Maybe I am forgetful in my somewhat advanced age, but I thought Icarus only had one shot to fly away on wings of wax and feathers. And, here is Pete Carroll proving again the folly of hubris, as this time he threw away a second chance in a title game or did y’all forget the 2006 Rose Bowl – I know someone who hasn’t and bringing it up again feels like an eagle’s thirst for promethean liver – #4thand2, #19seconds, #41-38. That one moment aside, it was a heavyweight bout. The likes last seen by Ali and Frazier, possibly…
But seriously, is there anyone in the world who feels that was the right call to make from the 1 yard line? Prior to that, we were all staring, with dropped jaws, into the warming glow of LED’s, wondering about the inevitable iceberg of titanic failure from the Patriots losing 3 consecutive Superbowls in spectacular fashion – Tyree’s bubble gum helmet catch, Manningham’s sideline hatbox catch+Welker’s drop, and this time, Kearse’s miracle…
Chris Mathews, coming straight-outta-Foot Locker, and undrafted from Kentucky, did his best Randy Moss impression – causing Kyle Arrington to get benched, only to be replaced by a former Popeye’s employee, delivered from Shangri-La as a redeemer – How does Malcolm Butler go from West Alabama, fried chicken, to goat on Kearse’s catch, to guardian angel two plays later stepping in front of Lockette? The teams were so well coached and prepared that they attacked the only weaknesses each team had…
You begin to wonder, now and again, if the script is already written in this topsy-turvy world…Do we just gather around the swirling-inferno of our global coliseums to cheer for the Lion? Or the Christian? Just to witness mayhem or victory, quenching our thirst for blood? Because by the Gods we will thirst, regardless of our opinion of neither Lion nor Christian. We want the field stained with blood and the gut-wrenching anguish of an amputated soul.
What we got in the second half of this Superbowl was the stuff of myth and legend. A Legacy born and rivaled by another, but now shared within the pages of history. Like Hercules, Tom Brady has endured his labors and may now sit at the table of idols in Olympus. He may not be the hero of your choice, but he has earned his seat.
On the other side of the coin of legacy stands Bill Belichick. Viewed more as the possible Guardian of Tartarus, than being the Czar in the Titanomachy of coaches. A Position he might now, share alone.
But what about the periphery of the game itself and what was wrong with the advertisers this year? Superbowl Sunday is a time of joy and bloodlust, not warped emotions of lost dogs, domestic violence and dead children. This is not the time I would like to peer into the haunted recesses to question my own choices – I want to enjoy the temptation, the beer, the wings, the pizza, queso, cheese plates, cheese cakes and whatever else could GPS me the fastest route to diabetes. Neither shame, nor guilt deserves a seat at my table during the bacchanal! Let me repent and clear my soul the day after Fat Tuesday, and honor the Holy Zombie the right way 40 days later, like every other self-gratifying-christian.
Hell, it looked like Katy Perry was providing us a road map, with that acid-trip-beach-shit-show that looked like a kids version of Sharknado.
Either way, the party at the Safehouse was a wild affair as I’m sure it was where you were. We had boozed out butterflies flitting around from snack to snack, to constant wagering of prop bet after prop bet…Someone actually bet that Paul Walker lives at the end of Furious 7. Maybe some of you were hunkered down looking to make three grand on the possible safety that loomed, only to be snuffed out like a mob-snitch by the Seahawks’ offsides penalty. Or maybe you gambled on football’s version of Sudoku each quarter? It was all glorious debauchery and me with a front row seat to the foot-balla-pocalypse-of-it-all.
There are so many more story-lines and events that took place, that we could dissect and diagram until the aliens come home. Let’s just enjoy the moment of an incredible contest that might have been decided with one minute remaining and remember two number one seeds providing us a game for the ages. It was fun!
The tragedy of the event was not lost on some – as a buddy called after the game disillusioned by all the commercials, and wanted to take some time off to concentrate on his place in the world – how to make a difference in the grub-worm population that is being decimated by the legion of quail in the area – I quoted him some Ghandi and reminded him of the trials of Oscar Wilde – he mumbled something about crabcakes and football……and like most Americans he’ll wake up a little more confused today, a tad dehydrated, but ready to attack his day with a renewed vigor and many Red Bulls. With the thirst still flowing thru our veins, he and we, will find a revival for the unquenchable blood-lust of the next wager – as we all should, as Damn Fine Americans this post Super-Sunday.
Here are some fine moments from last night on the interwebs: