Super Hangover
Mac King
Issue date: 2/5/08 Section: Sports
Not only did FOX refuse to abandon their animated robot football player for the Super Bowl, but they proceeded to plug their new show, "Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles" (tell me the writers of that show aren't drunk right now), with images of their mechanical football player fighting terminators.
It was like Ron Burgundy was coordinating the telecast. At the outset of the second half, Pam Oliver referred to the red zone as the "green zone." Alright Pam, take it easy. You are supposed to be a professional and you are so sauced you can't see colors. I'm Pam Oliver?
At one point, during the end of the third quarter (right when things began to finally get interesting), FOX panned away from the field of play and spent a good eight seconds zoomed in on a bushel of browning bananas. The Giants were cramping up and in search of potassium, but one could just hear Buck and Aikman up in the box: "scotch, scotch, scotch, we love scotch."
You think you had a sweet Super Bowl party? You should be disappointed you didn't get the invite to the throw-down at the FOX network.
I will take away two enduring images from Super Bowl XLII and no, neither image is of a bunch of browning bananas.
The first is of Eli Manning miraculously emerging from a group of sack-hungry Patriots, perhaps, in the same action, symbolically surfacing from a womb of mediocrity and lost-little-boy-hood into the world of men, and throwing a bomb to David Tyree, who completed a fantastic catch by pinning the ball against his helmet.
The second image is of Plaxico Burress, running a perfect slant-and-go route and then scoring the winning touchdown.
My heart sank.
I think some part of all of us wanted to see perfection. The Patriots were the best team in football, perhaps the best team of all time, and it appeared preordained that they would be victorious. Whether we loved or hated the Patriots, it had come this far and history seemed inevitable. We wanted to be watching.
But the Patriots lost, 17-14. Those who legitimately believed that the Giants would win and predicted a G-Men victory for reasons other than individuality exalted in their intellectual and perhaps prophet-seeking superiority. The other 98 percent of the nation experienced shock. I felt robbed.
Few will remember that the Giants won Super Bowl XLII, just that the Patriots lost. 18-1, that is their legacy.
As we enter the most awkward sporting period of the year, the doldrums of spectator athletics, with nothing significant to look forward to until March Madness, the majority of us will be forced to stew over the Super Bowl, reevaluating what we actually know about sports.
It was like Ron Burgundy was coordinating the telecast. At the outset of the second half, Pam Oliver referred to the red zone as the "green zone." Alright Pam, take it easy. You are supposed to be a professional and you are so sauced you can't see colors. I'm Pam Oliver?
At one point, during the end of the third quarter (right when things began to finally get interesting), FOX panned away from the field of play and spent a good eight seconds zoomed in on a bushel of browning bananas. The Giants were cramping up and in search of potassium, but one could just hear Buck and Aikman up in the box: "scotch, scotch, scotch, we love scotch."
You think you had a sweet Super Bowl party? You should be disappointed you didn't get the invite to the throw-down at the FOX network.
I will take away two enduring images from Super Bowl XLII and no, neither image is of a bunch of browning bananas.
The first is of Eli Manning miraculously emerging from a group of sack-hungry Patriots, perhaps, in the same action, symbolically surfacing from a womb of mediocrity and lost-little-boy-hood into the world of men, and throwing a bomb to David Tyree, who completed a fantastic catch by pinning the ball against his helmet.
The second image is of Plaxico Burress, running a perfect slant-and-go route and then scoring the winning touchdown.
My heart sank.
I think some part of all of us wanted to see perfection. The Patriots were the best team in football, perhaps the best team of all time, and it appeared preordained that they would be victorious. Whether we loved or hated the Patriots, it had come this far and history seemed inevitable. We wanted to be watching.
But the Patriots lost, 17-14. Those who legitimately believed that the Giants would win and predicted a G-Men victory for reasons other than individuality exalted in their intellectual and perhaps prophet-seeking superiority. The other 98 percent of the nation experienced shock. I felt robbed.
Few will remember that the Giants won Super Bowl XLII, just that the Patriots lost. 18-1, that is their legacy.
As we enter the most awkward sporting period of the year, the doldrums of spectator athletics, with nothing significant to look forward to until March Madness, the majority of us will be forced to stew over the Super Bowl, reevaluating what we actually know about sports.
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