Mister Faded Glory | www.misterfadedglory.com

This is going to ramble a bit. I’ll pause while you shake off your shock.

Let's get this thing started, huh?

First, I’m loathe to even churn out a Super Bowl Preview. Yeah, I’m a rational, content fan – unlike most humps – but I detest the interminable two weeks between the conference title games and the Super Bowl. I especially detest the weeklong buildup toward the game, featuring Media Day and Radio Row and the ongoing circle jerk among boring media talking heads and NFL has-beens.

Which is why I want to make special mention of the Tony Kornheiser Radio Show. You already know my unabashed love for the TK Show knows no bounds, but the cantankerous one was at his best all week, eviscerating Super Bowl media coverage. Besides a shout-out to Clear Lake, Iowa (Home town of Mister Faded Glory!) on the Day the Music Died, Tony spent the better part of each day decrying boneheaded athletes and Radio Row. I can’t do it justice, but it was phenomenal.

And, since Bob Sanders will not play in this year’s Super Bowl (and perhaps has played his last game as a Colt), we bring you this line from the inimitable Black Heart Gold Pants, celebrating his brilliance as a Hawkeye:

One, he’s Bob fucking Sanders and his play in the Aughts can really never be praised enough.  He set the tone for not just Iowa’s defense but the entire Iowa program while he was here — and even after he was gone.  In some ways, Bob is the quintessential Iowa player under Ferentz: talented kid who fell through the recruiting cracks for one reason or another but who emerged as a superior performer (in Bob’s case, good enough to not only be All-Big Ten but also NFL Defensive Player of the Year …  Bob was a beast at Iowa and I consider myself privileged to have been able to watch him play.

Amen. I had season tickets to Kinnick in 2001 and 2002 and wouldn’t trade a minute of those games, watching Bob Sanders fly around the field like a maniac. I’m sad he isn’t playing, but weirdly, I’m actually proud that this incarnation of the Colts is able to succeed without him. Onto the preview:

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I certainly didn’t expect this. No, not necessarily the Colts’ comeback win against the bedraggled Houston Texans, but Indianapolis’ 11-0 start. This on the heels of comeback wins against the New England Patriots (still chortling, by the way), the same Texans, and a grinding win over the Baltimore Ravens.

I didn’t expect this. But here we are. Like 2005, 2006, and 2007, the Colts have rattled off enough wins to prompt another round of annoying “should they rest the starters if and when they reach 14-0 blah blah blah,” with Bob Kravitz leading the charge of furrowing brows.

Well, who cares? They won’t go undefeated – I don’t even know if they should. I don’t think this team is as good as the 2005 squad that honked a playoff opener against the Steelers, nor the 2006 champions (with a healthy Bob Sanders), nor the 2007 squad who frittered away a midseason clash of the titans to New England.

But I could be wrong. And faced with remnants of a schedule that looked ominous before the season, well, the Colts might just be a very good team, rather than a squad who knows how to win regular season games only. Peyton Manning, Dallas Clark, and Reggie Wayne probably equate to 6 wins by themselves – but what’s the common thread among the Colts’ 11-0 start and perplexing 20-game winning streak?

It’s the defense.

It’s taken nearly nine years, but the Colts defense is now more than just a Cover-two monster, and it’s more than just a complement to Indy’s offensive arsenal. In the last three games, the defense has come up huge. Larger than life. Larger than we ever thought possible, especially without 2007 Defensive Player of the Year Sanders.

Consider: Today the Colts’ D faced a 20-7 halftime deficit, the talented Texans offense operating like a machine. The Colts nearly pitched a shutout; with standout linebacker Clint Sessions jumping a route for a game-icing TAINT. Indianapolis allowed only a garbage-time touchdown with 20 seconds left.

Last week the Colts entered Baltimore and slugged it out with the physical Ravens – stuffing Baltimore inside the 20 on four downs to preserve a lead, and Gary Brackett intercepting Joe Flacco on the game’s penultimate drive. During a game featuring crucial red-zone turnovers by Manning and the offense, the defense held serve.

And finally, two weeks ago, the Colts stared at a 31-14 deficit, a rattled Manning, and Randy Moss seemingly open at will with no Bob Sanders to spy on him. Besides the Colts’ re-commitment to the running game, Antoine Bethea picked off a pass, forced a fumble, and Robert Mathis came up huge on two Patriots’ drives. The crowd was back in it, and Bill Belichick melted down. Payback for 2007, indeed.

And here we are. The Colts 11-0, surviving a couple weeks, staring at defeat a couple of times, and not looking at all like they’ve peaked – their last complete, efficient game was Week 6 against the Titans. Incidentally, the Titans now pose a threat to the Colts win streak – with Vince Young at the helm, Indianapolis faces the one option which hurts it the most – a running quarterback. It’s the David Garrard/Byron Leftwich conundrum, reborn as VY and Collins.

Regardless, the Colts look down at the rest of the AFC, have all but clinched the AFC South, and threaten a Patriots consecutive games-won record. What else is going right (or wrong) with our heroes?

OFFENSE

More than any other team (except New England), the Colts tie up a core of players and fill in the rest around them. As expected, Manning, Clark, and Wayne lead the charge – with an offensive line improving, and a re-commitment to the running game of Joe Addai and Donald Brown beginning with the second half of New England. Today, they balanced running and passing nicely to keep Houston on its toes. And the Colts can’t win without running the ball – it remains the one constant that set the 2006 team apart.

As for the newcomers, Pierre Garcon and Austin Collie have both been finds for the offense – role players thriving. I said before the season the loss of hugely overrated Anthony Gonzalez was actually a blessing in disguise. It’s your guess whether I love the cedille on Garcon’s jersey or really love the cedille.

DEFENSE

Jim Caldwell – for his lack of expression – already has put a stamp on the defense, with the help of new coordinator Larry Coyer. First of all, the straight Cover-2 is gone. But the Colts have rebuilt the secondary on the fly – Sanders, Marlin Jackson, and Kelvin Hayden are all MIA. However, Bethea has labored in Sanders’ shadow as one of the best safeties in the league for the past few seasons, and continues his Pro Bowl play. The Colts also don’t lose a lot with Melvin Bullitt in coverage, and I type this as the biggest Sanders homer on earth.

Jerraud Powers, a rookie from Auburn, has been a find, a lockdown corner the Colts haven’t had in … shit, ever? Jacob Lacey has played well, and so has Tim Jennings, believe it or not, in spots.

However, Caldwell and Coyer also have dialed up the blitz more, and shuttled more linemen in and out to give Mathis and Freeney (and Raheem Brock) breathers. It’s worked, it’s helped the run defense, and it’s kept opposing offenses off balance. Used to be, time and again, the Patriots and Chargers could blow up the Colts by running or screening right at Mathis or Freeney. Not anymore.

The D-Line shenanigans also allow the Colts’ undersized linebackers to thrive; Gary Brackett and in particular Clint Sessions have had outstanding seasons so far. Brackett’s always been fair in coverage, and he’s improved against the run this season. Sessions is a beast – an opportunistic hitter who forces fumbles and picks his spots well. He’s the type of player pundits proclaimed Cato June; only in the flesh, not a mirage.

SPECIAL TEAMS

Um, for whatever reason, they’re no longer terrible. The Colts’ kicking tandem of Adam Vinatieri and Matt Stover is OK, and Pat McAfee is punting just fine. He’s also kicking the ball off into the end zone, which is fucking fantastic – short kickoffs doomed the Colts’ defenses in several years preceding. (Because Mike VanderJagt was a douchebag. How’s that for analysis.)

I realize I’ve doomed the Colts by spending more than 1000 words on them. They’re not going to go undefeated, I’m only talking myself into believing they’re actually a Super Bowl contender. We’ll see.

But there’s something to be said for efficiency. For a core that never quits, and a group that’s always seeking to improve. The Colts may very well be the Atlanta Braves of the NFL; a team that dominates the regular season and has only one title to call its own. No doubt Kravitz is dusting off his autotext version of that column as well. But there’s nothing wrong with sustained regular season success. It’s a privilege to watch.

That said, however, this team may be showing signs of more. We’ll see. And we’ll enjoy.

Everyone ranks teams at the quarter-pole. Everyone does the power rankings, the DVOA, the monthly check-in, whatever. We’re not copying, we’re just happily joining the status quo – In the case, certain the wisdom of crowds prevails, and four weeks actually do merit an accurate snapshot of the NFL landscape.

After 25 percent of our season, there are few teams we know little about. Let’s revisit our predictions and make a sweep of the league. First things first, however.

• Is parity dead? Look around. Only eight teams really have a shot at winning it all, and the rest aren’t close. Look around further – seems like the NFL currently has more woeful franchises than ever before. Would it really surprise if the Chiefs, Browns, Bucs, or Rams failed to win a game? (Yes, I’m sure a few of them square off. Lucky for those viewers!)
• 2. Gregg Easterbrook opines in his latest dreadful column: “If you doubted TMQ’s dictum that a football team’s essence is its offensive line, doubt no more.” Then he started bitching about The Dark Knight and complaining about the Star Trek remake (probably). Well, he infuriates, but he’s right. The best teams build from the O-Line outward. The worst teams fail to grasp the concept. This has always been true, we suspect – but rarely has it been so evident. The Giants, Vikings, Saints and Ravens boast fantastic offensive lines. Are they the best teams in the league?
• 3. When the salary cap and “firing/cutting players” era began, shortly after the 49ers and Cowboys’ 1990s runs,  conventional wisdom generally held that a team could load up for a short window, but couldn’t avoid sudden decimation after the window slammed shut, contracts ballooned, and players got old. (Read: Kansas City, 2007; San Francisco, 2000; Jacksonville, 2001.) Well, this may no longer be true. New England, Indianapolis, Pittsburgh, New York, Philadelphia and Baltimore may have actually mastered the art of sustainability — investing a lot in a little, and developing talent through role play and sustainability – all starting within, you guessed it, the offensive line.

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Each year our enthusiasm for the return of football season is tempered by reality once the games start. And we realize we didn’t miss NFL announcers, college announcers, nor few football announcers at all.

The games start, and our ears bleed. So before we descend into petty diatribes against forgettable football announcers – let’s take a quick moment to recognize two profound, perfect passages – penned by two blogger, no less. Passages so great, I wish I would have written them myself. So succinct, I know that I could absolutely not have written them myself.

First, Mike Tanier points out exactly why we have so many horrific announcers. In his Walkthrough, he describes the evolution of football fandom – but no corresponding evolution among football broadcasting.

You get the idea. You watch more football, read more about football, ingest more data and opinion about football than it was possible to absorb just 25 years ago. High level experts and analysts of that era could easily gain an edge over the common fan: they could get their hands on out-of-town papers or game tape, interview a player or telephone a colleague, go to the basement to search the stacks.

Those advantages barely exist anymore. You can watch a press conference or download the transcript. You can read the out-of-town blogs. The marginal knowledge that separates the extremely passionate fan — and that’s what you are if you are still reading at this point — from the professional football analyst has grown very small, and it’s shrinking constantly.

That’s why you find your local columnist frustrating, the television color commentator unlistenable: you know too much, and they probably haven’t changed with the times.

Amen, brother. We’ve all outgrown John Madden’s explanation of a forward pass, and Joe Theismann making up some leadership intangible just doesn’t cut it anymore. With football analysis, networks and writers need to focus on the high-road, the professional, the minute. We’ve said before, schedule upward, and the masses will follow. Will Cris Collinsworth and Jon Gruden let us down?

Today at Deadspin, culture editor Big Daddy Drew offered spot-on insight into national differences.S topping midway through his scathing Jamboroo, Drew encapsulates the difference between Midwesterners and the East Coast. The stereotypical East Coast anger really isn’t anger at all – but a manifested inferiority complex assumed by Midwesterners. He says Minnesota for example, but it could be Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Wisconsin, and especially Nebraska. Those fuckers.

If you want more reasons why Minnesota sucks, take it from someone who lived there for seven years. Minnesotans are reputed to be the nicest people in America. They are not. They are only pretending to be nice. Underneath all those smiles and “you betchas” are the most passive aggressive race of people mankind has ever known. On the East Coast, people are far more upfront about their assholishness, which is far better. Minnesotans coat every gesture in a fake, cloying glaze of insincere pleasantness. You just want to shake the shit out of them and give it to you straight.

My Midwestern audience recoils in horror, and my East Coast transplants nod silently. So true. Now that’s a culture editor.

That’s it. Two shout-outs. Now, back to ESPN’s NFL Live, just in time to catch Mark Schlereth not abbreviating “NFL” for the seventy thousandth appearance in a row. JFC.

You’ll never get me to admit the content on Mr. Faded Glory is contrived – no, not ever! – even now, as we offer our own futile predictions for the NFL in 2009. I mean, no one else is doing it, right?

Conventional wisdom and past performance always slash through the bevy of NFL writers, a double-edged sword. Some forecasters defend even the slightest variation from a formula to the death (Aaron Schatz), others simply regurgitate the final standings of last season. Still others actively thumb their nose at the status quo, searching for a nugget of gold within contrarian predictions (Michael Silver, Peter King.)

We’re no different, really, from anyone. And we veer toward contrarianism ourselves – because, really, how fun is it to predict the Patriots will once again outlast a mediocre division? Our attempt to balance the conventional and the irreverent begins below, limited to one sentence each. We try, anyway.

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I have no idea when and if a person is rehabilitated, nor do I really have any interest in figuring it out.

I have no problem with a scant 2-game suspension for Michael Vick, after the erstwhile quarterback’s stay in prison and loss of millions due to his buddies’ dogfighting. No real problem at all.

I have no problem with a full year’s suspension for Donte Stallworth, he of the first-time DUI which resulted in the death of a bystander. After all, killing someone has its price.

And I have always believe justice is determined on a case-by-case merit not just in law, but in life. Maybe Vick is changed. Maybe he served his penance for his felony. Maybe Stallworth is changed, too. After my own DUI, I certainly was changed.

But once you look at the competing suspensions of Vick and Stallworth together – well, I have a problem. It’s an NFL problem. It’s an arbitrary, unfair rendering of posturing justice, bound by no moral, ethical or factual basis – let alone any common sense.

What the NFL says, according to Sal Paolantonio, is that Michael Vick will return to the field in Week 3. No doubt they, along with Eagles fans and Vick fans and knee-jerk NFL apologists and boneheaded radio hosts will spew spin about Vick’s rehabilitation and return to society – what a proud moment for MIchael! Who doesn’t deserve a second chance? What the fuck ever.

The NFL’s message, however, couldn’t be more clear. Looking at the competing suspensions, we’ve learned that complicit murder – knowing sanctioning of the murder of innocent animals is actually a lesser crime than driving drunk, with an accidental homicide.

Never mind the felony (Vick) or misdemeanor (Stallworth) distinction, Donte’s hopping behind a car wheel when drunk was much more heinous than the acknowledgement of dog electrocution. So sayeth the NFL, so be it.

I’m not a utilitarian, and nor do I believe that the lives of pit bulls and the lives of people are equal. However, in these cases, the lives lost are somewhat moot. The crimes are not. The intent most certainly is not. In fact, the intent should be our prism for measuring the pair: Vick knew the actions, outcomes and activities of his buddies. He knew the stupidity and cruelty of this whole thing.

Stallworth recorded his first DUI and happened to kill someone. That’s bad. That’s dumb. That is tragic. But it’s manslaughter. Reckless at worst, negligent at best; an awful outcome to his crime of driving drunk.

Which you’ve done, too. Which, the first time, is stupid. Maybe even an accident. The second or third time, is a problem.

But today, the NFL has rendered arbitrary justice. And spare me the argument that any private company can discipline its employees however, that’s not the case. The NFL is a league of private business entities, not a mom-and-pop shop.

Spare me the argument that the NFL fills in the gaps where Stallworth’s public sentencing was “light.” Donte’ didn’t spend a day in jail. But he settled a civil suit. He worked with the victim’s family. He’ll never drive again. He’s on probation. He stares at thousands of community service hours. Most importantly, he was contrite throughout the legal process, and contrite publicly with the family. In any court in the country, this earns you leniency.

Except the NFL’s.

But this is about two things. One, Roger Goodell’s ongoing PR battle. His tough, posturing, cocksure dispensing of justice, ripples through a meathead fan base, moving the inflammatory needle, and whipping mouth-breathers (Republicans) into a holier-than-thou frenzy.

Goodell’s hardline stance legitimizes the mass cackling at the misfortune of someone much further up the chain. It’s no different than reality TV. No different than what radio call-in shows obsess over daily. That’s what Goodell does. Never mind that his rampant suspensions actually have zero effect on the indiscretions of players.

Secondly, it’s about No. 7 Vick jerseys, still flying off the shelves. The league can’t move ‘em without the kid playing. The legions of Vick fans – which still exist, mind you – surround the NFL. The balance sheet looks a little better off, not just for the league, but for the Eagles. He’s an important asset to the league, heinous, evil, rehabilitated, contrite, or not. Good for MIchael, unsettling for us.

And bad for Donte. Vick gets to trot out figurehead Tony Dungy, ceremonially vow to help PETA, and stay quiet. Stallworth actually aids his victim’s family, and he’s told by his employer’s league he can no longer play.

Just another day in Roger Goodell’s NFL. Justice is served. Raped, lost, torn, whatever. Justice is whatever Roger decides. And that’s the worst standard of all.

Three competing – but tired – stories still plague our airwaves, hurting our ears and frustrating sensibilities. Not so for sports media, however, which demonstrates irrelevance with each character study. Let’s deliver our backhanded compliments and be gone from these topics forever:

I. Vick.

So Michael Vick signed with Philadelphia, probably because of a Donovan McNabb connection. This occurred late last week, after rampant speculation swirled around the Bills, Packers and Panthers, and really no one else. No one mentioned the Eagles, not even as a remote possibility. Previously, I wondered how precisely zero of the hundreds of columnists and reporters assigned to the Vick circuit could even speculate on an Eagles connection? None. Nice reporting.

Still, it’s tough for me to see the relevance. Sure, Vick may fit the prototype of the Wildcat or whatever cockamamie scheme the Eagles might uncork, but does anyone really believe he’ll return to his ultra-athletic ceiling? Jamal Lewis hasn’t been the same runner since he served time in the house – he was particularly abysmal immediately after his return to the field – and he only did four months! Vick may be an NFL player, but alas, he’s 29, and now probably just a marginal one.

And, of course, how he merits only a quick 6-game suspension for a cruel, knowing, and complicit crime is beyond me, especially while Donte Stallworth earns a full year for an accidental crime, replete with contrite, no-contest settlements. I’m fine with the NFL issuing strict deterrents. I’m not fine with its capricious and arbitrary rendering of justice.

II. Favre

And a nation is not surprised. I’ll spare you any lecture wondering if Brett is diva or douchebag. (He’s both.) Once again, however, Favre and Childress‘ earlier denial – issued three weeks prior, fully deterred Brett’s media lapdogs. Once again, the NFL’s cadre of meathead reporters bolted at the first denial, and didn’t even sniff this until today, when, hello, they were contacted. This after two years of speculation! Even Chris Mortenson‘s stupid bus didn’t stop in Bumfuck, Mississippi or wherever King Hayseed lived.

But here Favre is, finally showing up in St. Paul basically alongside a press release, with the Vikings stroking Brett’s ego and lauding the opportunity. Some opportunity – Minneapolis pays $12 million for a paltry QB Rating upgrade of 1.5 over Sage Rosenfels.

Congratulations, Minnesota, you’ve purchased the NFL’s version of Toronto Raptor Hakeem Olajuwon. I cannot be the only person on Earth who thinks Brett Favre circa 2009 is a downgrade from Sage Rosenfels. Can I?

III. Strasburg

Each story I read about Steven Strasburg, new Washington National wunderkind, I cannot help but feel pangs of memory, evoking Mark Prior. Sigh.

Maybe Strasburg‘s a bust, maybe he’s not – but throughout the media today, you could practically sense sportswriters chortling at Scott Boras “failing” to earn his initial $50 million contract demand. Which just goes to show – sportswriters toil outside the business world for a reason.

All Boras does is represent a client to the best of his ability – throwing out a pipe dream number, and negotiating downward to a workable solution that, oh by the way, turns out to be the best rookie contract in history and allows Strasburg to escape after a scant 4 years – well before he even sniffs his prime. Wow, what a failure!

Boras aside, I’ll never understand the tendency of fans and media to side with big labor. In Strasburg‘s case, and in the case of Michael Crabtree, we watch two youngsters with virtually no leverage simply asking for the best deal they can get, respective of their market value. Yet the zeitgeist scolds each for not rushing into camp, or inking a bad deal quickly – when each has little leverage to do the opposite.

Basically, Crabtree is in a pickle – he needs to get to camp in a hurry to validate his expectations and ease his transition. This is a huge bargaining chip for every behemoth corporation football team – Crabtree needs camp to play and to develop his image. The team has no such obstacle.

It’s similar with Strasburg - each writer practically scolds the kid, assuming his agent coerced him into making a demand simply to avoid signing with the Nats. But what’s the incentive for Strasburg to return to school or go play in the Independent League? He doesn’t want to do that – it could at least harm his market value and at worst decimate that value. So once again, the team has additional bargaining chips – there’s certainly more incentive for Strasburg to sign than to hold out. No matter the portrayal, it ain’t the other way around.

But nope – we scoff and snort and castigate these kids; sitting on the precipice of the only thing they know how to do, and perhaps the only chance they’ll have to make a living doing so. We hope they’ll rush to the aid of these behemoth corporations – sports teams with no real care for the player nor the audience, and scold the players for worrying about their own bottom line. And we can’t scold the corporations for the one-sided negotiatiing, strong-arming, and worrying about the same?

And we assume we’d be different how?

(cracks knuckles)

(begins snide letter)

Dear Cubs Fans:

Please raise your hand if any of you could possibly have foreseen Jason Marquis blowing back into the Windy City, surviving a catcall of boos, and routinely dominating his former team, on the bump and at the dish — even though they typically beat him like a drum when he was a Cardinal?

What?

Seriously? Everyone’s hand is raised!

(Phone rings, interrupting brilliant joke)

(John answers)

Hello?

Oh, yeah, this is he. That Mr. Faded Glory.

Oh, hi! Commissioner Goodell! How are you, great to hear from you.

I’m sorry?

Really? The whole day?

For 24 solid hours?

So let me get this straight. All sports talk, commentary, discussion, speculation, evaluation, interviews, reporting, graphics, rants, stand-ups, debates, posts, status updates, tweets, chatter, and calls – anything on the air or in print, it’s all gotta be about the NFL Schedule Release?

Wow, a law. New this year. Interesting, sir.

Everything? Even though they’re still playing MLB and NBA games today?

Yes, yes sir. Yes, they actually are playing those games.

No talk then, about anything but the NFL schedule for 24 solid hours. And that’s why all those flying graphics were on my TV? Last night, on ESPN’s NFL Tonight, for six straight hours?

Uh-huh. And that’s why Mark Schlereth kept yelling.

Uh-huh. And that’s why today, Colin Cowherd berated Merril Hoge for four whole minutes after a simple suggestion that the 49ers could possibly turn it around and eke out a division win over Arizona.

Got it. Juggernaut, I know.

Although, really, sir, we never know who is going to be good year to year, right? So what’s the point in evaluating a schedule and forecasting results?

Uh, huh. Well, I guess that could be true. I guess I could be an idiot.

Well, I mean, that’s fine. I’ll just wait, then, until the moratorium lifts. How will I know?

Oh, OK. ESPN or the NFL Network will let me know. When the coverage changes. Got it.

(Hangs up.)

(Waits.)

(Schlereth still shouting. Hey, the Patriots play the Colts this year! What news!)

(Waits.)

In between a disgustipating sinus infection, a week’s worth of sun and siesta in Puerto Vallarta, a week crammed with work-related seminar action and a friend’s surprise birthday party, MFG has been missing in action for quite some time. What the fuck happened to January?

Speaking of which, why does anyone ask ‘What did you do on your vacation?’ only to recoil when you claim, ‘nothing.’ Isn’t that the point of a vacation?. Oh, whatever. Notably, I made friends with a giraffe.

His completely unoriginal name is Jeffrey.

Also, in case you’re concerned, a smartmouth bird nearly bit my hand off at a petting zoo. He’s right here.

I don’t know his name, but the bastard is still at large. At least my hand is miraculously intact.

Oh, what, you really don’t care? So people must ask about vacations simply as a rhetorical device, right? (Laughs uproariously at ridiculous pun.)  But, really, how could anyone possibly care? I mean, with all the stuff that’s happened while I was away? Quickly, onto the hopelessly catty commentary:

Tony Dungy, gone. Everyone saw it coming, everyone is a tad melancholy, and just like the vanilla Dungy, commentary dissipated with nary a blink of an eye. Colts fans will miss him. As long as the new guy focuses on the O- and D-Line, we’ll be happy.

Herm Edwards, gone. The NFL is a peculiar league. Its postseason disappears in the blink of an eye, and the ubiquitous league is irrelevant for most diehard fans who have no playoff team to follow. As such, the heaviest commentary, reporting, speculation, and web hits surround dismissals of coaches. I guess that’s OK, it’s just fairly weird. And Herm Edwards sucked. And we love Joe Poz, but his Pollyanna act is ridiculous. Herm will live.

JD and Elliot, back together. Who didn’t see this coming? Also, Scrubs is in a weird, season-fattening loop owing to last year’s writer’s strike and ABC’s desire to fill airtime. Each hour of Scrubs features one viable episode and one ridiculous episode (Tonight’s features the Muppets, of all things.) Normally I’d pick apart JD and Elliot’s relationship further, but it’s also perhaps a sign the show is well past its prime that I’m simply ambivalent. But the tongue-in-cheek references to early episodes? Nice touch for us sex buddies. (trumpets) I mean, us diehards.

Oh, almost forgot, Jon Gruden, also gone. Speaking of the peculiar NFL, it’s almost as though coaches’ accountability is rendered moot with increasing pompousness, bombasticity (?) and sneering. Until this happened, let alone to the NFL’s hardest working coach, to hear each of his sycophantic reporters tell it (he gets up at 3 a.m.!).

Slumdog Millionaire was surprisingly good. In a year filled with flawed pictures, I wouldn’t be disappointed if Slumdog earned best picture. It’s not as good as last year’s power-pack of No Country For Old Men or There Will Be Blood, nor as good as, ahem, The Dark Knight. But its sly tale wrapped in the coalescence of chance, fate, offhand knowledge and destiny is an enjoyable ride. You’ll never guess who doesn’t like it.

Yes, I’m a 31-year-old white guy toiling on facebook. And I’m sorry that many of my status updates later show up as blog items. I can’t help it if you’re bored, there’s only so much wisdom bounding around my cranium. Apologies for the inconvenience. (Yes, I still hate fucking Twitter.) But MFG’s upcoming multimillion-dollar project will be the creation of hatebook, a facebook knock-off filled enemies instead of casual acquaintances you used to pretend to ignore. How genius is that? This serves as notice of intent, copyright lawyers.

As a pet owner, we enjoyed Bill Simmons’ recent column. Bill obviously is angling for some future ESPN radio spot by podcasting every day for umpteen hours. So who’s going to break it to him that his voice is way too grating for a massive audience? Occasionally, between phoned-in columns, he pens a column that reminds you why you started reading him in the first place. As a pet owner, this ode to the late Dooze made it, shall we say, a bit dusty in here.

KSK’s Peter King. Nothing in the universe is funnier than Drew’s weekly excoriation of Peter King’s ridiculous MMQB. Nothing at all. I know not why I even try blogging, let alone why I craft a predictable first-draft list column reminiscent of the bubbly King. I’ll shut up.

The Cubs now have a new owner. You try and figure out if the Cubs were better off with the incompetent Chicago Tribune, psychopathic Sam Zell, or the mysteriously devious Tom Rickets pulling the strings. We just hope they can survive the Kevin Gregg era. AND WHAT THE HELL WAS CARLOS MARMOL DOING PITCHING IN THE D.R. OVER THE OFFSEASON? Last year his arm almost fell off at midseason, and he’s coming off two years of overwork. How could the Cubs permit this? You’d think the Cubs didn’t know what they were doing. Shocking, I know.

Finally, the uninspiring Super Bowl is upon us, as we mentioned, on the heels of an uninspiring college bowl season. Both postseasons turned out so forgettable they inspired some normally rational Football Outsiders, and some normally rational college football writers to postulate whether the regular season in the NFL is rendered meaningless either by parity or a third “surprise team” to make the title game in the last three seasons.

These types of comments are totally self-interested, offered out of fear the writer may not know more than his audience: If the Super Bowl doesn’t represent the two best teams in PFP, clearly it doesn’t reflect the best quality teams overall. Call me crazy, but the NFL’s season doesn’t exist to rubber-stamp FO’s publications. In fact, it’s completely ludicrous when college football fanatics – or any writers, fans, talking heads, for that matter – whine that “the best team doesn’t always win” in other sports.

Because, yes, of course they fucking do.

In the NCAA, they win six games in a row. In baseball, teams survive a double-elimination tournament, or three rounds of elimination baseball. In the NFL, even the Indianapolis Colts, and New York Giants earn the right to be champions by winning four games in a row. I’m sorry, but in any of those leagues, if you make it through the denoted gauntlet, you deserve to win; and to be called the best.

It’s paramount arrogance that a web site assumes its stats, logic or analysis superior to the results on the field. That may not be a direct statement, but it’s the implication, it’s perpetually unfounded, and it indicates myopia at best and ignorance at worst.

No one watches sports hoping for an endorsement of anyone’s preseason web prognostications, no matter how complete and data-driven the predictions may be. We watch in suspense, hoping and waiting to find out who can emerge from the pack. And that’s who the best is. Period.

That said, Mister Faded Glory has called Pittsburgh the best team all year. So we expect them to win. See, complete hypocrisy, mixed tenses, hopelessly long posts, catty diatribes, unnecessary fucking cursing; you’re glad I’m back. Admit it.

The Curse of the Super Bowl Runner-Up – the team that loses missing out on next season’s playoffs – is once again validated. Everybody’s all-Americans, the 11-5 New England Patriots, will watch the NFL playoffs from their homes.

Such a pity, I know. But 2007′s best regular-season team to ever lose a Super Bowl is 2008′s best regular-season team to miss the playoffs. Things are looking up, chowdah-heads!

But seriously, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer team and a more expansive legion of douchebag fans. Over/under on amount of blog posts, news columns, or sound bites tomorrow whining about a playoff structure that rewards division titles over overall record? Seven billion. Buckle up, it’s gonna be an annoying day.

Maybe we’ll be satiated a bit, however, by the New York media calling for the head of Brett Favre, as history’s most overrated QB once again doomed his team with a crucial pick. Not sure anyone could have seen this coming,. The same thing only also happened LAST SEASON IN THE NFC TITLE GAME. Over/under on columns celebrating Favre’s now-dubious legacy? Ten thousand.

And it’s something like irony or karma or just desserts or schadenfreude or fantasy that Favre’s horrendous decision cemented his rival Patriots’ helpless demise. One dickhead deserves another, and so on, we suppose.

But that’s for tomorrow. Almost improbably, we rational NFL fans stare at a Patriots-free, Cowboys-free, Favre-free, Gruden-free, Mangini/Belichick-free playoffs. For right now, we’re totally giddy. Mind you, this will change when it becomes abundantly clear the soul-sucking Chargers will again ruin the Colts’ season, as noted previously.