I happen to like Peyton Manning, so I wasn’t rooting for the Saints on Sunday. But watching them celebrate on the field, watching the fans celebrate back in New Orleans, it became apparent how much they mean to so many people. And I started to think about what their victory means to me.
Peyton Manning
Hit me with your best shot: SportsAngle’s uninformed Super Bowl pick
I wanted to write something about the Super Bowl because, well, it’s the Super Bowl. I was thinking some predictions and whatnot, maybe a little analysis thrown in for good measure. But I’ve immediately hit a brick wall.
The problem is that this can tend to sort of be a niche site, and football isn’t really a part of my niche. If this were the Super Bowl of horror movies, or the Super Bowl of high school basketball – which, uh, I’m actually going to next week – then I wouldn’t have a problem. But it’s not. It’s the Super Bowl of football.
The Afternoon After: Low frequency, high quality – NFL on radio a treat
Here are some reactions to this weekend’s football action, a little belated because of a rare vacation to the Jersey Shore, where I didn’t actually have Internet access. As such, I missed out on a lot of people complaining about the Mets’ inability to sign Jon Garland, of all people. It was bliss.
I’ve always been a radio guy, dating back to my high school days of calling the WFAN overnight shows, which actually provided a distinct preview of my sleeping habits later on. I later had the privilege of hosting my own sports and heavy-metal music shows – I was far better with sports given that I actually know very little about heavy-metal music.
The Afternoon After: Greatness randomly pays a visit to Houlihan’s
Here’s my weekly look at the week’s football action. I’ll reiterate as always that I don’t claim to have any particular insight into the game itself.
As has become my usual policy, I took in the early games at Houlihan’s, a stone’s throw from Giants Stadium. I’ve become quite a fan of their “tuna wontons,†and it’s a laid back way to go out to watch the games without dealing with a bunch of screaming maniacs.
Right after the 1 p.m. games ended, I noticed an enormous man who looked markedly like Lawrence Taylor across the bar. When I got a little closer, there was no question that one of the greatest football players of all time had shown up at my new Sunday haunt, fresh off receiving an ovation at the 50-yard line at his former team’s final game at Giants Stadium.
The Afternoon After: Falcons paying for feeding into Curse of 370
Here are my thoughts after another Sunday spent at Houlihan’s, which was once again a good time – the tuna wontons continue to deliver, and they actually remembered from two weeks ago what beer I preferred and told me to “come back soon.†I believe I just may be ready to make the jump… to regular. Stay tuned.
With players getting bigger over the years as conditioning and science dictate, and the crushing hits getting ever more debilitating, the days of one running back carrying the mail have wound down – with a few notable exceptions. (Basically just Chris Johnson, who avoids contact by breaking untouched touchdown runs all the time, and Adrian Peterson)
The Atlanta Falcons are a perfect example of why.
The Afternoon After: Staring down defeat the best way to learn to win
Lots to talk about this week. Let’s get right into it.
As the Saints and Colts chase perfection, they’re doing it in a different fashion than the Patriots two years ago, and that’s probably a good thing, as they’re experiencing adversity.
The Afternoon After: All-day football bonanza proves good for the soul
After a one-week respite, let’s get this party started. Hope all had an excellent holiday weekend.
Back in the day, before I had a job that caused me to work most Sundays and get up not before 1 in the afternoon, Football Sunday had a tremendous meaning in my week. Namely, it was a day I could completely devote to the supreme American pastime of drinking beer, eating fried foods at a sports bar and immersing myself in an entire day of watching overgrown men crash into each other. I started this tradition in high school – minus, of course, the beer.
Of course, times change. As I said, I generally work on Sundays, and I sometimes get up after the games actually begin. I rarely drink, and it’s even more rare that I eat fried foods. I generally don’t like watching sports with loud fans around me. And it had been several years since I had given over nearly an entire day to watch football.
Until yesterday.
The Afternoon After: Despite scrutinized decision, all good in the hoodie
I’ll be honest, football took a real back seat for me over the weekend behind boxing and basketball. But let’s give it a go. Consider this one to be “two afternoons after.†As a result, short update this week.
When someone who’s generally regarded as an unlikable genius makes a decision that simply doesn’t work out, the natural instinct is to jump all over the opportunity to pan him. That’s exactly what happened to Bill Belichick this past Sunday.
I’m here to tell you that I had no problem with his decision to let The Great Brady attempt to complete a two-yard pass to win the game on 4th and 2. I thought it was the right move.
The Afternoon After: More than revenge, Favre gets personal vindication
Here are my thoughts on the week’s football games after a busy weekend – hope all had an excellent Halloween. (Mine was pretty stellar)
I don’t like writing about what everyone else is, but what can I say about Brett Favre? I’ve lamented in the past that I’m sick of the guy, and that I don’t think he can get the job done anymore. I may have to back off at least one of those stances.
The afternoon after: Peyton reigns in late chapters of tale of two QBs
Here’s my weekly look at the weekend’s football games. Remember: I don’t claim to actually know anything substantive about the sport.
A few years back, Peyton Manning and Tom Brady were the unquestioned kings of a sport in which quarterbacks are put on a pedestal. They were two golden gods with golden arms, leaders of men that handled thundering herds of massive men with a deft sidestep and a flick of their powerful wrists.