NR presents…
Necessary Roughness presents, A Super Bowl Review
the commercials were really great if you enjoy watching commercials
it happened at the super bowl…
The evil Terminator, model P-1800 Manning, was thwarted by Drew Brees, Tracey Porter, John Conner and their little visor-wearing head coach/coaching genius/comic relief Sean Payton.
Coming out of half time, Sean kicked the ball directly at Hank Baskett who tried to field the ball with his face mask and elbow and thereby swung the momentum further in favor of the Saints.
It felt as if there was a missing quarter. Gone…just not even played. Where did it go? Pete Townshend’s computer in a file named “Football Research”? I’ve watched the game three times and it always feels like there’s missing time somewhere. Also, isn’t it weird that the NFL would rather expose a child to Pete than to 90% of a breast?
I’m pretty sure the entire country was swept away in a Saintly tidal wave of post-Katrina penance. 99.8% of America was cheering for the Saints by half time.
…beyond belief!
1st and 10…
It’s a little late, but it was Bill Shakespeare, Mike Martz or Carol Burnett who said that tragedy plus time equals comedy, so why not? How can a Pure White Steed even compete with a friendly, Heavenly Saint? It was unfair from the beginning, and the Saints got rolling fast in front of a roaring home field crowd. Seriously, Sun Life Stadium at Estefan Park had to be 90% Saints fans. 98% by halftime. I heard stories that Colts fans were shut out at the gate like African-American voters in Ohio. It might be true. In the end the “good guys” won the game on a couple big plays and partied like kings in New Orleans for the rest of their lives. The end of the 2009 season. We all know though that of the two teams, Indy and New Orleans, the Colts have a much better shot at being back in the Big Game in 2010, and 2011, at home in 2012 and beyond (assuming the Mayan Apocalypse does not occur) as long as good ole Eighteen laces up his cleats, studies his film and films his commercials.
I suppose we all have to call Sean Payton a genius head coach now, but I still can’t put my heart into saying that. He rolled the dice, he has big cojones, whatever, but he wears a visor. Has anyone else noticed this??? How can we take a grown man wearing a visor seriously? He might as well wear a beret, a balloon animal hat or a beanie with a propeller on top. These would all have the same effect as wearing a visor. How do his own players take him serious? Wouldn’t every decision he makes come under some sort of scrutiny in the huddle? Is there not one Saint who has said, “Hey guys, I know we are supposed to listen to and respect our head coach, but have you seen this guy, he’s wearing a visor.” The only two situations in which it is permissible for a grown man to wear a visor is if he is dealing cards in a high stakes poker game in the wild west or counting racket money for a mobster in the 1950’s, that’s it. I don’t see “Super Bowl” anywhere on that list, but great job anyway. Great job Sean Payton!
There are really only two dagger wounds left from the Super Bowl that still sting. The 51-yard field goal attempt that had absolutely no chance (if it was even within the realm of possibility Stover he would still be a Raven) and was essentially a turn over, and the combined efforts of Reggie Wayne on the interception and the last play of the Colts season. I can glaze over the pick, but I still can’t come to grips with how Reggie lackadaisically let the season squirt through his hands between the one yard line and the end zone with a minute left on the clock. It looked as though he heard footsteps and didn’t want to take the hit necessary to score the touchdown. It was one of those individual moments where you sadly realize that the sum of that moment means much more to you than at least one of the individuals involved. Reggie Wayne didn’t care about catching a touchdown to make it a seven point Saints’ lead with a minute left and a timeout. I did. It happens. We will be “going to work” together again next fall and I can only hope for Reggie to be in the same spot with the same opportunity at his fingertips with no final karmic breaths from Katrina to blow that ball ricocheting away again.
What now? What’s next? What is your plan other than the March Tournament and maybe the NBA Finals in June? We enter the dark, treacherous Barrow-esque sports winter that is the NFL offseason. What will you do to satisfy your hunger with no Snickers in sight? A series of trick questions because the answers do not exist. Nothing can take the place of football and likewise; you cannot possibly start talking about football in early-July even to most of your best friends without being labeled as a lunatic and possible kidnapper or terrorist. What is the next best option, you might ask? Fantasy Football. Losing is an unbearable heart break and winning is only a minor relief, but it increases your NFL knowledge, makes you cool in a room full of dudes, and it makes football a year-round obsession. It gives us an excuse to get together every week of the offseason and talk a little about football. Everything means something.
…touchdown!
extra point…
Check out my more immediate response to the Super Bowl right here at Hipster Douchebag Football Blog. This is a great site for immediate, Hoosier-based Colts reaction. I wrote this in haste, and I would now focus the point of that piece to say simply, the Saints had a national home field advantage against the Colts and it all seemed a touch inevitable. It’s why I rooted for the Vikings in the NFC Championship game. I thought there was enough Favre backlash/hatred to make it 50/50 or even 60/40 nationally. I like Peyton with those odds. At any rate, we gave it hell this year and I would like to highlight the actions of a few folks that will forever go into the Necessary Roughness/Blue Doom Crew Hall of Fame:
To the Fimmano’s, your food and beer contribution were unparalleled. From burgers and wings to calzones and stuffed hot peppers, everything was a masterpiece, and I was always guaranteed to have six stray Henry Weinards in my fridge every Monday morning, at least. Maybe your interests in football were slight, and you probably should have been cheering for the Eagles, but you decided to spend the football season at our joint, cheer for the Colts, and contribute delicious dego cooking, beer and lively chatter. You are the MVP’s of Food and Beverage. Great job!
To Katie and Clarence Duffy, your transcontinental fandom was greatly appreciated. Justin and I were bitter rivals in two games this year, yet I had a deep mancrush on Chris Johnson and Justin was stuck in that weird Tennessean parallel universe of loving Peyton as a Vol yet somehow hating him as a rival Colt. We were able, in the end, to reconcile our differences for the love of the game, and that is the great beauty in this Sunday Spectacle. Thank you for you season-long contributions to the Blue Doom Crew. You are the MVP’s of Entertainment. Great job!
To Allie and RTP, oohh yyeeaahh, you brought the funk like Randy Savage brought a top-turnbuckle elbow splash. Every week, the Doom Dome evolved by virtue of your contributions. Far too numerous to list in complete, the short list includes the Power Rod and Power Chain, bone gloves, the Steed Strip, the Power Bomb and all the playoff hijinks, the WWF, Dallas Clark’s antennae, Robert “The Mantis” Mathis, Gary [], Clint 4:20, warming up the Stove(er), defensive felineman Frankie Muir, Curtis Tainter, Sanchez’s hot dog, Hungry Grizzlebeard, Mr. Estabon (the new guy), Chvck Manson and in-general ass-kicking. Thanks. You are the season-long MVP’s of Pomp and Circumstance. Great Job!
To the Gauby-Gaubs, the current and reigning PAMVP’s, you’re raising the future wives of Peyton Manning Jr. and Bob Sanders Jr. It’s all going according to plan, just keep up the great work. That’s what’s hurts? Great job!
To all the other in-and-out riff raff, you know who you are, great job.
Horse never calls off the dogs.
Blue Doom!
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