Well fans, I reviewed last year’s Super Bowl column for inspiration and found that I had predicted Brett Favre would be back this season and, barring serious injury, could well find himself quarterbacking in the Big Game once again. I was only half right. However, calling the Pack to win it all this year after they got by the Eagles should do something to repair my reputation as football swami.
I called Dave DeLano’s house after the game to offer congratulations with some trepidation – it was such a nail-biter I feared for the old fellow’s health. But he was in fine shape and better spirits, and was gracious enough to never mention the name Favre even once. Despite the whisker-thin margin, I think I am right in calling the NFC the dominant division now. Had Aaron Rodger’s receivers not dropped so many passes it would have been a laugher for the Pack.
As accurate a passer as Rodgers is, and with his superior mobility, it is hard not to imagine the Cheese reappearing next February, but then we fans of the Purple thought pretty highly of our chances this year. Anything can happen, and the Packers used up enough magic for a generation this last season. There are a lot of potholes on the road to the Super Bowl and it is hard to overestimate how important the element of chance is in negotiating them.
And speaking of negotiating, who bets what on a new agreement between players and owners next year? The owners seem to want a giveback from the union in terms of their share of the overall pie. Good luck with that. Hopefully this is all posturing.
If there is a Super Bowl next year someone is going to have to go back to the drawing board for music. Christina Aguilera’s version of the national anthem was already grotesque, and then she blew the lyrics. Bulletin to would-be national anthem singers – the-old-gal-does-not-lend-herself-to -any-kind-of-soul-rendition-take-her-at-a-brisk -pace-and-be-done-quick!
And those Black Eyed Peas! Unfortunately I already used up the word “grotesque.” Their performance could best be described as music without the music. They looked and sounded like the bastard offspring of Michael Jackson and the Village People. Let’s go back to nostalgic, wrinkly old acts like the Stones and Paul McCartney again, please. I believe Bob Dylan is still alive, is he not?
It remains only to be said that the commercials were beneath contempt. “Have you played Cram the Boot before?” indeed! Were I to visit a crude gag like that on my cronies at Happy Hour I’d be thrown into the street.