In some other universe today, one that does not include Tom Brady, the Atlanta Falcons are celebrating. Most of America is celebrating. People are all like, "Well, that showed those cheaters," and "Suck it, Brady" -- the meme that will never die, at least outside New England.
Except ...
Except everyone woke up today in this universe. And, yes, that still happened.
"That," of course, being the greatest comeback in Super Bowl history, and also the greatest choke. "That" being Brady -- indisputably the Greatest Of All Times now, no matter what you think of him -- leading his beleaguered New England Patriots to 25 points in 17 minutes, then taking them down the field in overtime to win Supe LI, 34-28.
(Which brings us to the second miracle of this day, the Blob's eerily accurate prediction. The final was Patriots 34, Falcons 28; the Blob's call was Patriots 34, Falcons 27. Pigs will now fly, and the moon will turn the color of blood)
In any case, it was a situation where you can throw around the word "epic," and no one will roll his or her eyes. It was epic, on both ends. In future years, how Brady brought his team back from the brink of death -- down 28-3 with the third quarter nearly gone -- will be viewed with nearly as much wonder as how the Falcons lost a game that looked so profoundly unlose-able for so long.
A few observations from Epicville:
* If Brady and Matt Ryan filled the air with footballs -- Brady chucked it a record 62 times for a record 466 yards -- this game turned on the fulcrum that decides almost every Super Bowl: Defense. Nearly lost in all the Brady GOAT chatter is the fact the Patriots defense sacked Ryan five times and pretty much shut down the Falcons' league-leading offense after the 8:48 mark of the second quarter. The Falcons' offense scored just once after that, and was shut out for the final 23:31 of regulation and the overtime. For the game, they managed just 17 first downs and had the football for just 23:27.
Which led directly to ...
* ... the Patriots comeback. For most of three quarters, Brady vs. the Falcons defense looked like what it was, a 39-year-old quarterback against faster, younger, more eager men. Windows closed absurdly quickly for the 39-year-old, and he was continually pressured, hit, sacked and otherwise abused by the hungry kids in the Falcons down seven.
But here's the thing: Even if the Patriots weren't scoring, Brady was still moving the chains. The Patriots piled up a ridiculous 37 first downs before they were done, and hogged the football an equally ridiculous 40 minutes plus. Eventually, that stole even the Falcons' young legs. That's why that 25-point Falcons lead vanished, and that's why the Patriots scored 19 points in the fourth quarter.
* Speaking of young, the Falcons' Super Bowl inexperience finally reared its head as things began to fray. On a couple of occasions, Ryan took sacks when he absolutely could not take sacks, driving the Falcons out of field goal range when a field goal was all they needed to finally make the thing a bridge too far for even Brady. An egregious, crucial holding penalty helped that process along, too. As did a couple of defensive holding penalties as the tiring Falcons defensive backs tried to do with their hands what their legs could no longer do.
The Patriots, in short, were much the cooler team down the stretch. As you might have figured.
* Best part of the night: The catches made by Julio Jones and Julian Edelman. Never been two more oh-my-God, grab-your-head catches in the same Super Bowl.
* Worst part of the night: Having to listen to Robert Kraft play the persecuted victim as he held the Lombardi Trophy aloft, saying it was the sweetest of the Patriots' Super Bowl wins because of all they've gone through the last two years. Sorry, Bob, but that kite won't fly. Whatever happened to you, you brought it on yourselves. Try not cheating next time.
* Oh, yes: And Lady Gaga killed it in the halftime show. End of discussion.
Monday, February 6, 2017
Sunday, February 5, 2017
And now ... Da Prediction
Or in other words, "The Moral Dilemma That Is Super Bowl LI."
It's one of those left brain/right brain kind of deals, in which the inner dialogue becomes as contentious and counterproductive as a presidential phone call to the Australian prime minister. On the one hand, there's the heart, which says go with the Falcons because they're fun and different and young and one of the most decent human beings on the planet, Jimmy Carter, is a fan. On the other hand ...
Well, on the other hand, there's the brain, which says it's the $#@%&* Patriots because they're the $#@%* Patriots. And even though the Falcons are fun and different, they are also, yes, young, and that is a severe disadvantage when it's the $#@%* Patriots on the other side of the field.
Look. The Falcons are young. They are also faster, they seem to have more pure athletic talent in the right places, and Matt Ryan is having the best season of his career. And sometimes that recipe winds up with the guy having the best season of his career raising the Lombardi Trophy.
The dynastic Steelers, after all, were young and fast and outrageously talented, too, when they made their rookie debut in the Super Bowl. Across from them were the veteran Vikings. The Steelers won that day, 16-6.
Here's the thing though: The Vikings of 1975 were not the Patriots of 2016.
The Patriots of 2016 are the supreme organization in the NFL, and maybe in all of American sports. They have Grumpy McGrumpleskins, aka, Bill Belichick, perhaps the best coach of all time. They have the best scoring defense in the league, a not inconsiderable thing in a game that historically has belonged to the team with the best defense. And they have Tom Brady, very likely the greatest Super Bowl quarterback of all time, playing in his seventh Super Bowl against an Atlanta defense that, while athletic and fast, features seven rookies or second-year players.
It's a defense that's gotten better as the year's gone on, but it's also a defense whose weaknesses happen to dovetail with Brady's strengths. They've been effective so far in the playoffs by blitzing more than they did in the regular season, but Brady eats blitzes alive. No QB in the league has better numbers against the blitz than No. 12.
Plus, he really, really, really wants this one, because he wants to be on that podium when Roger Goodell is forced to hand the Lombardi Trophy to the Patriots. Brady -- and his team, and their following -- have a persecution complex a mile wide where Goodell is concerned. They feel they've been done a great wrong, a laughable notion considering how much shady and out-and-out illegal acts they've all but gotten away with over the years.
Because of that, there is nothing I would like to do more than pick against the Patriots. But I can't. I can't pick against Shady Brady, not when he's this motivated and not when he's facing such a raw defense.
Brady plus Belichick vs. rookie defense plus rookie head coach (Dan Quinn) is an equation that comes out the same way every time, in my book.
And so: Patriots 34, Falcons 27.
It's one of those left brain/right brain kind of deals, in which the inner dialogue becomes as contentious and counterproductive as a presidential phone call to the Australian prime minister. On the one hand, there's the heart, which says go with the Falcons because they're fun and different and young and one of the most decent human beings on the planet, Jimmy Carter, is a fan. On the other hand ...
Well, on the other hand, there's the brain, which says it's the $#@%&* Patriots because they're the $#@%* Patriots. And even though the Falcons are fun and different, they are also, yes, young, and that is a severe disadvantage when it's the $#@%* Patriots on the other side of the field.
Look. The Falcons are young. They are also faster, they seem to have more pure athletic talent in the right places, and Matt Ryan is having the best season of his career. And sometimes that recipe winds up with the guy having the best season of his career raising the Lombardi Trophy.
The dynastic Steelers, after all, were young and fast and outrageously talented, too, when they made their rookie debut in the Super Bowl. Across from them were the veteran Vikings. The Steelers won that day, 16-6.
Here's the thing though: The Vikings of 1975 were not the Patriots of 2016.
The Patriots of 2016 are the supreme organization in the NFL, and maybe in all of American sports. They have Grumpy McGrumpleskins, aka, Bill Belichick, perhaps the best coach of all time. They have the best scoring defense in the league, a not inconsiderable thing in a game that historically has belonged to the team with the best defense. And they have Tom Brady, very likely the greatest Super Bowl quarterback of all time, playing in his seventh Super Bowl against an Atlanta defense that, while athletic and fast, features seven rookies or second-year players.
It's a defense that's gotten better as the year's gone on, but it's also a defense whose weaknesses happen to dovetail with Brady's strengths. They've been effective so far in the playoffs by blitzing more than they did in the regular season, but Brady eats blitzes alive. No QB in the league has better numbers against the blitz than No. 12.
Plus, he really, really, really wants this one, because he wants to be on that podium when Roger Goodell is forced to hand the Lombardi Trophy to the Patriots. Brady -- and his team, and their following -- have a persecution complex a mile wide where Goodell is concerned. They feel they've been done a great wrong, a laughable notion considering how much shady and out-and-out illegal acts they've all but gotten away with over the years.
Because of that, there is nothing I would like to do more than pick against the Patriots. But I can't. I can't pick against Shady Brady, not when he's this motivated and not when he's facing such a raw defense.
Brady plus Belichick vs. rookie defense plus rookie head coach (Dan Quinn) is an equation that comes out the same way every time, in my book.
And so: Patriots 34, Falcons 27.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Your Super Bowl moment for today
Sorry, but it's not the eagerly unanticipated Blob prediction. That comes tomorrow, when the Blob goes against convention and picks a team that's not even playing, on account of the fact a team that's not even playing will have more access to snacks and beer.
No, it's time for the barely acknowledged Blob Prop Bets, which are unlike regular prop bets in that they don't include mundane stuff like how long it will take Luke Bryan to sing the national anthem, and will he remember all the words.
(I'm guessing somewhere well north of two minutes, and yes)
Anyway ... without further ado, here are the Blob Prop Bets:
1. Will Lady Gaga wear the Meat Dress in the halftime show?
(Corollary bet: And will it be grilled, fried or broiled?)
2. Will Bill Belichick smile if the Patriots win?
(Corollary bet: And how malevolent will Tom Brady's smile be when he accepts the Lombardi Trophy from Roger Goodell?)
3. If it's a blowout and the Patriots are winning, how long before all of America outside of New England bails in favor of "Victoria" on PBS?
(Over/under: 12.5 seconds)
4. How long before someone in the Blob household (i.e., the Blob's wife, who's not into football) asks "Who's Atlanta's quarterback again?"
(Over/under: One minute)
5. How long before someone else in the Blob household (i.e., me) says "OK, time for a brownie?"
(No over/under on this one. You're assuming I haven't said that already)
6. What will be heard first in households watching the Super Bowl:: "Dammit, Atlanta!", "These commercials aren't very good this year," or "God, I hate the Patriots."
(The best odds in Vegas right now are on "OK, time for a brownie.")
7. In how many households watching the Super Bowl will the following be heard vis-a-vis Lady Gaga's halftime show: "Well, that was weird"?
(Over'under: 1.2 million)
8. In how many households, at the same time, will the following be heard: "Coldplay was better last year"?
(Over/under: Five)
9. How long before someone in the Blob household says "I really miss the Bud Bowl"?
(No over/under. I just said it. And I mean it)
And last but not least ...
10. If the Falcons win, who will crack open another beer, raise it toward the TV screen and say "(Bleep) you, Brady!"?
(Vegas says "Pretty much everyone who doesn't live in New England")
No, it's time for the barely acknowledged Blob Prop Bets, which are unlike regular prop bets in that they don't include mundane stuff like how long it will take Luke Bryan to sing the national anthem, and will he remember all the words.
(I'm guessing somewhere well north of two minutes, and yes)
Anyway ... without further ado, here are the Blob Prop Bets:
1. Will Lady Gaga wear the Meat Dress in the halftime show?
(Corollary bet: And will it be grilled, fried or broiled?)
2. Will Bill Belichick smile if the Patriots win?
(Corollary bet: And how malevolent will Tom Brady's smile be when he accepts the Lombardi Trophy from Roger Goodell?)
3. If it's a blowout and the Patriots are winning, how long before all of America outside of New England bails in favor of "Victoria" on PBS?
(Over/under: 12.5 seconds)
4. How long before someone in the Blob household (i.e., the Blob's wife, who's not into football) asks "Who's Atlanta's quarterback again?"
(Over/under: One minute)
5. How long before someone else in the Blob household (i.e., me) says "OK, time for a brownie?"
(No over/under on this one. You're assuming I haven't said that already)
6. What will be heard first in households watching the Super Bowl:: "Dammit, Atlanta!", "These commercials aren't very good this year," or "God, I hate the Patriots."
(The best odds in Vegas right now are on "OK, time for a brownie.")
7. In how many households watching the Super Bowl will the following be heard vis-a-vis Lady Gaga's halftime show: "Well, that was weird"?
(Over'under: 1.2 million)
8. In how many households, at the same time, will the following be heard: "Coldplay was better last year"?
(Over/under: Five)
9. How long before someone in the Blob household says "I really miss the Bud Bowl"?
(No over/under. I just said it. And I mean it)
And last but not least ...
10. If the Falcons win, who will crack open another beer, raise it toward the TV screen and say "(Bleep) you, Brady!"?
(Vegas says "Pretty much everyone who doesn't live in New England")
Friday, February 3, 2017
Tiger's back ...
... is bothering him again.
The word out of Dubai is Woods pulled out of the Dubai Desert Classic after suffering back spasms Thursday evening, and here we go, here we go. It took no particular genius, or even particular smarts, to predict that sooner or later the back would start acting up again. Turns out "sooner" was the way to go in the office pool.
His comeback has barely begun, and the back is an issue again. Well, duh. When you're 41 years old and you're a professional golfer with back issues on your resume, these things will happen. Just ask Freddy Couples, whose own career was short-circuited by back problems.
Of course, Woods' agent, says the problem is unrelated to the nerve issues that precipitated Woods' three recent back surgeries. But if it's the back, pretty much everything is related. Which is why we should expect more of this rather than less going forward.
In the meantime, Woods' comeback has so far produced a missed cut at Torrey Pines and an opening 77, with five bogeys and zero birdies, in Dubai. Expect more of this going forward, too -- unless, or until, Woods finally decides enough is enough and hangs it up.
He is, after all, already the greatest player of his era, if not ever. It's unlikely anything he does now is going to add to that. So why continue to play regularly in what seems certain to be a steadily diminishing capacity?
The word out of Dubai is Woods pulled out of the Dubai Desert Classic after suffering back spasms Thursday evening, and here we go, here we go. It took no particular genius, or even particular smarts, to predict that sooner or later the back would start acting up again. Turns out "sooner" was the way to go in the office pool.
His comeback has barely begun, and the back is an issue again. Well, duh. When you're 41 years old and you're a professional golfer with back issues on your resume, these things will happen. Just ask Freddy Couples, whose own career was short-circuited by back problems.
Of course, Woods' agent, says the problem is unrelated to the nerve issues that precipitated Woods' three recent back surgeries. But if it's the back, pretty much everything is related. Which is why we should expect more of this rather than less going forward.
In the meantime, Woods' comeback has so far produced a missed cut at Torrey Pines and an opening 77, with five bogeys and zero birdies, in Dubai. Expect more of this going forward, too -- unless, or until, Woods finally decides enough is enough and hangs it up.
He is, after all, already the greatest player of his era, if not ever. It's unlikely anything he does now is going to add to that. So why continue to play regularly in what seems certain to be a steadily diminishing capacity?
Thursday, February 2, 2017
That name. That lovely name.
I am sorry, Edgar Allan Poe. You no longer have the most fabulous name I ever heard in college football.
And I remember Prince McJunkins.
No, the Army wide receiver must now cede the stage, because here comes the name that was all over the interwhatsis yesterday: Kobe Buffalomeat.
He's a 285-pound offensive lineman from Kansas who signed with Illinois State yesterday, and the best line of the day came from Buffalomeat himself.
His name? Why, he was named for Kobe Bryant, of course.
Which of course ignores the part of his name that is sheer awesomeness, and especially sheer American awesomeness. Native Americans, after all, are the only real Americans. Everyone else is just a poser from somewhere else.
(Something the Resident of the United States might have considered before issuing his sweeping not-in-response-to-anything-in-particular travel ban targeting Muslims. But that would require some perspective, and the Resident has none. Everything's a forest fire to him. Another Blob for another day. perhaps)
Anyway ... back to Buffalomeat.
He became such a hit yesterday that a producer from the Jimmy Kimmel show called, inquiring about an interview. Meanwhile, the most fervent hope of every American is that he blows up at Illinois State and winds up in the NFL, where the endorsement possibilities boggle the mind.
Some of them might not even be completely tasteless -- although Madison Avenue doesn't exactly have a sterling track record in that regard.
In any case, America will be watching Buffalomeat. And if he does blow up, those of us who live in Indiana will be hoping that please-please-please the Colts draft and sign him.
I mean, Andrew Luck needs all the protection up front he can get. And Buffalomeat would certainly be an upgrade from what he's working with now on the OL.
Which would be Dead Meat.
And I remember Prince McJunkins.
No, the Army wide receiver must now cede the stage, because here comes the name that was all over the interwhatsis yesterday: Kobe Buffalomeat.
He's a 285-pound offensive lineman from Kansas who signed with Illinois State yesterday, and the best line of the day came from Buffalomeat himself.
His name? Why, he was named for Kobe Bryant, of course.
Which of course ignores the part of his name that is sheer awesomeness, and especially sheer American awesomeness. Native Americans, after all, are the only real Americans. Everyone else is just a poser from somewhere else.
(Something the Resident of the United States might have considered before issuing his sweeping not-in-response-to-anything-in-particular travel ban targeting Muslims. But that would require some perspective, and the Resident has none. Everything's a forest fire to him. Another Blob for another day. perhaps)
Anyway ... back to Buffalomeat.
He became such a hit yesterday that a producer from the Jimmy Kimmel show called, inquiring about an interview. Meanwhile, the most fervent hope of every American is that he blows up at Illinois State and winds up in the NFL, where the endorsement possibilities boggle the mind.
Some of them might not even be completely tasteless -- although Madison Avenue doesn't exactly have a sterling track record in that regard.
In any case, America will be watching Buffalomeat. And if he does blow up, those of us who live in Indiana will be hoping that please-please-please the Colts draft and sign him.
I mean, Andrew Luck needs all the protection up front he can get. And Buffalomeat would certainly be an upgrade from what he's working with now on the OL.
Which would be Dead Meat.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Pot meets kettle
I get LeBron James' frustration. When a guy's been banging on you periodically for most of your career, sometimes you just get fed up.
And so there was TNT analyst Charles Barkley the other day, calling LeBron "whiny" for demanding more from an owner who's given him pretty much everything, saying his insistence on another piece to the Cavaliers' puzzle is a sign that LeBron just "didn't want to compete." The first might have had some validity; the second was patently absurd, given what happened last June.
In any case, LeBron had heard enough.
"I'm not going to let him disrespect my legacy like that," James told ESPN a few nights later. "I'm not the one who threw somebody through a window. I never spit on a kid. I never had unpaid debt in Las Vegas. I never said, 'I'm not a role model.' I never showed up to All-Star Weekend on Sunday because I was in Vegas all weekend partying.
"All I've done for my entire career is represent the NBA the right way. Fourteen years, never got in trouble. Respected the game. Print that."
The Blob's take: Pretty good comeback. Actually, a great comeback.
A lot of other people's take: He shouldn't have gotten personal, because Barkley didn't.
Um ... excuse me?
Listen, when you call someone of LeBron's stature "whiny" and say he doesn't want to compete, that sounds pretty personal to me. If it isn't, the standards for what is personal have changed somewhere along the line without my knowledge.
The bare-wood truth is, telling a professional athlete he doesn't want to compete is as deeply personal an insult as you can level. And it's interesting Barkley would go there, being a guy who apparently didn't want to compete himself back in his playing days, when he did a lot of the same sort of whining about the 76ers before heading off to Phoenix, a team he knew had all the pieces in place to compete for an NBA title.
Not that, you know, the Round Mound of Selective Memory ever chased rings like these guys do today.
But then, that's Chuckles. Like a lot of old-school Joes, he's a big do-as-I-say, not-as-I-did guy. Or perhaps more accurately, "Do as I remember myself doing, even if it's not what I did."
Not to get personal or anything.
And so there was TNT analyst Charles Barkley the other day, calling LeBron "whiny" for demanding more from an owner who's given him pretty much everything, saying his insistence on another piece to the Cavaliers' puzzle is a sign that LeBron just "didn't want to compete." The first might have had some validity; the second was patently absurd, given what happened last June.
In any case, LeBron had heard enough.
"I'm not going to let him disrespect my legacy like that," James told ESPN a few nights later. "I'm not the one who threw somebody through a window. I never spit on a kid. I never had unpaid debt in Las Vegas. I never said, 'I'm not a role model.' I never showed up to All-Star Weekend on Sunday because I was in Vegas all weekend partying.
"All I've done for my entire career is represent the NBA the right way. Fourteen years, never got in trouble. Respected the game. Print that."
The Blob's take: Pretty good comeback. Actually, a great comeback.
A lot of other people's take: He shouldn't have gotten personal, because Barkley didn't.
Um ... excuse me?
Listen, when you call someone of LeBron's stature "whiny" and say he doesn't want to compete, that sounds pretty personal to me. If it isn't, the standards for what is personal have changed somewhere along the line without my knowledge.
The bare-wood truth is, telling a professional athlete he doesn't want to compete is as deeply personal an insult as you can level. And it's interesting Barkley would go there, being a guy who apparently didn't want to compete himself back in his playing days, when he did a lot of the same sort of whining about the 76ers before heading off to Phoenix, a team he knew had all the pieces in place to compete for an NBA title.
Not that, you know, the Round Mound of Selective Memory ever chased rings like these guys do today.
But then, that's Chuckles. Like a lot of old-school Joes, he's a big do-as-I-say, not-as-I-did guy. Or perhaps more accurately, "Do as I remember myself doing, even if it's not what I did."
Not to get personal or anything.
Your Super Bowl moment for today
In which we harken back to those days of yesteryear, 2004 to be precise, when the most famous halftime nothingburger of all halftime nothingburgers either shocked America's sensibilities or ... you know, didn't.
I am speaking, of course, of the fabled halftime Wardrobe Malfunction that bared Janet Jackson's breast for a nanosecond the last time the Super Bowl was played in Houston.
And when I say "nanosecond," I mean that literally.
It was, in fact, such a nanosecond I didn't see it, my eyesight being notoriously bad anyway. All I saw was Jackson grab the right side of her chest as Justin Timberlake clawed at her, um, covering. If there was a bare breast in there, I didn't see it.
Neither did most of America, I'm willing to bet.
Nonetheless, there was outrage. And the NFL dialed back the halftime show accordingly. The next year, the halftime show featured Paul McCartney, a safely G-rated (for "geriatric") act.
At any rate, the best take I ever heard on the Wardrobe Malfunction came from comedian Lewis Black, who said people who said they saw Jackson's breast were all lying, because the only way anyone could have seen anything was if they had their noses pressed to the TV screen at the aforementioned nanosecond. Otherwise, because it happened so quickly, it's likely more people heard about it after the fact, saw the screen grab, and then imagined they saw it live.
The mind, after all, is a funny thing. And mightily susceptible to suggestion.
Or so goes the Blob's theory.
I am speaking, of course, of the fabled halftime Wardrobe Malfunction that bared Janet Jackson's breast for a nanosecond the last time the Super Bowl was played in Houston.
And when I say "nanosecond," I mean that literally.
It was, in fact, such a nanosecond I didn't see it, my eyesight being notoriously bad anyway. All I saw was Jackson grab the right side of her chest as Justin Timberlake clawed at her, um, covering. If there was a bare breast in there, I didn't see it.
Neither did most of America, I'm willing to bet.
Nonetheless, there was outrage. And the NFL dialed back the halftime show accordingly. The next year, the halftime show featured Paul McCartney, a safely G-rated (for "geriatric") act.
At any rate, the best take I ever heard on the Wardrobe Malfunction came from comedian Lewis Black, who said people who said they saw Jackson's breast were all lying, because the only way anyone could have seen anything was if they had their noses pressed to the TV screen at the aforementioned nanosecond. Otherwise, because it happened so quickly, it's likely more people heard about it after the fact, saw the screen grab, and then imagined they saw it live.
The mind, after all, is a funny thing. And mightily susceptible to suggestion.
Or so goes the Blob's theory.
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