Display by Label: Football

"They say it's going to be Cutler's year this year."

"Really? Why is this year his year?"

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"I think it's something about 2008 being an even year ... and, you know, if you take the eight and subtract the two you get six. Which, of course, is his number."

I always forget that C usually needs to know why. And that's something I don't usually bother to explore.

Still, if you ask me questions, I'll give you answers.

link to this | comments (5) | File:  Broncos  Football  Ho_Hum 

In 1972, Franco Harris made the now-famous Immaculate Reception in an AFC playoff game against the Oakland Raiders. And, you know, we really need a name like that to describe what David Tyree did in the fourth quarter of Sunday's Super Bowl game, 3rd and 5 on the 44 with 1:15 left. Was there anybody sitting down on that play? I mean, that catch — hell, the entire drive — just begs to be immortalized with some clever title ripe with miraculous and/or religious undertones. And I've been racking my brain since Sunday trying to think of one, but I've got nothing. All I can think of are bad puns about how Tyree was really "using his head" or how he did a great job of "keeping his head in the game." No, no, no. That's all wrong.

How about . . . Immaculate Reception, Deux? Crap.

Speaking of reception, C and I went all old-school for The Big Game. We watched it — get this — over the airwaves. Because we still lack the Fios. (It's supposed to come tomorrow, but I've heard from our neighbors not to get our hopes up). Anyway, we had planned on going to a bar to watch it and be surrounded by Giants fans. But we were torn because, while that sounded like a lot of fun, we also wanted to see (and hear) the commercials and when you're in a bar, you tend to lose that ability to ambient noise. You also wind up missing crucial moments in history that can occur in a split second. I learned that lesson the hard way a couple of years back with Janet's boob. And let me just say that damn, that Etrade baby cracked me up. So it was all worth it.

So if I remembered my history correctly, we actually had television signals all around us, we just needed a way to turn those signals into a discernible picture on our set. What we needed was that relic of TV communications known as the "rabbit ears." Luckily we had a set, which I had been keeping in my plastic bin of wires for a special occasion such as this. So we got them out. And we stood there, staring at these strange things in my hands, trying to remember what we were supposed to do with them, again. Did we have to plug them into something or did we just put them near the television set and wait? Were we supposed to pray before using them? Should we get out the aluminum foil? We had so many questions.

We played around with the positioning of the rabbit ears (which really look nothing like the ears of rabbits) for a while, doing that dance our fathers did, and their fathers before them. Rabbit ears have such a rich cultural history. I tried standing on one leg, then I held one end of the antennae while pointing to the ceiling with my free hand. There was still a fair amount of snow. C suggested I try it naked, but I was really skeptical that would work. Finally, we found a placement that allowed us to get two channels: NBC and Fox. And of the two, Fox came in the best. In fact, it actually came in better than our Cable-supplied CBS channel in Baltimore, something which had always been a bit of a sore spot for us.

So great, we had Fox. Now we could watch . . . House. But aside from that, who cared? We figured the Super Bowl would be on NBC. And while that channel came in, it certainly wasn't at all purty. Oh well. It would just be part of the experience. We would just pretend it was snowing. Indoors. In Arizona. It would surely put a test to our imaginations. Why did Fox have to be the good channel, anyway? Of all the bloody channels. Then we realized we didn't actually know which channel The Game would be on. Hell, it might be on ABC, which didn't come in at all. So we checked to verify the broadcast station and, well, did I mention things are just kind of clicking here in Jersey? I've never been so happy to watch Fox. Ever.

So we watched the Super Bowl, with damn decent reception, over a set of rabbit ears that had been buried away in a plastic container for years, waiting for this one chance to shine.

And it was glorious.

We watched all the commercials. In part because we wanted to, but also because we lacked a Tivo "Pause" button. When we needed food, we went one at a time so that the other person could tell the one getting food if they were missing something.

And look, I'm not one to gloat about victories, okay? Particularly when it comes to a team which has only recently become my "home team." But when I watched Eli make that final drive down the field, it did generate a few of the warm and fuzzies inside me, I have to admit. And I'm just real sorry there, Pats . . . 18-1 just doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?

So it's a day of celebrations, not just in New Jersey and New York but all over the states. Because it's also Super Tuesday (which is sweet, sweet nectar for political junkies among us — show me your Roll Call) and Mardi Gras (which is sweet, sweet nectar for the cocktail-inclined among us — show me your flask).

Oh, and yes, today is celebratory for one more reason . . . Happy Birthday, C!

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Sports  Giants  Football  Cath 

I've always fancied myself an aficionado of the pop culture, particularly of any variety born or raised in the 80s or 90s. And while I'm not the encyclopedia of information that my friend Mitch is, I am, perhaps, something of an abridged coffee-table reference. Or maybe a pocket dictionary. I remember once playing Trivial Pursuit, 20th Anniversary Edition with C's family several Christmases ago and being given the following question: "Who was the front-man for the 80s rock band Twisted Sister?" I remember how they had all looked at each other like maybe they hadn't read the card right, or perhaps it was written in a different language or something. And whoever had read the question began to put the card back in the box and pass the lot to the next person because, you know, what the hell was a "Twisted Sister" anyway? And, whew! sometimes this game really tossed some crazy shit out there, and well, better luck next time, Dave, and . . . "Dee Synder" I said, confident and matter-of-fact. "I'll take a wedge, please." They all looked at me with wonder and awe. And I sat back and smiled, basking in the glow of my own pop-acumen, a byproduct of my grueling after-school regimen of MTV and Fruity Pebbles. It was tremendously satisfying given the fact that I normally have to sit on the sidelines of most of C's family's discussions because they're apt to involve the finer points of business strategy or physics, subjects which often render me completely mute.

But C got me back last night. After watching our old NFC-East home team get beaten by our new NFC-East home team, C told me to fast-forward past the post-game recap and sideline interviews with Eli and Romo and get on to the next show. We always TiVo football these days so we don't have to watch the commercials. I didn't know it at the time, but C had extended the record time to be sure to catch the show that came on directly afterwards, the pilot of The Sarah Connor Chronicles.

I zipped past Eli in his shag cut telling Pam Oliver how his brother's loss earlier in the afternoon was "tough." Translation: Suck it, Payton. This time I'm the one going to the Championship. Then, I slowed things down when the next show started. At this point I still wasn't sure what the show was. But C seemed excited about it, so I watched the first minute or so. And after seeing a bit of the opening sequence, which involved lots of gun fire and a frightening, indestructible robot, it dawned on me: "Oh, this is that Terminator thing, right? I think I heard about this."

C nodded and eyed me suspiciously. It was as if I had just uttered, "Oh, shoes are things people wear on their feet, right?" — something ridiculously apparent like that. "Yeah," she said, "The Sarah Connor Chronicles."

"Was Sarah Connor one of the characters in the movie, then?" I asked.

Again, I detected some skepticism from C, if not downright distrust. She paused the show. "Yes," she said, minor annoyance brewing. "She was the mom. Remember?" She rewound, then started the action again. Clearly this was not a time for talking.

"Oh sure," I said. I immediately recognized that "the mom" probably should have sufficed as an answer, not — as it did for me — open up more questions, like: You mean there was another character in the movie besides Ahhhnold? Wanting to keep my pop-culture cred in tact, I kept this one to myself and instead decided I'd just let C watch the show in peace and maybe sneak upstairs and look up "The Terminator" on IMDb. I started to get up from the couch. C paused the show again.

"What? You're not going to watch it with me?"

I hesitated. Weighing my options. "Sure," I said, "But . . . you know . . . I . . . " It was time to come clean with her. After all, she was my wife. She'd understand. "You're going to have to bring me up to speed." C looked confused. "I've never seen the Terminators, okay?"

I can't be positive, but I think this was the most outrageous and hilarious thing C had ever heard uttered from anybody's lips, let alone mine. She erupted in laughter, betraying her complete incredulity and wonderment.

"You've never seen the Terminators?"

I shook my head.

C's hilarity gave way to stunned silence and an aw-shucks sort of bewilderment, as if this piece of information was actually making her doubt my very existence. As if she was thinking, by God, who is this man and how did he wind up seated across from me in this living room?

"What else are you going to tell me?" she stammered, clearly disturbed and perplexed over this tragic revelation. She almost seemed sorry for me. Like I had been deprived in some vital way. "I mean, did you ever see . . . Sesame Street? Or how about drink water?" Her eyebrows raised. "Is that something you ever did in your life? Did you ever breathe?"

And that was about the crux of it: For C, a life without science fiction was akin to a life without water or air.

link to this | comments (3) | File:  Pop_Culture  Music  Movies  Football  Cowboys  Cath 

A man and a woman are in the lingerie section at Macy's. It seems like they've been shopping for a while. It seems this way by the number of bags they are carrying. White House | Black Market, Nordstrom, Gap. And maybe this is their last stop, and also something of an afterthought. But I wouldn't know this. I couldn't know this. It also seems, by the looks of things, they don't go shopping all that often. It's possible they have a real impatience when it comes to this sort of thing. It's possible the only reason they are doing it now, in fact, is because it has become absolutely necessary. Jeans that no longer fit—the current pair barely held up by a thick brown belt. A black blazer that has been lost, perhaps while traveling in areas north of here. Maybe it's undershirts that bring them to this particular location in the mall. Or bras.

Who knows, though? I'm just making this stuff up.

By the looks of things, it also seems there might be a TiVo recording a football game somewhere in these people's lives. It might be that the football game has been billed as the "Battle of the Unbeatens," and the knowledge of this game being played right now while their eyes itch from the dry air of the department store, and their feet swell, and their minds hum—well, it seems to be distracting them. It's possible they're both fans of the football. They look a little tired. A little antsy, maybe. There could be a cold IPA in this man's imminent future.

All of this, of course, is conjecture.

"Do you like this?" says the woman, motioning to a slight mannequin wearing a bra-and-panties ensemble. The panties have a gold and black pattern. They are lacy around the edges and they are square-cut. The bra is patterned similarly. Gold and black and lace.

"Mmm-hmm," says the man, affirmatively. "Yes, I do." He seems like the kind of guy that really goes for those square-cut-panty numbers. You can spot the type from a mile away.

The woman fingers a strap on the bra. "They always make these cute sets for small-breasted women," she says.

The man takes a step closer and assesses the mannequin. He extends his hand and cups it over the right breast. The breast disappears under his hand, fitting neatly in his palm. "You're right," he says, turning to the woman. "Small." He smiles proudly. It might be he thinks he made a pretty funny joke. Though it's hard to say for sure.

There is some head-shaking from the woman now. Maybe a sigh could be heard. Some exasperation, perhaps. "I really didn't need the illustration," she says, looking around them to see if any of the other respectable women shopping for lingerie had noticed the lowbred oaf standing next to her feeling up the mannequin. She turns, muttering something about embarrassment.

Moments like these, it's easier to write about myself in the third person.

link to this | comments (3) | File:  Ho_Hum  Football  Cath 

For a variety of reasons, I wound up missing the game last night and I feel like an idiot. I can't believe it. I'm sweating just reading the re-cap.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Football  Cowboys 

Right now, I guess I'm glad to live (temporarily) in an AFC town who's TV schedule prevents me from seeing the Broncos get stomped on this badly. And I had such high hopes for this season. Mile high hopes.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Broncos  Football 

If you follow the sports and like hypothesizing on who will end the season a champion, or if you hate sports but love statistics, check this site out. Of course I'm most interested in this page.

link to this | comments (2) | File:  Sports  Football 

It's important to recognize patterns in your life. Because once you've determined a pattern exists, you can try to figure out what it means. Right now, I'm puzzling over this one: with a few exceptions, I've spent my entire life in NFC East cities. Now, I realize there are non-football-watching people who read this who don't know the NFC East from the AFC West, and to you I apologize. But September means it's Football Season, people, and so I'm going to need to go off on football-related tangents every so often from now until early February. So just to clarify (for all of you non-football fans) what we're talking about here is Washington DC (Redskins), Dallas (Cowboys), New York (Giants), and Philadelphia (Eagles)—the NFC East.

If you know me from childhood you might baulk and say: Wait, wait, Dave. Okay, you were born in DC—I'll give you that—but then you grew up in Houston, man. Fourteen years. Oiler country. Sorry, but that's AFC, buddy. And to that I say: Yes, but my Dad lived in Dallas, and I visited him every other weekend from the time I was six. We used to go to games at Texas Stadium. So I think I can lay some claim to either city. Besides, I was never an Oilers fan, unless you count the poster of the Derrick Dolls I had in my room. In fact, I was the opposite of an Oilers fan. I was a Steelers fan back in those days. In any case, I spent eight years most recently in Dallas, so my heart is there. And besides, when you think about it, does Houston even have a real team anymore? (Sorry, James.)

Now, there are two phases in my life that might leave room for some discrepancy. First off was the four years I spent in college in central Virginia. Second would be my current stint in Baltimore. Central Virginia is now probably mostly Carolina Panther territory, but it wasn't that way for most of the time I was there, before the mid-90s expansion team thing occurred. Back then, I think most of central to northern Virginia was probably Skinz territory. That means the only real exception to my NFC East living has been the last two months in Baltimore. But come on, does that really count? Two months? The Ravens—another expansion team? I don't think so. It's never really felt right, being in Baltimore. And now I know why.

Things have been complicated ever since we left Dallas for DC four years ago. Cowboys vs. Redskins has always been a huge rivalry. And it has felt kind of weird watching them play against each other while sitting in our apartment in DC and cheering for . . . who? Cowboys? Redskins? Tough call.

Last night, things got a little more complicated. The area we're moving to in central New Jersey, just west of New York City, is pretty much Giants country. Of course, if you travel an hour and a half Southwest, you'd also be in Eagles country. (I'm telling you, there is some crazy cosmic circumstance here.) Last night, came our first test: Giants vs Dallas. Another huge rivalry. The two played at home—er, in Dallas. C and I decided we'd cheer for the Giants because it was going to be our new "local" team and we needed to be up on the players, you know, just in case we were confronted by any suspicious neighbors knocking on our door wearing jerseys emblazoned with the number 10. But we found it hard to do. There were too many years of ingrained animosity toward the Giants. And we found ourselves letting out small cheers whenever Romo would make a good pass. So, for now, I think we'll just try to remain neutral bystanders. It's probably safer that way. After all, we're going to be strangers to the people in NJ. We might be tarred and feathered if we're invited to a party one day and cheer for Dallas—or, even worse—the Redskins. On the other hand, we've still got friends and family in Big D, and Washington. And they know how to find us.

So I don't know why I am destined to live in the NFC East. I'm sure it has some profound existential meaning in my life, which I may never fully understand. Maybe it'll come to me as I'm drawing my final breath—Enlightenment. But this much is certain: no matter which NFC East region I live in, I will always continue to be a die-hard Denver Broncos fan. This way, nobody gets hurt.

link to this | comments (3) | File:  Football 

First of all, let me say that I thought all Superbowl half-time shows would be forever eclipsed by the heavy flop of Janet Jackson's pasty-clad boob. Not so. Prince has taken back the half-time show in a big way. And he didn't even need to bare any skin. Unlike the football game, which was something of a comedy of errors, Prince's performance was spot-on. He's a pro. I'm not a Prince fan like Laundro is a Prince fan. Still, I like me some Prince every now and again, and Sunday night was one of those times. I've got a particular weakness for the '1999' and 'Purple Rain' era of Prince tunes. They remind me of the little white jam-box I got when I was nine, and Little Red Corvette on the tape deck.

So yeah. Half-time was crazy good.

And then there was the football game itself. A good game overall. Pretty exciting, thanks in large part to the rain. And you know what, okay, I'm going to stop beating around the bush, here. I haven't always been a fan of Payton Manning. I don't like it when his team beats the Broncos. But I'm going to show how big a man I can be and just come out and say it: I'm glad he finally got that Superbowl ring. The big game has evaded him for several seasons, and well, he deserves it. I know a lot of people love to hate Manning because he's just so damn good on the field and cool under pressure, and if he's not on your team those are bad qualities to have. And on top of that he's annoyingly funny and likable in those Mastercard and Sprint commercials. The guy's got talent and charm. Okay, okay. We get it. But come on, how much Payton Manning can we take already? Well, I'm willing to put all of that bitterness aside and say, "Good for you Manning." I'm happy for you.

But Prince stole the show.

link to this | comments (7) | File:  Music  Football 

Dear Mike Shanahan - Despite the loss, sending in Cutler was a good choice. Hopefully he'll iron out those rookie mistakes and be on for next season. But what was up with that fake field goal call last night? Did you forget Elam is 36? His legs are far to valuable to be used scrambling for first downs.

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Football