Sunday, January 19, 2014

Green Is The Grass

It is "Conference Championship Sunday" in the NFL.  Two weeks from today, more national media will descend on East Rutherford, New Jersey at any time since the last tip regarding the burial spot of Jimmy Hoffa in observance of the unofficial American holiday that is Super Bowl Sunday.  As a New York Giants fan, I have no skin (pig or otherwise) in the games today.  Given how irritating I find each to be, in the event that Jim Harbaugh's 49ers and Bill Belichick's Patriots end up facing one another in the Super Bowl I intend to root for the weather. 

There would be a certain amount of poetic justice in Pete Carroll returning to the neighborhood where his worst moment as an NFL coach occurred - Dan Marino's fake spike - to coach his team in the Super Bowl, which gives me all the reason I need to root for his Seahawks to win the NFC Championship.  I also happen to dig the manner in which the Manning family conducts its business.  A couple of seasons back, Eli led the Giants to a Super Bowl win while playing in Peyton's home field in Indianapolis.  Were Peyton to have the chance to replicate his little brother's feat two Sundays from now, it would be more than OK by me. 

If the Seahawks play the Broncos in the Super Bowl, then I hope the mayors of Seattle and Denver come up with a friendly wager on the game's outcome.  Given that Washington and Colorado have both decreed the recreational use of marijuana to be legal, how about a tractor-trailer filled with freshly-rolled Fatties be shipped from the loser to the winner immediately after the game....along with a tractor-trailer filled with freshly-baked brownies. 

The winning team's locker-room celebration will not be a champagne-stained Bacchanalia.  Instead, it will be a mellow, smoke-filled, meditative session filled with the sounds of Ravi Shankar or Bob Marley and the Wailers.  Considering Pete Carroll also appears to be moving at 1000 miles per hour, I think a little post-game smoke session might actually be good for his heart.   Running off of the field at game's end, instead of declaring his intention to travel to a Disney property, the game's MVP could shout out, "I'm going to follow Phish on their winter tour!"  

How great would it be to see Roger Goodell standing down on the field at Met Life Stadium (hopefully in the midst of a freezing rain/sleet squall) preparing to hand the Vince Lombardi Trophy to a player or coach who has a victory joint ablaze and dangling from between his lips?  The thought of that possibility might be enough to make me stay up past 11:00 PM to watch a game about which I cannot fake giving a single rat's ass.  

Not likely....

....but possible. 


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