Nathaniel

Shockey

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February 4, 2008

Super Bowl XLII is a Giant of a Story

Sometimes, it seems like we’ve accepted the idea that in order to find the really good stories, we either have to make them up, or seriously alter the true ones. But then something like Super Bowl XLII comes along, and we’re reminded that the best stories are untouched by the imaginations of even the most skilled human storytellers.

I wanted the New England Patriots to win last night for two primary reasons. First, I wanted to witness what might have been the only 19-0 season in my lifetime. And second, I’ve been pretty sick about the way the “Spygate scandal” has been blown out of proportion. I had no problem with the way the Patriots decided to blow teams out of the water and make a mockery of the NFL record books. The Patriots had been vilified by the national media, and they deserved to showcase their supremacy.

The Patriots were booed the second they walked out of the tunnel, and I can’t remember seeing such a polarized crowd in what was designed to be a neutral setting. As far as I could tell, the stage was set. I was about to witness history as the Patriots completed their revenge against the NFL, its fans and anyone who ever questioned their right to be called the best. The Patriots would take over the game before the end of the first quarter, and justice would soon be served up in the form of the Vince Lombardi Trophy.

But truly great stories surprise you until the very end. The climax you were expecting either never comes, or hits you surprisingly early and you realize that something even bigger is just around the bend.

If I had been keeping a running diary of the game, the first three and a half quarters would have been incredibly boring to read, aside from some really good commercials (the one where Charles Barkley calls Dwayne Wade every two minutes, the one where the giant rat bursts through the wall and beats up the guy eating Doritos, the one where James Carville and Bill Frist bond after winning a “jinx,” and definitely the one with the Dalmatian who trains Hank the Horse Rocky-style) and the occasional hilarious moment from my wife. (At one point, she left during the game and returned seconds later asking, “Did I miss any commercials?”).

But boy was I a nincompoop, prepared to settle for a relatively boring Super Bowl with a predictable outcome. Little did we know that Tom Brady was not as wise as he seemed when he coyly, confidently scoffed at Plaxico Burress’s 23-17 prediction, saying “We’re only going to score 17 points?”

Brady was right, they wouldn’t score 17. Nobody, not even Michael Strahan, thought Brady would get sacked five times, and spend practically half the game on his back. This was the Patriots, the team with the best offensive line in football! And they would have managed all right had they been able to muster even a mediocre running game. But somehow, the New York Giants snuffed that out as well, limiting their opponents to 45 yards on 16 carries. In 18 games, the Patriot offense never looked so impotent.

But that’s the wonderful, unforgiving nature of professional sports. It has only ever been about the last game.

The truth is, the Patriots nearly lost four regular season games, several of them to less-than-noteworthy opponents. They had not looked overpowering since their early December game against the Pittsburgh Steelers, and they hadn’t looked truly dominating since mid-November against the Buffalo Bills. If they had any chance of being named the greatest ever, they really needed to win out. There is a funny tendency among sports commentators to say “great teams win the close ones” or “the best teams always find a way to win.” But the fact of the matter is that the best teams don’t have a lot of close games. They win by a lot most of the time, and on the rare occasion of a close game, they dig deep, find their extra gear and win.

But either the rest of the NFL caught on to the Patriots, or sometime around late fall, they kind of dozed off. And when we look back on the pages of history, we’ll be reminded that the most significant impact of impressive statistics is to intensify the need to win the games that really matter.

When Eli Manning somehow managed to evade what looked like an inevitable sack, and hurled the football toward David Tyree, who out-maneuvered two Patriots defenders and, falling backwards, caught the ball against his helmet to prolong the game-winning drive, we all should have realized that, believe it or not, something bigger than 19-0 was happening. David was toppling Goliath right before our eyes – an old story that we may have forgotten, in the form of a new story that we’ll never forget. The lesser of two Mannings just took down golden boy Tom Brady and the undefeated Patriots.

Sports, like life, has always been about the stories. And everyone lucky enough to witness Super Bowl XLII was just given an incredible story worth telling over and over.

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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