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sanpaku_backupThe Mrs. told me that the other night I was saying, in my sleep, "X-X-V-I-I"... yes, the delirium is in full swing.
Rico did a very nice job of grounding, as rationally as possible, the reasons why even the pointy-glasses crowd is freaking the fuck out today. He has it pretty much entirely right.
But my own feeling, reiterated often to the general indifference of my readers, is that it cannot be grounded rationally. To really understand the thing, you need to have this blared into your brain at high volume for about twenty hours in a row. (None of this "Here We Go" horrorshow -- lobotomized monosyllabic fight songs for absolute morons -- another sign of civilization's decline. Bah.) And your entire family and everyone you know going absolutely insane about it during your most impressionable years.
And then have a team that makes you completely neurotic. ESPN Classic must only exist for this day, when Steelers people can TiVO NFL Films from a certain time span between 1975 and 1979... the tides of memory have erased the fact that every single Super Bowl ever won by this supposedly "greatest team of all time" was marred by horrendous gut-wrenching mistakes and screwups. Blocked punts, missed field goals, stupid coaching gambits. I guess that was all lost on me as a little kid -- somehow we just knew they were going to win. There was no other way it would turn out. But I can easily see the pattern that has reduced me to a gibbering idiot so often recently.
Not to mention the pattern of: good opponent, we play well. Bad opponent, we play poorly. High expectations, we play poorly. Low expectations -- myself, along with the rest of the world, gave them up for dead when Big Ben's thumb was hurt -- well, that is the time for the demonic fates to take control of the thing... suddenly he's passing and you can almost hear the NFL Films music rise up from behind... corny yet beautiful mix of Westerns, opera, sea chanties, and disco... now I can't get it out of my head.
I wish I was there today. Having talked with my far-flung friends I know they all feel the same way. After so much suffering, one wants to be in the bosom of the tribe. A bar in Warwick may have to suffice.
Rico did a very nice job of grounding, as rationally as possible, the reasons why even the pointy-glasses crowd is freaking the fuck out today. He has it pretty much entirely right.
But my own feeling, reiterated often to the general indifference of my readers, is that it cannot be grounded rationally. To really understand the thing, you need to have this blared into your brain at high volume for about twenty hours in a row. (None of this "Here We Go" horrorshow -- lobotomized monosyllabic fight songs for absolute morons -- another sign of civilization's decline. Bah.) And your entire family and everyone you know going absolutely insane about it during your most impressionable years.
And then have a team that makes you completely neurotic. ESPN Classic must only exist for this day, when Steelers people can TiVO NFL Films from a certain time span between 1975 and 1979... the tides of memory have erased the fact that every single Super Bowl ever won by this supposedly "greatest team of all time" was marred by horrendous gut-wrenching mistakes and screwups. Blocked punts, missed field goals, stupid coaching gambits. I guess that was all lost on me as a little kid -- somehow we just knew they were going to win. There was no other way it would turn out. But I can easily see the pattern that has reduced me to a gibbering idiot so often recently.
Not to mention the pattern of: good opponent, we play well. Bad opponent, we play poorly. High expectations, we play poorly. Low expectations -- myself, along with the rest of the world, gave them up for dead when Big Ben's thumb was hurt -- well, that is the time for the demonic fates to take control of the thing... suddenly he's passing and you can almost hear the NFL Films music rise up from behind... corny yet beautiful mix of Westerns, opera, sea chanties, and disco... now I can't get it out of my head.
I wish I was there today. Having talked with my far-flung friends I know they all feel the same way. After so much suffering, one wants to be in the bosom of the tribe. A bar in Warwick may have to suffice.
