How The Patriots Will Get To The Super Bowl

Step One
Patriots 31, Ravens 30
The Pats roar out to a 28-0 halftime lead over an overwhelmed-looking Baltimore squad. Tom Brady connects with Julian “L’il Wes” Edelman for 8 catches, 119 yards and 3 TDs, while NE LB Tully Banta-Cain sacks BAL QB Joe Flacco a record 14 times.

Following New England’s unsettling pattern of second-half collapses, however (and utilizing the brilliant insight by Baltimore Defensive Coordinator Greg Mattison that the “Let’s put 3 guys on Randy Moss every play” strategy isn’t really working) the Patriots proceed to give up an unanswered 30 points in the 3rd and 4th quarters. A suddenly-revived Joe Flacco – who reportedly spent the entirety of halftime listening to “Eye of the Tiger” over and over again on his Zune - throws for 247 yards and 2 TDs in the third quarter alone, and 4 New England turnovers deep in their own territory lead to one TD (via interception) and 3 field goals.

With 1:15 left in the fourth quarter, NE SS Brandon Meriweather intercepts an errant Flacco pass and returns it to the Baltimore 40. The powerhouse Pats running squad successfully moves the ball forward another six yards in three downs, setting the team up for what proves to be a game-winning field goal by Stephen Gostkowski with 22 seconds remaining.

Following the game, Coach Bill Belichick tells the press, “There were a lot of things we could have done better. Played better, coached better, prepared better, executed better. We’ll be looking at all that as we start to prepare for San Diego. They’re probably the greatest team in NFL history. Best quarterback ever. Best running back ever. Best defense ever. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Step Two
Patriots 40, Chargers 37

The Patriots roar out to a commanding 28-10 lead in the first half, despite the fact that midway through the 2nd quarter Tom Brady’s right arm is torn off his body by SD OLB/alleged human Shawne Merriman. America watches transfixed, however, as NE Coach Bill Belichick heals the wound on the sideline via some hitherto unknown combination of fish tacos, Krazy Glue and a mysterious liquid that, post-game, is identified only as “tears of a clown.” Brady returns just before halftime to connect with Julian Edelman for a spectacular 79-yard (all of it in the air!) reception that leads to a Fred Taylor rushing TD.

The second half, however, is a dramatically different story, as SD QB Phillip Rivers connects with WR Vincent Jackson and TE Antonio Gates for TDs. Meanwhile, Tom Brady throw six straight interceptions leading to field goals and TDs by SD RBs Darren Sproles and LaDainian Tomlinson that rocket the Chargers towards what is, by the 2-minute warning in the 4th quarter, a 37-31 lead. The Patriots are able to bring the ball into Chargers’ territory, but an inability to gain a first down leads to a Gostkowski field goal with 1:44 left. The Chargers regain the ball, and begin what viewers presume will be an exercise in clock management.

Just over a minute later, in a move that will be questioned by football pundits for years afterwards, SD Coach Norv Turner decides to acquiesce to Phillip Rivers’ request for “one last passing play to put the nail in these bastards’ coffin.” Taking the hike, Rivers drops back, and – screaming at the New England secondary in a strangely high, tinny voice, “You’re the weakest corners in the league! The weakest corners in the league!” – he lets the ball fly toward Vincent Jackson… when suddenly, out of nowhere, a resurgent Vince Wilfork rises a full 12 feet above the field – almost as if lifted by angels – and catches the ball like a fireman catching a baby falling from a burning building. When he returns to earth, he begins a long, slow rumble toward the end zone that takes a nearly 35 seconds, feels as if it lasts an entire day, and results in a touchdown, a breathtaking last-second Patiots victory, and explosive rejoicing across the entirety of New England.

Following the game, Coach Bill Belichick tells the press, “There were a lot of things we could have done better. Played better. Coached better. Prepared better. Executed better. We’ll be looking at all that as we prepare for Indy next week. They’re probably the greatest team in NFL history. Best quarterback ever. Best defense ever. Rock-solid running game and coaching. We have a lot of work to do.”

Step Three
Patriots 17, Colts 15

The Patriots roar out to a quick 14-0 lead in the first quarter following two lightning strike Tom Brady-Randy Moss TDs on the Pats’ first two possessions. Following the second TD, Indy QB Peyton Manning stalks onto the field with a look of unprecedented ferocity and focus in his eyes. He stands behind his O-line, glaring out at the Pats defense rippling before him in waves of strategic and violent intent, directing and redirecting his squadron, calling out audible after audible after audible, when abruptly his eyes go wide and there is a sound (a sound, all of us who are watching, will remember for the rest of our lives… something like air hissing from a balloon) and suddenly: he is in flames. “My god!” screams Phil Simms. “It’s spontaneous human combustion! For the love of… somebody, put him out! Oh, the humanity!”

But it is too late. Peyton Manning – quarterback, MVP, legend – is gone. Both teams are stunned into silence, but after a TV time out the game resumes. There is no additional scoring before halftime, as both teams move slowly and uneasily on the field.

The second half begins with a brilliant 65-yard kickoff return by the Colts’ TJ Rushing, which ultimately leads to a field goal and Indianapolis, at last, getting on the board. This is followed by six more Tom Brady interceptions, four of which lead to additional Indy field goals — and, as the two-minute warning sounds, the Colts will have pulled to a stunning 15-14 lead. Later, it will be revealed that at halftime Colts Head Coach Jim Caldwell delivered a wrenching “Let’s do it. For Peyton.” speech that left the entire team in tears… and motivated to win.

Unfortunately for the Colts and the memory of Peyton Manning, Stephen Gostkowski once again plays the role of spoiler. He kicks a 47-yard FG with just under a minute left in the game, leading to what turns out to be a game-winning 17-15 score.

Following the game, Patriots Coach Bill Belichick tells the assembled media, “There were a lot of things we could have done better. Played better. Coached better. Prepared better. Executed better. We caught a few breaks, and made the most of them. Peyton Manning spontaneously combusting clearly made a difference, but we’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to win in two weeks in Miami. Minnesota’s got a very good team. Probably the best of all time. Best quarterback of all time. Best running back of all time. Best defense of all time. They’re big, strong, fast. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

Step Four
Patriots vs. Vikings
A battle for the ages. A magically restored Tom Brady – his arm clinging to his body like a shipwreck survivor to a life ring – face-to-face against the 65-year old Brett Favre. Adrian Peterson. Randy Moss. The monster Minnesota D-line. The wit and wisdom of Julian Edelman.

How will this play out? Only time will tell…

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Top 10 Reasons The Yankees Won’t Win The World Series

1. Karmic Debt
The advent of George Steinbrenner’s ownership of the Yankees roughly coincided with the advent of free agency, Watergate, disco and the birth of many Draft Day Suit writers. As an era, it was a karmic black hole. Steinbrenner’s persistence and depthless evil helped to drive the franchise to great success in the 70s and again in the 90s… but the current NYY championship drought testifies to the scientific certainty that all the birds are coming home to roost. This should persist for at least another 15 years, following which point balance will be restored and the Yankees will once again be operating on a karmically level playing field. See you in ‘24, Yankees fans!

2. Vengeful Economic Gods
Is it a coincidence that the global economic meltdown coincides with the opening of the new Yankee Stadium and its $200,000/game premium seats? (I’m guesstimating on the actual seat cost, but feel that I’m in the ballpark, at the very least. So to speak.) Answer: Noooooo. Greed may have been good in the go-go Gordon Gecko 80s, but these here are different times — and the price exacted by the economic gods for the vanity of buiding billion-dollar temples to one’s own magnificence are bad press, public mockery, and postseason failure. (See also: Dallas Cowboys)

3. Pitching
CC Sabathia is a monster. But once you get past him… um… AJ Burnett? I think I read somewhere that his second-half ERA this season is hovering in the 14.50 range. And Andy Pettitte? That’s terrific. If, you know, we wake up tomorrow and it’s 1998 again. And then… um… I’m not really sure. Ian Kennedy? Hideki Irabu? Ed Whitson? These are all scintillating options. Good luck!

4. Johnny Damon as Power Hitter
Look, I’m not irrational. I realize that when Damon defected from the Red Sox to the Yankees, a lot of Boston fans completely lost their minds and saw the signing as an act of ultimate betrayal. Which is an understandable reaction to the degree that you grasp the great emotional connection Damon forged with Boston fans during the ‘04 season, when his happy-go-lucky attitude and long hair and beard had thousands in the greater Boston area wearing t-shirts bearing his image and the WWJDD (What Would Johnny Damon Do?) message… and which is also completely absurd, when you understand that his signing with the Yankees was very much a product of the Sox underestimating the market for him and the Yankees playing their cards very, very intelligently.

That said, Johnny Damon is not and has never been a power hitter. He’s a slap hitter: a contact guy good for maybe 15 homers a year, solid average and once-great speed that’s diminished with age. Which is fine. The fact that he’s on his way to suddenly establishing a career high in homers and slugging percentage at the age of 35 may suggest that the new Yankee Stadium has an insanely inflationary effect on power numbers… but it also brings to mind Barry Bonds’ sudden, late-career leaps to 49 and then 70 HRs. I’m not saying Damon is on the juice, but in this day and age – when everyone is under suspicion – it’s the kind of phenomenon you can’t help but raise an eyebrow at.

5. The Curse of Joe Torre
He’s Italian. They’re good with curses. ‘Nuff said.

6. The Appalling Overexposure of Derek Jeter’s Hit Count
Don’t get me wrong: Jeter is a legitimately exceptional and important player, and a certain Hall of Fame candidate. And his ongoing march toward the 3000 hit mark is very impressive. But the amount of media coverage that accompanied his recent eclipsing of Lou Gehrig’s record for most career hits by a member of the Yankees was just obscene. Does ANYONE outside of the tri-state area who doesn’t own a Yankees hat care? At all? It’s an accomplishment, and I hope he takes some pride in it, but Jeter becoming the Yankees all-time hit leader is an accomplishment on a par with Tim Wakefield’s slow march toward becoming the Red Sox all-time wins leader. If you’re a fan, it’s a point of some interest. If not, you’re indifferent at best.

Subsequently: daily, nationwide coverage of Jeter’s march toward Yankee immortality? Overkill. Overexposure. And, perhaps, an overriding reason for the Yankees’ late-season swoon. (Note the timing, people…)

7. Kris Whatsisname – The Middle-of-the-Road-Boring-Guy – Will Be The Surprise Winner
Oh, wait. That was American Idol. Never mind.

8. Clemens Backlash
Remember when Roger Clemens was being hailed as the greastest pitcher of his generation, and perhaps one of the greatest of all time? It seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it? Now, of course, he’s a pariah on a scale comparable only with Barry Bonds and Pete Rose — a man now seen as a symbol of all that is wrong with sports, and a powerful testimony to how a great athlete once seen as worthy of praise and worship can be, in fact, a truly rotten human being. I’m not sure how this ties into the fact that the Yankees won’t win the World Series this year, so we’ll just file this under “intangibles.”

9. The Kinder, Gentler Joe Girardi
Yeah… um… I’m not buying it. The guy made his name as a hardass. It worked for him in Florida, where it helped him to take a no-budget Marlins team far beyond anyplace anyone expected them to go, and where he won Manager of the Year as a consequence — but which also cost him his job there that same season, as his refusal to compromise or rein in his opinion that the Marlins’ ownership was doing the franchise and the fans a disservice by running them as a deep-discount operation ultimately led Jeffrey Loria and his partners to fire him.

Fast-forward to last year, where Girardi’s hardass ways not only contrasted vividly with those of his predecessor Torre but actively clashed with his star-studded, veteran-heavy team — and subsequently led them nowhere.

Given all this as backstory, we’re supposed to believe that this past off-season he suddenly grew a heart – you know, like The Grinch! – and that’s why the Yankees are the best team in baseball this season? I’m thinking… no. I’m thinking… Girardi is putting up a front, but this late-season swoon is going to combine with troubles in the first round of the playoffs to lead Girardi to blow his stack once and for all in true Dante’s Peak style – resulting in the immolation of several players (e.g. Posada, Cano, Chamberlain) who will be reduced to cinders and, therefore, ineligible for roster inclusion. Which is why the Yankees won’t win it all.

10. Because It Would Depress The Hell Out Of Everyone
We’re still teetering on the precipice of a true global depression. A Yankees World Series victory could be the tipping point that sends us screaming over the edge. I realize that’s a different kind of depression than what I suggested in the item headline, but let’s not get lost in the infinite subtleties of the English language : the point is that Yankees win! Yankees win! could have apocalyptic psychosocioeconomic implications.

For the good of all mankind… the Yankees must lose.

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Learning To Hate Tampa Bay

I should probably be specific here, insofar as that a certain someone who runs this site and has extremely well-documented violent tendencies comes from Tampa and knows all kinds of spiky heavy metal dudes and might well take exception to the ever-so-gentle suggestion that anyone, under any circumstances, might harbor less-than-loving feelings for the fine metropolis of Tampa. People have suffered greatly for thinking as much, never mind actually publishing it live on the interwebs.

But we must be bold here, and as such it is time for us to speak one of the great unspoken truths of modern sports: we must – all of us – learn to embrace our hatred of the Tampa Bay Rays.

This endeavor is, in the end, for the good of mankind. There are those who might say that Tampa Bay’s recent success is well-deserved, a product of prudent trades and years of fruitful drafting and talent development, a testimony to the power of new ownership, general management and field management. And there is some truth to that. After years of near-comedic futility, Joe Maddon’s collection of brilliant young ballplayers discover the strange alchemy of talent and drive that brings them skyrocketing from the bowels of the American League East to the dizzying heights of contention for a World Series title.

All of which is well and good, but ultimately ignores the obvious. Yes, to the casual viewer they are the classic Cinderella tale, all underdog charm and youthful possibility. But to the seasoned observer, the hardened fan, the jaundiced eyes of one who has suffered and ached and wept and ultimately found him or herself reborn through a final and ultimate validation of faith (oh, 2004… how you shifted me at the core) they are something far more dangerous and worthy of contempt: a legitimate rival.

As such, and as must be the case with all legitimate rivalries, it is not enough to simply wish them evil upon the lush green fields. One must probe for weaknesses, for folly and mistakes deserving of mockery. And in the magic kingdom of Tampa… there is much to be found.

  • Their early attempts at finding success through high-priced free agents. Would-be ace Wilson Alvarez? 17-26 and a 4.62 ERA over parts of 3 years. Would-be cleanup monster Greg Vaughn? 60 homers, 185 RBIs and a .229 BA over three seasons. Jose Canseco? For God’s sake… Jose Canseco? 43 homers and 125 RBis over two years. And don’t even think about how much money they spent on these fiascos — it would make you violently angry. (On the other hand, that might be productive. Go ahead and look it up. You’ll be horrified.)
  • Gerald “Ice” Williams. Ask any Red Sox fan – you’ll recognize them easily; they’re always the best-looking, most thoughtful people in the room – and they’ll tell you in a heartbeat: in 2000, Pedro Martinez (and let’s be clear: we’re talking about the Pedro of true legend here) accidentally plunked leadoff hitter Williams, who responded by charging the mound and setting off a melee that resulted in five players, two coaches and manager Larry Rothschild being ejected. Pedro? Went on to strike out 17 – yes, that’s right: seventeen – and not give up a single hit until the ninth inning. Good job, Ice.
  • Tropicana Field. ESPN named it one of the worst ballparks in the major leagues. There are catwalks – fucking catwalks – that reach across the top of the field and occasionally knock balls out of the sky, transforming certain home runs into singles, ground rule doubles… even pop fly outs. That’s not baseball; that’s a bad joke.

All this only scratches the surface, of course. But it is the end of August, and despite an underperforming pitching staff and the mysterious disappearance of BJ Upton – who looked so terrifyingly skilled during the playoffs last year – Tampa is still lurking, out there in the humid Floridian darkness, not far enough off the Wild Card pace to offer right-thinking, good-looking, thoughtful and sensitive Americans (by which I mean: Red Sox fans) the peace of mind they so richly deserve.

So we must fear them. And more, we must hate them. We must, all of us, learn to hate Tampa Bay.

It is the only good and just thing to do.

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Dear Matt Holliday

Hi. You might remember me — I’m the guy in Boston who was thrilled to land you in the fifth round of my fantasy baseball draft back in March. I actually let out a tiny little cry of glee – pure, natural, unfettered glee – when I nabbed you, and that glee was redoubled with the other owners cursed me for grabbing you before they could.

And why not? We all knew that your numbers might drop a bit as a function of your transition from Colorado to Oakland… but really, how bad could they be? Two years ago, you put up an absolute monster of a season: 36 HRs, 137 RBIs, 120 runs, 11 SBs, a .340 batting average and an OPS of – dear God – 1.012. And let’s be clear: those aren’t Nintendo numbers… you earned them playing real, legit, full-on major league baseball against major league pitching. Coors Field effect or not, you were ridiculous. Honestly – and with all due respect to Jimmy Rollins – you probably should have been the MVP.

Granted, last year was a minor comedown – but overall your numbers were still respectable: 25 HRs, 88 RBIs (more an indictment of a badly slumping Rockies team than a reflection of you), 107 runs, and you hit .321. You also apparently started huffing methamphetamines, because your speed went crazy — 28 SBs? Wow. That kind of speed/power combo is very rare and extremely valuable in fantasy baseball… and I was beyond thrilled to find you sitting there when the fifth round of the draft snaked its way back around to me.

All that said… everyone suspected your numbers might suffer a bit in Oakland. Which made sense on multiple levels:

  1. The Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum Network Associates Coliseum McAfee Coliseum Oakland Coliseum (man, it’s wonderful when corporate naming agreements go up in flames… over and over and over again) sucks ass. There’s enough open foul ball space on both sides of the field to fit an entire Fenway Park, and the outfield fences are about a mile and a half away from home plate. Basically, with very few artificially enhanced exceptions… Oakland is where power goes to die.
  2. The A’s don’t run. That’s an expression of Oakland GM Billy Beane’s philosophy – as captured at great and rapturous length in Moneyball – that the (affordable) key to winning games is On-Base Percentage. The more men you get on base, the higher your odds of scoring runs and winning games. Stealing bases puts you at risk of losing men who’ve already achieved the goal of getting on base… therefore, running is strongly discouraged.
  3. When the Buddha said “all life is suffering,” I’m pretty sure he was thinking about Oakland. Pricey neighborhoods in the hills notwithstanding, Oakland is a black hole… and the odds of even the great Matt Holliday escaping its terrible gravitational pull seemed less than inspiring.
matt-holliday-heymanBut that’s just it: you were going to be the exception, Matt. You were going to be the flower growing through the crack in the concrete. The diamond in the rough. The Wall•E plant taking root and growing on a dead earth. You liked Wall•E, didn’t you, Matt? I can tell. You look like you have a sentimental side, hidden deep beneath that rugged Oklahoman exterior.

I think I speak for all of us when I say: we respect that about you.

Which brings us to now. It’s basically the midway point of the 2009 season, and I think it’s clear to all concerned that… well, I’m not going to be kind here: you’ve been a huge disappointment. You’re hitting .275 – that’s 40 POINTS BELOW YOUR CAREER AVERAGE, which you’re bringing down every week – and your other numbers (8 HR, 40 RBI, 39 runs, 9 SB) are pedestrian. Extrapolate that across the season, and you’ve got 16 HRs, 80 RBIs, 78 runs, 18 SBs.

If you were Julio Lugo, I’d be thrilled with those numbers. Hell, if Julio Lugo had those numbers I’d lose bladder control and wet myself. But you’re not Julio Lugo. You’re Matthew Fucking Holliday, and this just ain’t gonna fly.

I don’t know if it’s gonna take a trade to bring you back to life – we’ve all read how you’re going to be a Free Agent after this season, how your performance is killing your earning potential, and how the SF Giants/STL Cardinals/everyone else in the NL is drooling at the prospect of pulling you on-board for pennies on the dollar – but I hope you won’t wait until you are delivered out of purgatory Oakland before you start acting like the Matthew Fucking Holliday we’ve all known, loved and feared as an opponent.

Please stop sucking as soon as possible.

Love,
TwoBusy

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