Mister Faded Glory | misterfadedglory.com

The day after (media day) prompts some of the sportswriting elite to turn their cameras on a reclusive favorite of Mr. Faded Glory’s — as SI and ESPN both trot out profiles of reclusive (and thus enigmatic) Marvin Harrison, diminishing his career returns because of playoff stat lines that pale in comparison. Check them out:

ESPN‘s Michael Smith: Harrison’s actions speak louder than his words

Sports Illustrated‘s Jeffri Chadiha: Disappearing Act

I have no problem with discussing Harrison‘s statistical downturn in production in the playoffs. (Smith’s piece, in particular, is quite good.) It’s emblematic of both a typical drop in gaudy statistics, for nearly every athlete in a postseason, but also increased focus in opposing coverage — facing off against better, smarter corners and defense with each advancement. Fewer stats is a function of these very circumstances, symbolic of luck as much as any sort of chokery.

I do have a problem with the refusal to paint Harrison in the same light as some receiving greats of all time — and this happened with Rice in his career, as well — because he plays a “dependent” position such as receiver, and depends on a quarterback — Peyton Manning, who, duh, is very good — to get him the ball. Well, sure. In Rice’s day, they lauded Montana, skeptical of Jerry.

However, categorizing receivers as a dependent position precludes any of the theories highlighted in the ESPN and SI cover stories. In fact, it’s complete sportswriter failure.

Assuming receivers are totally dependent signifies the very impossibility of a wideout’s ability to become a choke artist or, conversely, to become cool under pressure. If the WR position is fully dependent, then receivers should be entitled to as little blame as they are entitled credit, or as much disdain as they receive accolades. Or, to wit, nothing at all.

For Harrison, then, if his regular-season excellence can be dismissed because of his career link with Manning, it also can’t be reconciled with any sort of playoff ‘disappearing act.’ And if he does suffer some sort of repeated horrid luck or fortune or loss of skill in the playoffs, then doesn’t that, by its very nature, connote that Harrison is easily the greatest regular-season receiver of all time? The easy-to-write and simple-to-scribe postulates fully exclude one another.

I’m not necessarily trying to defend Marvin Harrison, or going out on any sort of limb to do so (Though, granted, he has been my absolute favorite football player at any level for 16 years). I am attempting to shake my head at problematic groupthink masquerading as media coverage — or the cardboard caricatures painted of a slam-dunk Hall of Famer. To the end, however, Harrison can himself dismiss all these ridiculous stories with a big day on Sunday – and yes, I think this Hall of Famer has the full capability to do so.

Wading through a cavalcade of cliched game storylines, hopeless opining over the hopelessness of manufactured public relations events, and decrying a sports spectacle simply to decry a sports spectacle — Simmons is, actually, a welcome respite.

Sure, he’s aggravating, he’s a homer, and he’s that dorky sports fan you wish hadn’t thrown the remote through your TV in college, but he’s totally in his element at media day. In fact, he’s totally in his element in the mind-numbing, McDonaldized sportstainment event of the year — either he’s having the time of his life or he’s completely aggravated by the sublime absurdity of the event. Regardless, no one is as adept at capturing the intricacies and je-ne-sais-quoi of a sports and pop culture intersection quite like Bill Simmons, and even though he’s a Patriots fan, it’s nice to read his missives from Miami.
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Sorry, I don’t have much for day one of Colts Super Bowl Watch.

It’s the quiet before the perfect storm of hype, speculation, and hype about the incessant hype. However, some cream rises to the top. In the vein of last year’s miraculous Steeler Baby, we give you (much thanks to Deadspin, and probably redundant) Bear vs. Colt.

Outstanding.

OK, so I’ve been just a little bit missing in action. You have my apologies.

It’s been a scant week since the biggest win in Colts history — well, Indianapolis Colts history, but whatever.

It’s still a little surreal. The sports landscape shifted into neutral mid-last week, before the hype machine revs again in preparation for the Super Bowl.

It felt sudden, as if the world had forgotten the win almost immediately after the Colts’ rallied to knock off the hated rival Patriots, last Sunday, just after nine p.m. central time (I don’t know what time it was in Indiana. They don’t have Daylight Savings Time, so I guess it was probably eastern time. Whatever.).

Regardless, a lot was written, a lot discussed, and now, only a few remaining fans really have a vested stake in football – and we are they. How nice. The sports-talk universe seems somewhat lacking, or void without a full complement of forthcoming games. But yes, a week later, let it be known: The Colts still won. A great game. Slayed the beast. And have a chance for history.

But in any case, it’s sunk in a little. It was fun to read the blogs, writers, and columnists after the fact during last week (a busy last week, I add in mitigation) but I struggled.

What to write? (Though I’ve never shouted as loud for a sporting event’s end as I did when Marlin Jackson caught that ball. Tears streaming down my face, fist pumping. Gleeful, proud of Dungy and Manning and all — as instant historian Jim Nantz would say – “What a moment!”)

Colts Couch Crew did a great job. Stampede Blue was solid. Coltfreaks was good. Even the mainstream writers delivered – Banks, Len P, Peter K, FO on Fox, MJD’s fabulous liveblog, all of them. Bill Simmons was appropriately disheveled, claiming he was above sour-grapes and summarily delivering a column full of backhanded compliments.

What could I possibly add? A game recap? A stirring soliloquy? A relieved exclamation? A gleeful comeuppance of notorious nemesis Bill Belichick (Thank you, Stampede Blue.) Even the nearly-shark-jumping Deadspin checked in with a hilarious Meet-the-Colts post, which trumps any faux-quirky, half-baked Super Bowl Preview idea I may have had.)

Anyway, I struggled. Elation, relief, pride, anticipation — there’s not much to add. Colts fans now sit poised to watch their team, possibly, write itselves into football, NFL-Films, Steve-Sabol, Barstool-discussion lore. Lore, for crying out loud!

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Wow.

Exhale.

Deep breath.

I’m not sure that I would say this had it turned the other way — but that was one of the best playoff — conference championship — games I’ve ever seen.

And if the Colts were going to beat New England — finally — wouldn’t the win have to come in a game like that?

Amazing. I’m a little drained, but will be back later in the week.

Gameballs: Peyton Manning (good job), Joseph Addai, Dominic Rhodes, Dallas Clark, Rob Morris, Bobby Sanders, Bryan Fletcher, Marlin Jackson, and Antoine Bethea. Finally, of course — the entire Colts offensive line. Outstanding job.

AFC Champions. Finally. Congratulations.

Till Colts/Patriots (playoffs) III.

No analysis. If the Colts play their best, they’ll win. If they make mistakes, they’ll lose.

But this is what you want. As a player, a fan, a coach – you want the meaningful, deep playoff game at home. It’s all you can ask for. Karma, overdone storylines, justice, clutchness, etc. — all of it be damned — this is the chance.

Cripes, I’m ready to suit up. When was the last time I felt like this? (Oh…April of 2003? Got it.)

Go Colts.

UPDATE: Mellow, calming-nerves, pre-game playlist. (And to think – a scant 10 years ago I would have fully selected the opposite.)

We’ve been going hungry for too long. Good luck, Colts.

Well, it’s with blissful smugness that we dedicated Scrubs fans read recent news surrounding our favorite show.

As you’ll no doubt remember, your favorite Scrubs fan hypothesized/wondered months ago if the show’s foray into syndication would vault it from cult hit into actual, tangible, critical success — and recently, we’ve heard the answers.

The show’s syndication and NBC’s pairing it with other quality shows on Thursday night (ratings stunts be damned) has actually resulted in Scrubs’ best ratings ever — even opposite CSI and Grey’s Anatomy; or, as I refer, the has-been and the knock-off.

(Giggles uncontrollably; like a tit mouse.)

Anyway, the news gets better. Scrubs will return for a seventh season (OK, so it may be running on fumes by the time it hits seven) either on its current network NBC, or on parent company ABC/Disney (Buena Vista distributes and owns the show.) Scrubs, for all intents and purposes, is now somewhat of a success story. Where networks misstepped with Newsradio and Arrested Development – with Scrubs they’ve actually, somehow, and patiently — gotten it right after six years. The show’s a critical darling, it’s sandwiched in the best hour-and-a-half of TV in tens of years, and it’s receiving some buzz.

Good news, right? Well, sort of. This musical thing – that aired tonight, well… I know the critics will love it, and that it will receive all sorts of praise from newspaper writers and bloggers all over the place, but seriously. Musical? I know Scrubs pledges much of its humor to the corny-lame, but — well, they don’t come any lamer than musicals. The critics will love it, the show’s staff is likely proud of it, and Bill Lawrence, Scrubs creator, summed it up, saying they’d always wanted to do a musical, and for hard-core fans, the musical would be really rewarding.

Well, it wasn’t. Not for me. Small point, but I’m a hard-core fan, and it was stupid. Stick to the stories, please, not some inane bit of kitsch that made me feel ashamed for championing my favorite show in the first place. I think Fonzie was riding a shark in the background, but I’m not sure.

That’s all I’ll say. Well, close — in this era of politically correctness, is it still possible to describe musical theater as completely, well, gay? And not the good kind of I’d-like-to-marry-my-life-partner-and-watch-Showtime gay, but gay in the bad way. The-uber-lame-at-every-single-level way. The cringing, hopelessly, freaky, kitschy way. Toast the success of Scrubs, sure — but no more stunts like tonight’s. Please.

But this LaDainian Tomlinson vs. the classless Patriots thing isn’t going away. In fact, it’s normally a story I wouldn’t even comment on, because it’s tired, hackneyed, celebration-judging that allow middle-aged sportswriters to get their bad ties and plaid jackets in knots.

Still, I realize celebrations are juvenile are stupid, and yes, there’s a part of Tomlinson that is acting just out of spite, sour grapes, and frustration. But seriously, how quick are we all to anoint the Patriots as the arbiters of sports class? The rock-solid role models of football? The whitebread, hard-working, symbols for the common man? Why is this?

In the past, the Patriots responded simply with victories. On Sunday, they responded with a victory and in-your-face celebration. Around the N.F.L., such displays are common. In New England, they were always seen as uncouth.

The Patriots offended the Chargers in the same way that the Patriots are so often offended. These two teams and their delicate sensibilities will meet next season in New England, but first the Patriots will head to Indianapolis for the A.F.C. championship game.

I don’t know why. But I do know that it’s garbage. The Patriots are no different than any other team. And, granted, I’m a fan of their biggest rival, but I’ve seen this dismissive, contemptuous nature too much. The totality of circumstances lends credence to Tomlinson, frustrated as he may be.

1. Remember the Colts’ sour grapes, after an AFC title game in which Marvin Harrison was gang-raped by a Patriot secondary? Granted, it’s a little whiny, but the NFL changed the rule. So, the Pats were correct?

2. Have you ever seen Bill Belichick stand at a press conference with any humility or class after a loss? Never?

3. Tedy Bruschi, yes, he of the cancer (sob), is historically one of the biggest cheapshot artists in the NFL. Late hits, mouthing off, etc.

4. Um, Daniel Graham jacked Drayton Florence in the chest during that Chargers game. Yet the official threw a flag on Florence. CBS jerkwheat Jim Nantz was quick to jump on the soapbox, and other media members followed. But watch the replay – why Florence? It’s the playoffs. Call offsetting personal fouls. Bad call.

5. Peyton Manning gets a lot of crap for his postgame press conferences. Yet Tom Brady is condescending, dismissive, and awful to reporters. He sounds like a brat. He kind of is — his antics on the field are no different than Peyton’s (and his upbringing not a far cry), the Patriots just win more.

6. Rodney Harrison. Remember him? Dirtiest player in the NFL? Yeah, he’s found a home.

7. Small point, but back to Tom Brady and Bill Belichick‘s press conferences. You never once hear them offer any credit to the other team. It’s always New England’s fault, win or lose, and to the Pats, all reporters are dipshits for not realizing that. It’s bizarre that sportsmanship karma hasn’t come back to haunt Golden Boy and Natty Daddy – but respect for the opponent is a basic tenet of sports. Apparently it doesn’t apply to the Patriots.

8. That damned cutoff sweatshirt Belichick wears. I want to beat him over the head with a tierack, for crying out loud.

9. Why is it okay for the Patsies to play this tired, worn-out, disrespect card — yet each time, sports media gobbles it up. How is whining about your lack of received respect any different than whining about your opponent’s offered respect?

Listen, I despise New England, and I like to complain, yet I offer the Patriots grudging respect, even if I’m in the minority of fans who profess to find fault with them. Still, it’s not like one of the best running backs in NFL history deserves any less benefit of the doubt. But he’s not a quarterback, he didn’t win, and he’s not a white pin-up. Listen to his take. It’s not quite as off-base as the fair-weather, middle-aged sports media would have you believe.

Rarely in life do you find the chance to meet karma and history head-on, and exorcise your demons completely.

Just think how different it would have been if:

Edgerrin James wasn’t stopped at the goal line at the end of a regular season game in 2003. The Colts would have had homefield in the 2003-4 playoffs, would not have played in a blizzard at Foxborough in the AFC Championship game, would have hosted the rematch in 2004′s opener which decided homefield in the 2004-5 playoffs, and ended up with another blizzard at Foxborough. The Colts may well have had a run of titles all their own.

Sunday — in Indianapolis — is the chance to fix it all. All of it. To make it right.

See you then.

(By the way, to wrap up a somewhat poignant post, let me reassure you how fucking excited I am to listen to Jim Nantz and Phil Simms openly root for New England. Love it, love it, love it. Bill Simmons might as well be in the booth.)

UPDATE: If you want to read any sort of Brady vs. Manning debate, spanning the gamut from lucid to insane, please check here. I’m not offering any more analysis on this game for the rest of the week.

That was a tense game — not sure that well-played qualifies.

But in the end, the Colts got it done. They moved the chains and shifted the field position when they had to, they forced turnovers when they had to, and they scored points when they had to. They needed a win like this — even though they had several throughout the year; but to come into Baltimore, grind out a game like this, and control the clock against a great defense? Extremely satisfying.

Dallas Clark, Dominic Rhodes, the entire offensive line, Adam Vinateri, Robert Mathis, and Nick Harper — take a freaking bow. Back to the AFC Championship. Suddenly, this season is much better than the last two. Peyton Manning didn’t play well, but to his credit, he was able to muster enough to drive away from the shadow of his goalposts a couple of times, and he managed the game fairly well. (On the flip side, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two opposing QBs fire so many passes into tight coverage. Ridiculous.)

(And honestly, I’m not a betting man — but if there was any sort of poetic justice or karma, then New England will win tomorrow, and become the last monkey the Colts have to knock off. And it will be in the RCA Dome. We’ll see.

Whew. Enjoy the rest of the weekend.