocked shots, was aided by the sparkling play of NYC native playmaker Jessie Sapp, who thrilled audiences by sinking a shot at the halftime buzzer well beyond halfcourt in an effortless leaping shot putting motion. Told he was not winning a car for this effort, Sapp continued to hit clutch threes in the tight second half, also showing his ability to slice and dice in the lane.

Hibbert was not allowed to play offense by Nova, and got his only touch in the paint on his second of only two baskets with 2:59 remaining. G-town went right back to him off the inbounds on the next possession, but his sluggish and flat footed up-and-under move was easily blocked by Nova’s Sheridan. For whatever reason the towering Hibbert can’t seem to generate his own offense in the paint at times. Hoya coach John Thompson Jr.’s brilliance has been harnessing the giant project’s contributions while not allowing his rough spots to cost the team the game. With the clutch hands of Green waiting for the ball, Georgetown has been deadly.

Rex a Tyranosaurus of Failure

Super Bowl XLI will always be remembered for a stirring, inspiring performance amid a torrential downpour. And in addition to Prince’s halftime show, the Colts won a football game.

Kelvin Hayden’s interception for the Colts closed out a soggy day for the Bears. On the ensuing challenge replays it could be seen that his foot touched down within a single blade of grass of the sideline before he took off on his 56-yard touchdown run, the only score of the fourth quarter, the one that iced it. Rex Grossman’s pass was a lazy looper, floated into coverage.

When Rex was intercepted by Bob Sanders two passes later, it was clear the much anticipated scenario of Grossman costing his team the game would be the story of the day, ahead of the monsoon (first inclement weather in Super Bowl history) and the sizzling opening with Devin Hester scoring while Billy Joel was still performing the national anthem. With Rex unable to sustain a drive (nothing longer than 2:22), the D was left out in the rain for days. Grossman allowed the Colts to control the clock with his inability to get first downs, then allowed them to win the game on his poor judgment on the two interceptions, thrown sloppily and deep downfield.

Peyton’s primary contribution was to facilitate the fine running of Rhodes and Addai by not dropping the ball. The two Colt runners deserved to be co-MVP’s in place of the suddenly monkey-free QB. The Hester return and five first quarter turnovers gave the game a wide open feel early, but Peyton’s conservative ball control march to victory made the second half considerably less entertaining.

Clearly, Peyton’s hours of experience at getting pelted by rain while filming Gatorade commercials proved very useful Sunday. Rex on the other hand could have been benched for his poor decisions and lackluster execution. If some purple shoulder pads could have been found for Prince perhaps the result would have been different.

From McGee to Randel-El: Super Bowl Magic Moments

Brunch with your girlfriend. Laundry. Loading your iTunes. Reflecting on past Super Bowl glories. The two-week break before the Super Bowl provides opportunities for all kinds of enjoyment, on this the first Sunday Without Football. The sting of this day is taken away by the fact that we can look forward to The Biggest Sunday of Them All in seven days. Its as if the NFL has to wean its fans gradually off football; the break prevents the shock from being too great after the Bowl, since we have all gotten a taste today of the way Sundays will soon feel for many weeks. Suffice it to say that if you are sitting down to a plate of nachos and a beer to watch the Pro Bowl in a couple of weeks, you seriously need help letting go.

Superbowl.com provides a fun 5-question quiz which determines what team you should root for if still undecided. Give it a shot if you haven’t tried it yet, definitely good for a few laughs. The quiz told me what I already know, that I will be rooting for the Bears Sunday. Although I must say its hard not feel like the Colts are destined to win this one. More than anything in their epic come from behind win over the Pats last Sunday, I was impressed by Peyton Manning’s fire after throwing the interception that put Indy in a 21-3 hole. As annoying as it is to have his “being a leader” constantly drummed into our heads by the media, you could see his emotion at that moment, and he really did manage to keep his team focused and competitive when lesser players might sulk their way through the next couple of plays.

This week I ask the question, what were the great indelible moments in Super Bowl History? I take a personal approach, adding where I was, and the circumstances of my viewing the game into the mix. Beginning with my understanding of those early legendary Bowls before my birth, I give you the epic Grind It Out Sports Super Bowl Magic Moments.

Super Bowl 1 (1967) Green Bay 35 – Kansas City 10. Legendary night of partying for seldom used Packers WR Max McGee, who had an amazing 7 catches and 2 TDs motivated by pure fear, not wanting coach Vince Lombardi to know how hung over he was. After hiding under the covers and then sneaking back to the bars after curfew, McGee was still buying drinks for young LA ladies as the sun was coming up, since he didn’t expect to see a single pass, having only caught 7 all season in what was to be his last year. An injury to the starting WR thrust McGee into the spotlight. Future Super Bowl eve partiers would not exhibit McGee’s ability to bounce back and be a hero.

Super Bowl 3 (1969) New York Jets 16 – Baltimore 7. The legendary guarantee and equally legendary lambchops of Mr. Kissing Suzy Kolber himself, Broadway Joe Namath. This is the first known “guarantee” in sports, magically coming true against huge odds, and thereby for a short time giving credence to the word. Today, a sports “guarantee” is nothing more than a really strong prediction, a lock of the week if you will. Hundreds of “guarantees” since then have been false, with no consideration to the guarantor, the fans.

Super Bowl 4 (1970) Kansas City 23 – Minnesota 7. “They’re running around like a Chinese fire drill”. The late great Hank Stram of the Chiefs, first coach to be miked up on the sideline, pacing the sideline in his arrowhead-logo blazer, slapping his palm with his rolled up program.

Super Bowl 7 (1973) Miami 14 – Washington 7. Dolphin kicker Garo Yepremian picks up a wild snap and suddenly his dream of being a quarterback in the Super Bowl takes over. Garo's wobbly wounded duck of a pass goes sideways and is scooped up by rthe Skins for a 49 yard touchdown run the other way. Second only to the tumbling ski jumper on the Wide World of Sports, this picture of futility was ironically the only blemish on a Dolphins Super Bowl win which cemented their perfect season.

Super Bowl 8 (1974) Miami 24 – Minnesota 7. My brother Andrew is born on this day. This not only inspires years of mostly futile support for the Dolphins in our family, but also represents the first sign of my brother’s strange control over the Vikings, on whom he bestowed a curse which will prevent them from ever winning the Super Bowl.

Super Bowl 10 (1976) Pittsburgh 21 – Dallas 17. The concentration of Steeler WR Lynn Swann leaping to touch a long ball also touched by the defender, planting his foot and leaping again to snare the tipped pass out of the air.

Super Bowl 11 (1977) Oakland 32 – Minnesota 14. Raiders coach John Madden, in his black shirt and blue polyester pants, his curly hair swooped into a big puff, being carried off the field by his players with a classic look of joy…which allows him to “Boom!” - break into broadcasting.

Super Bowl 12 (1978) Dallas 27 – Denver 10. The first super bowl I can really remember watching although I can’t recall any of the game. My only memory is the image of the big beard of Broncos QB Craig Morton. Gimme a break, I was 8. However this began an uninterrupted run of Super Bowl viewings.

Super Bowl 13 (1979) Pittsburgh 35 – Dallas 31. Lynn Swann again, this time leaping into the endzone for the deciding TD.

Super Bowl 14 (1980) Pittsburgh 31 - LA Rams 19. I remember rooting for the Rams and their plucky underdog QB Vince Ferragamo, who held a 19-14 lead coming into the fourth quarter. Another Bradshaw bomb for the Steelers, this time to John Stallworth was predicted by family friend Bob Z, whose confidence in the favorite Steelers underscores my first taste of the perilous road of rooting for underdogs.

Super Bowl 15 (1981) Oakland 31 – Philadelphia 17. Scruffy Raiders linebacker Rod Martin grabs his third interception of the day, deflating the Eagles for good.

Super Bowl 16 (1982) San Francisco 26 – Cincinnati 21. Heroic and gritty goal line stand by the Niners D denied the Bengals on four attempts inside the three yard line and tips the balance to SF.

Super Bowl 17 (1983) Washington 27 – Miami 17. Bruising Redskin menace John Riggins, who had bullied the Dolphins all game despite my inept attempts to will the defense to stop him, turns a fourth-and-one attempt into a 43 yard back-breaking fourth quarter TD.

Super Bowl 18 (1984) LA Raiders 38 – Washington 7. Most remember Marcus Allen’s amazing reversal of field for a 74 yard TD. The real play of the game was the interception by unknown Raiders DB Jack Squirek. Redskins QB Joe Theismann, who was backed up deep in his own end threw a little toss in the flat which Squirek turned into a flash of a pick-6, a TD that kept the Skins out of the game.

Super Bowl 19 (1985) San Francisco 38 – Miami 16. A blur of disappointment and Joe Montana on another day of high Dolphins hopes in which no play is remembered.

Super Bowl 20 (1986) Chicago 46 – New England 10. I obnoxiously offered my friend Eric Klopfer (a Pats fan) a 20 point spread on a $20 bet which allowed me to relish the Bears 46-10 victory in smug satisfaction. Who can forget the Fridge scoring that touchdown?

Super Bowl 21 (1987) NY Giants 39 – Denver 20. Giants WR Phil McConkey scoops up a floating tip in the endzone for a TD in a game punctuated by my Mom’s cousin Bob Lichman’s shouts of “little Joe from Kokomo” every time Giants RB Joe Morris touched the ball. Cousin Bob’s joy was my first taste of a fan rewarded for years of suffering and unconditional support.

Super Bowl 22 (1988) Washington 42 – Denver 10. 35 points in a Redskins second quarter blitzkrieg, which I still use as the yardstick for the most points you can possibly expect to score in a quarter.

Super Bowl 23 (1989) San Francisco 20 – Cincinnati 16. I’ll never forget Bengals lineman Tim Krumrie breaking his leg and the gruesome image of his massive limb bending so disturbingly where there was no joint. The game, a rare thriller, came down to that winning drive by Montana as the clock was ticking down, capped by the pass to John Taylor in endzone traffic.

Super Bowl 24 (1990) San Francisco 55 – Denver 10. This one-sided slaughter is memorialized by the Simpsons in which Homer wishes he could be John Elway. He envisions himself spiking the ball in the endzone with a Super Bowl TD, only to learn the score is now 55-10 Niners. D’oh!!!

Super Bowl 25 (1991) Giants 20 – Buffalo 19. Buffalo kicker Scott Norwood goes wide right on a chance to win the game as I am down on my knees in the TV lounge of my college dorm, praying for Big Blue. The sweet taste of victory celebrated with a massive bucket of a margarita at Houlihans.

Super Bowl 26 (1992) Washington 37 – Buffalo 24. In a legendary mishap, Buffalo RB Thurman Thomas leaves his helmet in the dressing room and doesn’t notice until the game is about to start. Thomas misses the first possession, which features two running plays, the Bills have to punt and never recover. Thomas only gets 13 yards on the day.

Super Bowl 27 (1993) Dallas 52 – Buffalo 17, and Super Bowl 28 (1994) Dallas 30 – Buffalo 13. These were the dark ages for the Super Bowl. My girlfriend Joyce remembers how annoying, unemotional and formulaic these games were without recalling the exact teams involved, as many casual fans have, she has blocked out the details. Team America against the bumbling Bills provided no foothold for anyone not specifically rooting for one team. The two years run together without any indelible memories save for one. Huge Cowboys end Leon Lett showboating with a recovered fumble gets stripped by a hustling Bills WR Don Beebe at the one inch line. The fact that these two dismal Bowls are remembered for a quirky sideshow of play which did not affect the outcome of the game is a fitting statement.

Super Bowl 29 (1995) San Francisco 49 – San Diego 26. Only three plays into the game, Niners WR Jerry Rice is gone on a 44 yard breakaway TD. I am watching the game in my Mission District apartment in San Francisco and the crackle of gunfire and explosives can be heard at the exact moment of this early TD, the excitement of the rout being on that early was indescribable. Later there is dancing on the streets, waving of flags and bouncing automobiles in a wild scene.

Super Bowl 30 (1996) Dallas 27 – Pittsburgh 17. In a crushing moment which doomed this game to be remembered for failure, Steelers QB Neil O’Donnell threw a ball right to Cowboy DB Larry Brown, I mean right to him. Inexplicable for the Steelers and anyone rooting for either a good game or the breaking of 11 years of NFC dominance. I was at a San Francisco Super Bowl party where, naturally, we were unanimously rooting for the Steelers. The hostess comes in at that exact moment with a tray of snacks and lets out a big cheer. It was the fourth quarter and she was so focused on the chips and dips that she hadn’t picked up which team was in what uniform yet, and thought Pittsburgh just grabbed the INT. Her errant cheer echoes into the sullen room.

Super Bowl 31 (1997) Green Bay 35 - New England 21. Fleet footed Heisman winner Desmond Howard answers a Pats TD by scampering 99 yards for a Packer TD on the ensuing kickoff, slamming the door shut on the Tuna and the Pats.

Super Bowl 32 (1998) Denver 31 – Green Bay 24. John Elway scrambling for a first down gets knocked 360 degrees in the air, spinning the Broncos to an unexpected victory. Odd to remember rooting for Elway and the Broncos to break the 12 year NFC run and to upset what I assumed would be a dynasty by Brett Favre that never came to be.

Super Bowl 33 (1999) Denver 34 – Atlanta 19. Hanky panky in the late night hours by Falcons safety Eugene Robinson has him arrested for solicitation of a prostitute. After being awarded the Bart Starr award for “high moral character” earlier in the day, Robinson, a married father of two, caps his Super Bowl eve by offering a female undercover cop $40 for oral sex. His bust reverberates through the pregame discussions and when Robinson gets toasted on an 80 yard Elway bomb, his fate is sealed as a Super Bowl villain who feel prey to the bright lights of the big game.

Super Bowl 34 (2000) St. Louis 23 – Tennessee 16. Titans receiver Andre Dyson stretches out for a game tying touchdown as time expires, only to be tackled a yard short of the endzone, capping a thriller. Not to disparage the ending but you could kinda tell he wasn’t gonna get it.

Super Bowl 35 (2001) Baltimore 34 – New York Giants 7. I hosted a snow covered cookout with Giants fans. At a certain point in the third quarter everyone had fallen asleep except me. I had to wake everyone up to see replays of Ron Dixon’s 99 yard kickoff return, which was the only Giants score.

Super Bowl 36 (2002) New England 20 – St. Louis 17. Pats Adam Vinatieri with that clutch 48 yard game winner. But ya gotta remember Brady on that last drive with no timeouts. Great game and I feel nostalgic for the days of the Pats as loveable underdogs.

Super Bowl 37 (2003) Tampa Bay 48 – Oakland 21. In another disturbing example of pre Super Bowl partying gone awry, Raiders pro bowl center Barrett Robbins goes AWOL in Tijuana the day before the game (in San Diego), losing track of where and who he was in an alcohol-fueled bipolar episode. Unable to attend team functions he is sent home before the game. Backup Adam Treu is pushed around by Warren Sapp and company all game, as the Raiders are defeated while wondering why their offensive anchor wasn’t there.

Super Bowl 38 (2004) New England 32 – Carolina 29. After a great game-tying drive by the Panthers with 1:08 left, play of the game was a boneheaded kick out of bounds by Carolina kicker Jim Kasay. Starting at the 40 after the ensuing penalty gave the Pats plenty of time to maneuver Vinatieri into position for another Super Bowl winning kick.

Super Bowl 39 (2005) New England 24 – Philadelphia 21. Eagles QB Donovan McNabb throws up before an attempted fourth quarter drive and is strangely flat and unemotional while attempting in vain to lead his team.

Super Bowl 40 (2006) Pittsburgh 21 – Seattle 10. Steelers cement it on a trick play as wideout and former QB Antwan Randel-El catches a lateral and flings it 43 yards for a TD to Hines Ward.