It's less than an hour after Super Bowl XLll, and I had to dig this out from 12 days ago. It's not exactly spot-on, but it's not too far off...
The frigid winter wind howled by my windows, threatening a slow but sure death if I dared set foot outside. I ignored it's insistence, choosing instead to crack open another beer while I wiped the tear from my eye. The TV offered it's tantalizing, hypnotic glow as I relived nearly every play of the fourth quarter of Super Bowl XLll. In a stupor as much from the evening's Super Bowl drinking game as from the numbness of the game's final moments, I stood and shook my head as though to confirm that what I had just seen was indeed real.
Mark was passed out on the couch, and Steph was unconscious on the floor. Steve was awake. Well, his eyes were open, at any rate. It appeared that he had an unusual interest in my carpet. I began gathering empty and nearly-empty beer cans, tossing them into the recycle bin. The small labor was enough to snap my mind back to reality, and I mulled the implications of the Big Game's outcome.
With this win, the Giants had just effectively silenced the proponents of the "AFC is far superior" camp. At least for a little while. The Redskins, Buccaneers, Cowboys, Seahawks, and Packers could lift their heads a bit knowing that at the very least, the one team to top them all was from their own conference. A small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless. Another thought was that the Giants are now the defending Super Bowl champs. It's hard to put it together in my weak little brain, but there it is. What does it mean? How does the NFC respond to this next season?
As for Tom Brady's interception with twenty seconds left and down by three, all I can say is, "well, he had a good run". It was fun for me to watch the Patriots' amazing season, going 18-0, but I just didn't want the Patriots to be the team to best the NFL's most revered record. I chuckle to myself as I envision the Dolphins fans of the world in those last two minutes of the game: Down by four, Manning The Younger gets sacked for the third time, for a loss of ten yards. It seems hopeless. Fourth down, twenty yards to go. In slow motion, Eli drops into a two-step, scans left, scans right, and releases a wobbling, homeless lob of a pass that Plaxico Burress somehow stabs out of the air, crumpling in a heap on the Patriots' three yard line. After Brandon Jacobs' stumbling three-yard punch into the end zone, only the inexperienced fans thought it was over with one minute to go.
I took a deep breath, tossed the last can, and settled back into my La-Z-Boy with a fresh beer. As for Mark, Steph, and Steve, who's eyes are now closed, I don't mind if they sleep there all night.