Sunday, January 22, 2012

Joe Namath Played One Good Game



For the last, oh, I don't know, let's say 14 years, I've cared an awful lot about sports history. Legacies. Whom was better than whom, and what my children and my grandchildren will be saying about today's athletes. This, to me, was important.

For instance, Michael Jordan is widely regarded as the greatest basketball player of all time. Almost no one refutes this, and when someone does, they almost certainly say Bill Russell, to which I make a hint of a Manning Face and say something like, "OK, I guess I'll give you that one." The only thing is--I've never seen Bill Russell play. Never. I've seen grainy black and white YouTube videos, I've read books, and I could throw some stats out, but what does that even mean? That I can pretend to know a player without ever seeing a live game?

Same thing with Jim Brown. "Oh, yeah, man. Jim Brown was fucking awesome. Those shitty YouTube clips of him plowing overmatched white guys down are incredible." Or even, unfortunately--because they were electrifying--Bird and Magic. Sure, I remember some games and moments, but I was three when Magic hit the baby sky hook in the Garden. I've watched entire games online, on DVDs, and ESPN Classic and NBATV, but what I remember most about Magic is the HIV announcement and aftermath, the 1992 All-Star Game, and a handful of games, although even the Finals against Jordan's Bulls--MJ's first title--is hazy to me. Ditto for Bird. I've devoured their respective YouTube videos--practically masturbated to them--yet an ingredient is missing.

I guess what I'm trying to say is--why should some 80-year old dude in Boston who had season tickets to Auerbach's Celtics care what I think about Bill Russell?

An elderly gentleman, probably at the Basketball Hall of Fame, cheesing it up for the camera with what appears to be replica championship rings.


This brings me to the NFL conference championship games. Eight years ago, I would have been heartbroken and pissed after the Patriots took the AFC. It would have easily ruined my night, with a good chance of ruining my week. Two years ago, I would have been the same, and probably would have thought something like, "Goddamnit. Now Brady's won the AFC five times, and Manning's only won it twice. If Brady wins, he'll have FOUR titles, leaving Manning (even at 100%) terribly unlikely to ever catch him."

Now? I'm not going to say I don't care, because I do a little bit. I was, after all, rooting for the Ravens to win the game, but it just doesn't matter as much. Sure, some of you can say, "He got married! His balls are gone! He doesn't care about sports anymore!", but that's not totally it either. I love watching sports now maybe more than ever. Here's the thing:

I've loved the last 14 years of football I've experienced. Growing up with the cellar-dwelling Colts, it was a gift getting Peyton Manning. The dude has won FOUR FUCKING MVP TROPHIES. He's smashed every franchise record, and many NFL ones. The team set a league record for most wins in a decade. Did they flame out in the playoffs a little too much for my taste? Absolutely. Better than having no hope for anything from the get go. Trust me on this one, I live in Washington, D.C. now. Every one of their teams suck.

I have so many memories. Watching live games with one of my best friends for five years. Watching Manning "get over the playoff hump" in spectacular fashion with another best friend. Proudly wearing Colts shit around any city I visited. Bitching about little shit almost every other franchise would have loved to call a problem. Hugging yet another best friend and tearing up when I realized I, unlike so many tortured fan bases in Midwestern cities, would not die without experiencing the feeling of a championship.

And the Patriots? My 20-year old self would punch me in the dick for saying this, but I just don't hate them as much anymore. Brady's pretty goddamn hard to hate, and if I hate anything about Belichick, it's that the Colts didn't handle The Undefeated Season EXACTLY how he did in both '05 and '09. Not really his fault. Sure, he's a smug asshole, but doesn't that make him interesting? Wouldn't you have LOVED to have him as your team's head coach for the last 10+ years?

Now, don't let this fool you: I'm totally rooting for the NFC in the Super Bowl. Just wanted to get that out there.

Speaking of, I'm also going to try and avoid the doom and gloom that is, "Oh, no! If Eli wins, he'll already have one more than Peyton!" What do I care which seat two privileged, millionaire brothers sit in at the family table? I enjoyed the SHIT out of Super Bowl XLII--more so, in game quality, than the Colts' win. Good for him. You know Peyton's rooting for him, and that's good enough for me.

Go ahead--say I'm neutered. Take away my hypothetical fan card. Just know I enjoy watching sports in a different light now. I'm not going to let it shorten my life. After all:

Why should I care what some kid in 2027 thinks of Peyton Manning?

Monday, January 16, 2012

Go Pack Go...Home: An Open Letter to Green Bay Packers Fans from an Indianapolis Colts Fan


Hey, you.

How you doin' there? Today's not so hot, huh? Trust me. I know.

You know that feeling you had for a good 14 weeks this year, where everyone trumped you up as one of the greatest teams of all time, you led SportsCenter every day, and the political ways your players and coaches dodged "19-0" questions during every single interview made you smile? Remember seeing your quarterback on every other commercial? The buzz at every home game? Those were damn good times, huh?

Well, as all good things must...it ended, but what replaced those times were about 60% as good, but you still had the gleam. Your historical dreams of immortality then shifted to saying things like, "Well, hey, the '85 Bears were 15-1," or, "Well, now they won't be distracted and can just play football". Oh, your team would still win the Super Bowl, of course--they just wouldn't be the team that gloriously dumped Mercury Morris's file into the "Irrelevant" bin.

Then...yesterday happened. And let me take a stab at your thought process during the game:

"Everyone's been talking about their team lately. What about us? We did win fourteen games in a row, after all. So while I'm a little bit worried about losing--dear God, the thought of laying an egg in our first playoff game after that whole, 'We're going undefeated' thing, I would just die--I'm not going to show it. We're going to win!"

"OK, whatever. They get on the board first, but it's only a field goal. So what?"

"We matched it. We're not getting beat in our house!"

"Fuck. They just scored a big touchdown. We'll match them..."

"And we did! Touchdown! Now if only we can score first and quit having to match, the points will start flowing..."

"OK. They got another field goal. Now here is where we get a touchdown..."

"FUCK. A touchdown at the end of the half? Are you kidding me? OK, so we're down by ten at the half. Not ideal, but we can totally come back. I trust Mike and the boys to figure things out."

"What's with all these punts? When will our offense show up? What the hell is happening? It's almost the fourth quarter!"

"Every third down is giving me an ulcer..."

"Oh, God. We're going to lose. We're going to lose, aren't we?"

"Why do I put my faith in you, Jesus? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Touchdown! Only down ten! If we can stop them here, score a touchdown, and get an onside kick, we can win!"

"We're not going to win. I care way too much about sports."

"Fuck this. I'm not even going to watch the Super Bowl. I need to take a sports break."

Sound about right? So, did you listen to sports talk radio on the way home? Or did you and your friends drive in silence? Oh, well. At least you didn't talk about how you could have spared at least a little pain--and been able to afford next year's season tickets--had you sold your tickets and not even gone to that goddamn, stupid game. Oh, dear Lord. You did do that...didn't you?



Cheer up. It gets better. Sure, you'll realize when Aaron Rodgers is, say, 36 with three serious surgeries how many titles you left on the table. Each time you had an elite quarterback go down in playoff flames only to watch someone else hoist that stupid trophy. And besides, you already have one title with Rodgers, and you had one with Favre.

Some great ones only get one, you know.