January Sports Moments

January still remains one of my favorite months on the American sporting calendar. There are few joys greater than the high drama of the NFL playoffs. The college and professional basketballers are just hitting their stride, positioning themselves for the long and winding stretch run. The New Years Day bowl games leading up to the National Championship are always a welcome sight for sore eyes. Meanwhile, the PGA is tentatively edging itself into the collective subconscious with promises of Masters brilliance once the snow lifts for good in April. In baseball, we’ve got pitchers and catchers reporting in one month, signifying the start of my favorite season of all. Then, of course, there is a wonderful absence of NASCAR highlights on the morning Sportscenter (Greg Biffle and Matt Kenseth don’t like each other! Let’s settle this with more circles!). There is a lot to get excited about.

I’ll grant you, March and September are fine sports months. But neither hold the expectation, the raw and genuine emotion that a January can provide: ACC hoops action... Lambeau Field in the driving snow... The final percolations of the Hot Stove League... So, in honor of this fabulous month (and also because I’m trying to kill time before the first NFL game today), I’m going to countdown a personal recollection of the Top Four January Sports Moments that I can remember.

4.) January 28th, 2007 – Virginia Cavaliers vs. #17 Clemson Tigers




This game occurred during a 7-game winning streak for the Wahoos during ACC play last year. I don’t care if it’s a down year, that is damn impressive in a conference that regularly trounces the Big Ten each December. What made it more impressive was that Virginia was down 63-49 with 5:05 left in the game. They scored the final 15 points to win 64-63. I’ve always appreciated scrappy teams that played over their heads at times and earned their stripes, the 2006-07 Virginia Men’s Basketball team was one such animal. Sean Singletary for president. That is all.





3.) January 15th, 2005: Chicago Bulls vs. New York Knicks.

This was the season that my beloved Bulls started out 0-9 with rookies Ben Gordon and Luol Deng playing significant minutes. This was also my first year out of college, so I could closely watch what I thought was a promising team. I remember watching the first game of the season (an OT thriller against the Nets) in my empty apartment, getting chills during the player introductions and being pleasantly surprised with the young core of players we had built. This was back in the time when the Bulls were still considered absolute trash, not even worth following by hometown "fans". I remember telling people the following week that this was the best 0-5 team in NBA history… and meaning it. I got a lot of furrowed brows and comments such as "You still watch the Bulls?". Most of my friends and acquaintances stayed away, but I followed this tenacious and hard nosed team through the doldrums of winter and into the new year with a religious devotion. By the time New Years Day rolled around, we had a 9-17 record. Certainly respectable considering how we started the season, but nothing had prepared even the most devoted fan for the January that was about to unfold. After the dust settled, the Chicago Bulls finished the month 13-3 and had climbed back above .500 for the first time in February since the Jordan years. They finished the season 47-35. I cite the January 15th game because my buddy Shawn and I went to this matinee at the UC and were treated to an exceptional finish that will always be with me. We were sitting in the second row mere feet away from where Tyson Chandler started going nuts after the final buzzer. One of the best regular season games I’ve ever seen in person considering the context:





2.) January 21st, 2007 – Chicago Bears vs. New Orleans Saints

I’ve already gone into just how perfect this game was from a Chicago fans POV, so I’ll spare you the recap. Needless to say, there are few things as rewarding as watching your childhood team wind down the clock as a Superbowl looms in the distance. This being said, I’m officially riding shotgun on the Green Bay Packers bandwagon after one of the most amazing playoffs games I’ve ever seen. I say, let’s keep the NFC title in the Norris Division for one more year. Benny, you have my full support.




1.) January 4th, 2005 – Ryno makes it into the Hall



Ryne Sandberg was the greatest second-baseman of his era. He was an All-Star from 1984-1993. He won nine Gold Gloves from 1983-1991. He won seven Silver Slugger awards and, the crown jewel, the NL MVP in 1984. He was a tremendous player and an even better role model. When I heard that he was inducted into the Hall of Fame, I jumped with an honest joy. This man will forever be a hero.

I will always remember a game against the Pirates when I was ten years old. Barry Bonds hit a go-ahead homerun in the late innings and, as it sailed over the fence, he stopped, admired it, flipped his bat, twirled and slowly trotted around the bases. Ryno got up the next inning and hit the eventual game winning homer deep into the Pittsburgh night. He simply put his head down and ran the bases like a true professional. Ryno taught me more about class and respect than any teacher ever could.

When I heard his Hall-of-Fame speech, I cried. I cried because it was perfect. If you haven’t had the privilege, here is a transcript and the audio. It chills the baseball loving part of you to the core.

Respect.

MLB and NFL collide

My favorite part about mid-August is the striking dissemblance between pennant race baseball and preseason football. I've spent the last 4 ½ months completely absorbed in the MLB landscape (with minor hiccups being the Bulls playoff run, Shark Week and the twelve hours I boycotted the Cubs after they fell to 22-31 on June 2nd) to the point where I'm lost without at least 10 minutes of boxscore perusal a day. My brain is all queued up with baseball knowledge just waiting for the appropriate conversation "in" so I can release my thoughts on topics such as why Sweet Lou left Clifford Floyd in to bat with RISP during the late innings of a recent game against a lefty pitcher with nobody warming up in the pen, then subbed Matt Murton in defensively for Floyd the very next inning anyway. Cliff has an .285 OBP against lefties over the last 3 years compared to Matty’s robust .404 OBP (not to mention a .916 OPS) against southpaws. I usually bring these thoughts up in front of attractive women who I've just met, so as to remove even the infinitesimal chance of me seeing them naked.

At this point, the crack of the bat is therapeutic with every shot in the gap representing a step closer (possibly) to playoff greatness. The psychology of an early advantage is now recognized and acknowledged with the proper perspective, aided by a vast catalogue of data on how each team augments, keeps or (in the Brewers case) painfully forfeits a lead. For every fan who still has a team in the ring with a punchers chance, September baseball looms large...

...But wait. Madden 08 is hitting stores tomorrow... and... brace yourself... they've tweaked it slightly and made some minor changes... which appear to... IMPROVE ON LAST YEAR'S VERSION!?!?! Wait a second, is that... is that John Facenda I hear in the distance? Holy crap, the NFL preseason is here! Please excuse my sloppy laughter, I'm eternally giddy right now at the possibilities. This is all too much for me right now... Is it O.K. if I break down in tears when those NFC Champion Bears take the field? Now you're telling me there's more? Fantasy football drafts for the next three weekends? Fine, I'm doing a manual shutdown of my brain. I can't juggle my love for NL Central drama with the NFC Norris reset to all square. It's like simultaneously starting your favorite book while watching the final thirty minutes of your favorite movie (only for some reason you have selective amnesia and you aren’t aware of the greatness of either yet).

On second thought, what the hell:

The Cubbies bats have recently become ice cold (with the exceptions of Jacque Jones, Jason Kendall, Matt Murton and Mark DeRosa) and key injuries (Soriano and Ramirez) are slowing the offensive surge that was the cornerstone of the successful two previous months. Our starters have a combined 5.86 ERA for the month of August and our "closer" has given up 5 ER in his last 6 IP. All this being said, I'm not worried. We're only a 1 ½ behind the first place Brewers despite playing hapless baseball the last 10 days. Baseball is cyclical, after all, and for that reason I see both teams (the Brewers and Cubs) priming themselves for a furious finish. Shitty baseball happens. The character of a strong team endures.

The Bears look (on paper) like a much improved offensive team. Greg Olson will be a top flight tight end for the next ten years. Benson is a strong, tough-nosed runner with depth behind him (Adrian Peterson and Garrett Wolfe, trust me on this one) and a chip on his shoulder. Muhsin Mohammed, Bernard Berrian, Mark Bradley and Rasheed Davis make up a receiving crops that had the lowest percentage of dropped passes in the entire NFL last year. An experienced O-line that has played together for a few seasons, anchored by 5-time Pro Bowl Center Olin Kreutz. For good measure, we'll have Devin Hester running around causing havoc... and we have a quarterback as well... a couple of them, I think. Mix that in with another stingy defense and even with a tough schedule I could see another January game in Soldier Field this year.

At this point, I’m exceedingly optimistic. I'm just waiting for Ben to rain on my parade with his "Prince Fielder/Brett Favre underdogs of greatness" rant in which he bashes Chicago sports fans for being self-important on a level that rivals Bostonians in their obnoxiousness. But because I shudder at the thought of Chris Farley being compared to Jimmy Fallon on any level, I'm going to move on. It only seems logical that with the sports world at the apex of events right now that I'm venturing east this Friday for a long weekend in Hoboken with my esteemed colleague, Benny C. The roughly 57 hours I'll be there will be spent having multiple sessions of Madden 2008, EPL games with Irish breakfasts, Father/Son-like Folgers moments "having a catch", a fantasy football draft and, of course, NHL 94 on Genesis. If Ben still has a girlfriend after she witnesses this condensed version of "UVA Ben and AK" replete with malt liquor and bum wine, then she gets my complete and encompassing respect and blessing.

92 hours and counting...

Remembering Mr. Jones

Thomas Jones has gotten a bum rap during his three year stay in the city of Big Shoulders and now he's gone. For all the "good riddance" people out there, you're all idiots. You'll all feel the pinch of those words come fall. You have no idea what we just lost.

I know I'm a little biased here because of my Virginia ties, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. I remember the day in early 2004 when T.J. inked a deal with the Bears, I was excited because I thought we got a real, genuine piece of the puzzle. Jones came out of UVa a polished specimen, finishing 5th (I think) in Heisman voting and carrying the weight of gigantic expectations. He split carries in Arizona and had some gawd-awful blocking during his first three forgettable seasons. But he showed signs in Tampa Bay and I knew from watching him in college that this was the REAL Thomas Jones. Now, when we signed him after the 2003 season, we were a laughing stock. Kordell Stewart's swan song was so excruciating to watch that when an ancient Chris Chandler filled in for him it was a breath of fresh air. THAT'S how bad we were. Rex Grossman was on his first injury and our offense was the most unstable thing at Soldier Field since Bryan Cox used to stalk the sidelines, spewing sound bytes, angling for a sportstalk radio gig once his lackluster playing days were up.

So anyway, Jones came in and did exactly what was asked of him. Averaged 4.0-plus yards per carry in his first season, blocked, caught passes, kept his nose clean. He split carries with a fading Anthony Thomas but still managed to show his meddle, just missing 1,000 yards. Now, after this first year is when they released A-Train and drafted Cedric Benson. Considering the fact that Jones had more receptions than the Bears leading wideout (David Terrell, 42 rec, 699 yards, 1 TD), I thought it seemed logical to grab a bookend WR to compliment the offseason acquisition of Muhsin Mohamed. But Bears GM Jerry Angelo went ahead and nabbed Benson with the 4th overall pick. It would be one thing if T.J. was in the twilight of his effectiveness, but he was just rounding into his prime. How the fuck are you supposed to respond to that? Well, Jones responded by having two hard running seasons, eclipsing 1,200 yards for the first time in his career. All the while, his job was precariously balanced on the whim of an organization who hasn't drafted a worthwhile running back since Neal Anderson in 1986. It was a lose-lose situation from that point on. Concede carries to Benson and he does well, people will want you gone. Concede carries to Benson and he flounders, then we're spending too much on a back-up and Jones should be scaled back until Benson finds his groove. Don't believe me? Both those things happened. During Benson's first year in 2005, after the rookie holds out all of training camp and then injuries his leg, Jones picks up the slack. He runs for 1,335 yards and 9 Tds while defenses stack the box, tempting Kyle Orton to throw the ball. Fans wonder why we invested in Benson in the first place, Angelo implores us to give "the future" some time. What about our present? Well, that happened last season. Benson came on and many jumped on that bandwagon, completely forgetting the seasoned running back that moved aside to make a Super Bowl run not only feasible, but entirely possible.

Critics say he wasn't a team player because he sat out camp before the season claiming he wasn't happy about his contract, his role on the team. I say, damn right. We treated him (as an organization) without any loyalty or respect. We took him for granted. We made it difficult to keep him by the steps that were taken. On a related note, two time Pro-Bowler Lance Briggs said earlier this week, "The Chicago Bears team? The coaches, players, city and fans? Yeah, I could stay there forever. I love it. But the Chicago Bears organization? I don't want to be there anymore. I won't play for them and I'll do everything in my power to keep from playing there." The funny thing was, after the Superbowl, I was waiting to see what happened with these two guys because I was either going to get a Jones or Briggs jersey for next year.

Bottomline, Cedric Benson has big shoes to fill and I hope he’s up for it. This isn't open mic night at the Bryn Mawr student union, this is running back for the NFC Champion Chicago Bears. You leave your ego at the door and you tote that football with all the fury of a runaway locomotive because that's how it's been done here for decades. Defense and running the football. Running the football and defense. At this point last week, I was comfortable with that premise. Now? I'm hoping on hope. A place no fan wants to be.

We'll miss you Thomas Jones.

Go Hoos.

The Quiet after the Storm: The 2006 Chicago Bears

I was watching the second half of the Bulls/Jazz game last night by myself when my eye wandered to the clock on the wall. The symmetry was too obvious not to note, for it was exactly 24 hours since the Bears had lost Superbowl XLI. I sunk down in my chair to take an inventory, to surmise the pain. It seemed strange because I still felt reasonably normal (save for some minor pangs of sadness that another NFL season was over, but I get that every year) and whatever emotional letdown I originally expected wasn't yet taking hold. It was an odd sensation because here I was treating this sub zero Chicago Monday like any other, when all other indicators pointed to it being the saddest day in recent memory. Sure, I was experiencing some denial and participating in some mild aversion therapy (I holler obscenities at myself every time I instinctually turn on ESPN when channel surfing ) but I didn't expect to be able to stave off the heavy heart a diehard is supposed to carry on "the day after". My presumptions led me to believe that a loss would send shocks through the body - an unholy alliance of bitterness, rage, sorrow, hopelessness and disappointment. However, that wasn't the case...

I watched the game with some of my best friends. We had deep dish pizzas and wings. We took shots of SoCo and lime. We listened to the Power and the Glory music from NFL Films. We were bundles of nervous drunken energy by the time the game started... before Devin Hester made our initial worries fade to black. Peyton threw a pick on third and long and we're slugging beers and smacking fives. Now, we all know what happened after that, so I'm not going to get into it... rather than what happened, I was more influenced by how I watched what happened. Having everything unfold the way it did with those very special people is what I will remember the most. The familiar banter. The outright booing at lame commercials. The optimistic women in the room trying to cheer up the devastated stone-faced men after another Grossman fumble/interception. The halftime show that had nothing to do with Prince. The knowing looks at a best friend when things started to slip away, finally retiring to the back porch to grab a quick smoke once the unfortunate became the inevitable, not commiserating but simply enjoying the buzz and the company and the night.

Am I only kidding myself? Downplaying the importance to save face? Hiding behind the "good friends, good times" rap when I should be drafting an open letter and finding a length of rope? Perhaps, but I’m not entirely sure that's how I feel right now, nor do I see it playing out that way around the bend. For some perspective, I was physically ill when the Cubbies got bounced in 1989 and 2003 (not so much 1998 for some reason). I cried when the Bulls broke up after the 1998 season. I'm used to extremely visceral reactions when it comes to these matters because that's what I think I choose to feel. It seems to somehow validate how I felt about it all along. For instance, when you break up with someone very important it can be a tremendously traumatic experience. You can mope around and beat yourself up and dig into that shoebox of photos OR you can take a few days get your act together before getting a head full of Jack Daniels and zeroing in on a rebound "encounter" that will surely find its way back to your ex. Either way, you deal with the pain in your own way. As time passes, you learn how to cope better and better once you've been through the wringer a few times. I think that's where I am right now. The way I see it, the seven-game series structure in baseball and basketball is a continual "on-edge" experience. If your team blazes a trail into the championship round, the playoffs are no longer enjoyable. It highjacks your life for weeks on end and turns you into a perpetual ball of worry, a bi-polar junkie for W's. Football is great because of its finality. One game. Sixty minutes. Heroes and goats are made in an afternoon. Then it's over. You can pick up the pieces much easier because there isn't as much to internalize...

This brings me back to the Bulls/Jazz game from last night. The CSN microphones were picking up EVERYTHING one Utah fan was saying. He was obnoxious, loud and consistently unfunny. "Hinrich! You gotta rash on your leg!" or "Deng sucks!" were heard over every lull in the action to the point where Red and Stinky Stace would sporadically acknowledge him during the broadcast. As the Jazz began to pull away in crunch time (we coulda really used Nocioni for matchup purposes down the stretch) I began to do my own fan profiling on this guy. He sounded around my age, probably Mormon (just kidding), obviously drunk (I hope for his sake) and somewhat diehard. Although the camera's never spotted him, I pictured him with a Jeff Hornacek jersey and matted hair. I'm guessing hygiene issues and verbal ticks kept him from meaningful relationships. He probably has a laundry list of phobias highlighted by, but not limited to, self-control and self-discovery. Then I started to think about what his likes and dislikes are... and things began to snap into focus. He HATES the Bulls. For me, this is just another game on a West coast roadtrip - Sonics, Trailblazers, Warriors, Jazz, etc. For this guy, it's probably much more. He certainly still remembers the sting of Jordan's Flu Game. His Airness and his Game 6 heroics. The tired pain of back-to-back basketball seasons ending on the ultimate stage to the same foe. Having two Hall of Famers submit to two better Hall of Famers. It's just the breaks sometimes. When it comes down to sports, I've had my joy and I keep it alive everytime I pop in a DVD. That's not to say I'm ever going to celebrate Peyton Manning (or Will Clark or Pudge Rodriguez for that matter), but I can take solace that the better team won. And that happens. Nothing will change.

So as long as I get to the point where I'm not choking on my own rage during a regular season Bears/Colts game in 2017, I think I will come out of this thing alright...

Swaying with the Cold

The weather in Chicago is bleak these days. Supposedly we're looking at single digit highs for the next week with a wind chill factor dropping to overnight lows beyond repair. I can't complain because it's been so unseasonably warm until this point, but the sting of winter never becomes comfortable no matter how hard-nosed you pride yourself in being. Previously short walks unravel into physical tests of fortitude. So with this cold settling in for the foreseeable future, I search out the warm spots in my mind. The Superbowl dream. I tug at my jacket as I breathe deep, chest swelling in and out, the lake effect howling through buildings smacking my rosy cheeks. Reasonable Doubt bumping through my ear buds as my pockets are the only sanctuary for my unsure hands. Walking down Michigan Ave past the Hancock, quick strides, Bears hat pulled low. I see the soul of a city on the brink. Chicago Bears mania has caught hold. I ride the EL and overhear three black gentlemen acting as if someone has spit in their respective faces. They're talking about the seven point spread for four stops before they get off. A father gives his Bears-clad son a piggyback ride down Rush Street. Office lights are strategically left on all night, breathing life into the skyline. Big, bushy, glorious mustaches are on every corner. Screenings of Superbowl XX have been happening all week at bars far and near. Cubs and White Sox fans hook arms around shoulders, forgetting subscribed summertime affiliations. Three days until Super Sunday...

...more to come.

The Day After...

Since there will be two weeks of non-stop coverage for Super Bowl XLI and it seems entirely possible that it could drive me absolutely insane, I figured I’d just say a couple things now and just do my best to put it out of mind until Feburary 4th. So this is all I’m going to write about the Bears until then. I’m obviously excited. I’m obviously grateful. I’m also obviously going to grow a mustache for the Big Game. These are givens. But what seems just out of reach, what I can’t really wrap my mind around is how everything went down the way it did. The sack on Brees as the fumble squirted down the field. Robbie Gould making things count. Reggie Bush taunting Urlacher before leaping into the endzone. The Safety. The snow falling as it began to sink in. Bernard Berrian rolling backwards into a touchdown. Everything about it is crystalized in my memory. The most complete Sunday afternoon of them all.

I decided to watch the game over at Bauer’s place a couple of blocks away. I figured in the event that we lost, I could just turn my phone off and sulk back to my place, turn off the lights and remain in the fetal position for a few days. On Sunday morning, I woke up at 7:30am and just watched the snow fall for about an hour. Silent. It was possibly the most anxious I’ve ever felt when I didn’t have something important I was actually going to be doing (after all, I’d just be sitting and drinking for the lion’s share of the day). So even though I only got 5 hours of sleep, I felt good. Ready. As I brushed my teeth, I turned on the radio and I’m informed of these three facts: The Bears have practiced all week outdoors. The Saints have practiced all week indoors. It’s going to be 20 degrees at kickoff with high probabilities for snow and freezing rain. I watched my Bears 85 tape and did some breathing exercises. I played Madden. Virtual Grossman looked ready. That was a good enough sign for me.

To be honest, the actual game felt like a lucid dream. It felt like it took 30 minutes to play even though my mind knows it took much longer, the same way a dream plays with your ability to accurately recall time once you wake up. I was emotionally drained after the final seconds ticked off the clock. I spent the next hour flipping between the Pats/Colts game and the Bears Postgame show. Nothing seemed real. I had a head full of good beer and bourbon and a couch to myself. I melted into the moment. After Asante Samuel did a pick-6 to put the Patriots up 21-3 before the end of the half I began to nod off. I dreamt about a Super Bowl XX rematch and how great it would be to vanquish New England again. To roll them up again, a lot to a little. To stamp out the dynasty once and for all. To put an end to the well documented Brady/Belichick big game genius party. I woke up in the 4th quarter to a tie ballgame, rubbed my eyes and then watched the Colts finish ‘em off.

So here I am, a day later. Still not sure what to do with myself. And now I gotta grow a healthy aversion for Peyton Manning out of a pre-existing casual indifference. It’s really too bad. He seems like such a nice fella in all those commercials. Such is life.
Go Bears.

America's Team lives in Chicago

Alright. Friday is finally here and I can't hold back any longer. I've spent that last five days pacing around my studio apartment slowly going insane. The Bears are about to play in their most important game since I was 8 years old and I've tried everything to distract myself. I wrote about the Seahawks game to take my mind off it. I've watched every Bulls game this week for good measure. I've surrounded myself with friends every night (when I'm usually most comfortable just relaxing by myself with a movie most nights). I promised myself I wouldn't listen to sportstalk radio, but found it decidedly impossible. Now, just 48 hours until "The Game"... I think I can finally talk about it.

I am so sick and tired of hearing about how shitty a quarterback Rex Grossman is. He's not shitty, he's INCONSISTENT. That's what happens when you're still green (one full season under his belt), have a great deep ball but not great decision making with underneath throws and you play in an icebox with swirling wind. He's not Joe Montana or John Elway, but he’s also not Rick Mirer or Jim Miller. But that's the beautiful thing about the media scrutiny facing NFL quarterbacks, it's unapologetic and mostly for shit. The media has an agenda of turning fresh faces into football royalty after only 4 or 5 games. Just this season we had Tony Romo, Phillip Rivers and Rex Grossman. Each have good-to-great defenses, strong running games and solid coaching staffs. Um, can we hold off on the Hall of Fame comparisons? You know, just until something happens.

I almost fell off my barstool when John Madden compared a Rex Grossman TD pass on Sunday Night Football against the Seahawks as, "Something a young Brett Farve woulda thrown". IT WAS WEEK FUCKING FOUR!!! STOP COMPARING HIM TO FUTURE HALL OF FAMERS!!! I'm a huge stickler for this when it comes to hoops. I'm OK with an announcer saying a play or performance was "Jordan-esque", but under no circumstance can you directly compare the two. It's reckless. It creates unnatural expectations. And it's exactly what happened to Rex this year.

I suppose I should be a little more game specific and not bitch and rehash old sentiments, but I think it ties in nicely with how I feel about the upcoming game. For as much attention as the Saints get on offense, what gets a little lost is their defense. They allowed 128.9 yards a game on the ground this year. In their division, only the Falcons had a decent running game (and I stress decent). They’re just numbers, I know. But here's what I feel. The Bears have gotten over that hump and finally won their first home playoff game since the Ditka years. They have a very formidable one-two punch of their own in the backfield and a quarterback that loves dropping the deep ball into the soft hands of speedy receivers on rushing downs. If the Bears can successfully establish a running game, I think the field opens up for Rex and that makes a huge difference for him. Spot the Bears defense a ten point lead in the second half and I’m supremely confident, no matter who they line up against.

So, after some reflection. I think Rex will have a good game (230 yards, 2 TDs, 1 INT) and Urlacher and Co. will do the rest. Bears 31, Saints 17.

Lovie-fest?

Others would have you believe that Chicago is the capital of the sports universe.

We haven't set foot outside of the Loop in the infancy of this blog. Honestly, it's hard to argue this when the Bears are hosting their first National Football Conference championship game since Springsteen's Born in the U.S.A. topped the Billboard charts. And no, I'm not gonna DOOO, what you think I'm gonna DOOO, and discuss what it felt like the last time the Packers hosted the game.

I can't blame the kid. There's nothing quite like carrying the knowledge that one home game separates the [insert your favorite here] from an immediate opportunity to compete for a prize as coveted as the Vince Lombardi Trophy. The first two days after the divisional round is still a time for accepting tangibility and reality of the damn thing. Then, more and more, you find yourself visiting that place in your conscious thought. You retreat to the depths of your mind, nurture those feelings. Caress them. Without knowing how, by the time Thursday evening, you've transformed from Smaegol to Gollum. The thoughts consume the entirety of your being. Your constant companion.

It is in the throes of this remarkable transformation that my counterpart communicated to me a phrase that crystallized what a Chicago Bears fan, any Chicago Bears fan, is sensing at 4:08 p.m. on Wednesday, the 17th day of January, 2007: "I meditate a lot to forget about the physical realm."

Where you must mentally prepare for any result, except a tie. "A tie," the AOL Instant Messenger prophesied "is unacceptable."

Cold reason alternatively competing with the essence of irrationality. Or maybe it is the other way around.

I envy completely such a football fan.

That said, Chicago, this Sunday the New Orleans Saints will be the Copernicus to your Aristotle. And you thought this blog was going to continue to be a strange combination of "Tuesdays with Morrie", "Field of Dreams", and "Fever Pitch" (the movie that sullied a World Series 86 years in the making).

He is the Walrus

I haven't always loathed the Seattle Seahawks. In fact, some of my earliest memories of watching football involved the gun slinging and entirely likable underdogs of the AFC West led by Dave Kreig, Steve Largent, and Curt Warner. My Pop Warner team was even nicknamed the Seahawks.

Notwithstanding any residual nostalgia of my youth, it's been personal since January 8, 1999.

It's not about the decision to transform their uniforms into something that is FUBAR. It's not about their post-realignment move to the NFC. It's not about pawning off one of the most cherished college football traditions as their own (in a stadium named after a horizontally integrated communications company in the Pacific Northwest, no less). It's certainly not about Matt Hasselbeck (bless his soul, the act isn't even comical anymore, its just irritating at this point).

The YouTube video featured in a previous post may actually have a little to do with it.

But mostly, the seminal event of my hatred is the day that Mike Holmgren resigned as head coach of the Green Bay Packers to accept a position as Head Coach/General Manager/Vice President of Football Operations with the Seahawks. I think they even threw in some canned sardines and a belly rub.

I know, I know. I'm well aware of the depth of my ingratitude. After all, the man put the "Title" back into Titletown, USA.

The one thing that I can't and won't ever forgive is the opportunity to make the Packers of the late 20th Century a historically significant team. Instead, we became the flock without a shepherd. He abandoned us. He abandoned Brett Favre at the peak of his remarkable career. He is directly responsible for the appointment of Mike Sherman as the Packers general manager (I have no doubt the Packers brass did this to spite Holmgren after his departure).

I remember his return to Lambeau Field the following season on a Monday Night in November. To see him on the opposing sideline, wearing another team's colors, is something that still, almost eight years later, induces mild nausea. The Packers were soundly beaten that night, 27-7, in a fitting summation of what it was like to have Ray Rhodes holding the clipboard.

"See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly."

It is for this that I delight in their failures (see: Holmgren's embarrassing post-Super Bowl tirade at the refs). I actively pull for their opponent every week of the season. Even this week, I back our oldest rivals, the Bears. This Sunday, I look forward to watching a wide-open Jerramy Stevens drop perfectly thrown passes. I will toast Brian Urlacher when he separates Matt Hasselbeck's helmet from his head. And I applaud any Bears fan that embarks to Soldier Field and brings with them fresh mackerel and chum. Mike might get hungry on the plane ride back to the aquarium...umm...Seattle.

Matt Hasselbeck and the Hawks: Assclowns on Parade

I chose to jump off with this clip (which I watch at least twice a day to pile on my contempt for the Seahawks) because Benny and I have some common ground here. We both think Matt Hasselbeck is a huge Sally. Now, as a quarterback, he's entirely adequate. He had a career year in 2005 because Shaun Alexander was stacking up touchdowns, kicking down doors and smacking babies at they Christening. But I feel like people forget this because LDT one-upped him this year for the season TD record and Alexander struggled with injuries. The point is, Hasselbeck was picking apart each secondary he faced because that's what they were giving him. Eight men in the box, stop the TD machine, make Hasselbeck beat us. And it happened to the tune of a 13-3 season.

Thing is, that was LAST YEAR. This is a hugely inferior team to the one they put on the field just 12 months ago. Honestly, they limp into the playoffs (losing 3 of 4 including a loss to division rival 49ers AT HOME) and win their Wild Card game on a flub. And while it's a wonderful story that they went to the Super Bowl last year, I seriously doubt running out two hobbled wideouts and handing the ball off to Alexander 50 times on Sunday is going to advance them down the road. In conclusion, Hasselbeck is wildly overrated even though he "wants the ball and he's gunna score".