A Tale of Two Cities and the Lament of a Third: Previewing Super Bowl XLII
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, the epoch of incredulity”
-Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Dreams can shatter faster than light and as destructively as a fallen mirror. Those who call Green Bay home can attest to that. For a while, at any rate, they dared to dream. For a while the Lake Michigan wind bit with invigoration rather than winter drear and the fresh snowmen smiled assuredly and each ray of sunlight felt like a necklace of gold and the long days at the packing factory took on a monastic aura. For a while they believed in fairytales and fantasy and destiny, in Santa Claus and the notion that hard work will payoff and in the inherent goodness of humanity.
They believed, with unbridled devotion, in the cannon arm of a thirty-eight year old man and the infallibility of Lambeau Field and the strength of momentum.
That childlike optimism, those simple and vulnerable beliefs and those wistful dreams of glory not only dissipated on a chilling Wisconsin January evening, they smashed into an infinite sea of tiny shards when New York Football Giants kicker Lawrence Tynes penetrated the Lambeau uprights and the heart of every Packer fan. The Boulevard of Broken Dreams was well-trafficked that night and many will never scratch away the scars of the journey or the horror of feeling alone in a mass of humanity. For Green Bay residents, Peter Pan will no longer be the hazy wonder that exists deep inside but a cheap lady-boy with an acid problem.
Football means more to the folk of Green Bay than it does to others. The Packers are their team, not just in spirit but in law and reality. The Packers are more than just a football team. They are a central life force, a reason to exist and a means to feel. When their favourite son, his thirty-eight year old bones chilled and brittle, hurled an interception on the second play of overtime and the game winning field goal was kicked but minutes later, Green Bay went into despair. There was no day-saving prince and there was no happy ending.
And there would be no fairytale finale for football fans in general. There would be no gung-ho legend standing between the Patriots and perfection, no beloved gunslinger to defy the odds. What we would be offered was yet another round in the battle between the arrogance of New York City and the inferiority complex of Boston. For once, it isn’t the Yankees and the Red Sox.
Fans of professional football across the globe cursed the stars and on some level wished that football was pro wrestling and some savvy booker would hand them the salivating match-up they desired. But this is sports and very little is certain and now we have to live with a Patriots-Giants Super Bowl like we have to live with four-in-the-morning photographs and asshole Telemarketers who don’t understand even the bluntest expression of hate.
Your saddened author could not feel more indifferent about the upcoming Super Bowl. By expectation, I feel robbed. On face value, there is little wrong with a Patriots-Giants finale. It renews a rivalry that has become decidedly Boston-centric over the last decade. It provides a rare opportunity to witness historic conquest, the Patriots on the verge of achieving perfection. On display will be many champions of athleticism, footballers who have proven themselves superior to their rivals. And as always, the Super Bowl will be an event, with all the expected bells and whistles bought with new money and old.
Yet the passion well is dry, at least on this end of the pen. On one level, it is the depression of a miserable gambling run that may soon cost me a kneecap or a kidney. On another, it is a recognition that the key traits of a great sporting match-up are on this occasion missing. The two things that make sport wonderful are romance and a contest. This Super Bowl match-up has neither. There is a certain cold hardness, a machinated precision to the Patriots while there is a contrived confidence to the Giants that detaches them from those attracted to the underdog. Neither team, for those outside of New York and New England, elicits strong feelings of affection or disdain.
Super Bowl XLII, as a spectacle, has all the hallmarks of a bust. The Patriots will win, the world will offer grudging respect and we will all move on. If it weren’t for the prospect of heavy wagering, many would pass the game by with no more than a cursory interest.
So heavy wagering it is. We can thank the man who devised the spread for that. He should be revered as a God and showered with gold.
The spread in this one ranges from eleven to twelve-and-a-half, depending on where one shops and which way one is inclined. This writer will be giving eleven points and siding with New England. And this will be done for many and varying reasons full of rationale, common sense and pure logic. The New York Giants may be the trendy selection but the Patriots are the correct one.
The best thing that could have happened to the Patriots and the worse thing that could have happened to the Giants is their final week match, where the Giants threw it all at the Pats and could only take them to three points. New York played to their best that evening yet Tom Brady orchestrated yet another comeback and the pursuit for perfection continued. If the Giants could not beat New England that night, they are no hope of taking them down in Arizona.
Bill Bellichick, the most prepared mentor in the NFL and possibly professional sport, has had two weeks to pick apart the Giants and he will know everything that the Giants will throw at New England. He knows that Eli Manning needs time and the way he gets that time is through the establishment of the running game. He also knows that blitzing Manning, which has been a rarity this playoffs, will force him to make the natural mistakes that have become a hallmark of his game. Bellichick knows that the Giants secondary is a weakness, having seen both Moss and Welker burn the Giants deep last time around. He is more than aware that stretching the Giants defense is essential, ensuring the Giants can only run four at the quarterback. Bellichick now knows that if his offensive line can get on top of the Giants defensive ends that the Patriots will rack up a game winning score. Bellichick can transform strength into weakness, turning a crack into a canyon. Tom Coughlin does not have the same ability, nor does he have the troops to do so.
On paper, the Giants are behind in nearly every match-up. They have a great defensive line yet they come up against one of the best offensive lines in football. They have a game winning receiver yet he will be marked by one of the best shutdown corners in the league. They like to establish the run to give Manning time yet the Pats front seven, as shown against both the Jags and the Chargers, can bring the running game to a halt. The whole scene is looking increasingly dire for the Giants, each passing day another nail in the Giants coffin and each fresh sentence another reason to bet the Pats with confidence.
And deep down, the Giants know it. Underneath the contrived confidence and the wild predictions, the Giants seem to recognise that they are not as good as New England and will need God, Karma and a veritable smorgasbord of Talismans and Amulets to beat them. They are trying to shake an unflappable team, the last resort of a team condemned to doom.
The Patriots will win this and win it well. You can take that to your bookmaker.
Bets:
New England -11.0 @1.91 Centrebet – 2 Units
Plaxico Burress Under 70.5 Receiving Yards @1.9 – 1 Unit
Brandon Jacobs Under 65.5 Rushing Yards @1.9 – 1 Unit