Monday, Feb. 05, 2007

I'll Take It!


And, here's the entry you've ALL been waiting for!

Let me take a deep breath, here...

Yay, Indy! Woo!

You know, I crack myself up, sometimes. I'm not even a Colts fan, and the way I watched the Super Bowl yesterday, if you had walked in the room you would have thought I was born wearing blue and white horseshoes. Of course, if I had stopped to think a second, I would have remembered that I'm kind of an all-or-nothing person. So, once my Steelers were out of the playoff picture for the year, the Colts were the lucky recipients of my transferred fandom energies. Lucky boys, they are.

Now, that's not to say that I've replaced my Steelers because that ain't going to happen. But I can still support and appreciate teams that do well, and host players that I enjoy. And really, I've had this soft spot for the Colts, and my mad crush on Peyton, for nine and seven years, respectively. Two back to back 3-13 seasons, and then the introduction of a fantastic, young, firecracker QB -- even my cold, hard, black heart isn't immune to a good underdog/comeback story.

And there are sentimental roots to this basic story, if not to the team -- my grandfather was a die-hard 49ers fan his whole life. He rooted for them always. He swore by them through the 70s when they really sucked eggs through a tailpipe. And then... Joe Montana. And Ronnie Lott and Roger Craig and Dwight Clark and Jerry Rice, and all the other guys that made the 49ers of the 80s into the NFL's golden boys. My grandfather thought he had died and gone to heaven, and it was so awesome to see him so happy. And, while Peyton has yet to build a career as prestigious as Montana's, his journey with the Colts over the last handful of years has some of the same elements.

Anyhow, once the game started yesterday, I was, in poker parlance, "all in". Which, of course, meant that the opening kickoff return by the Bears' Hester for a 92-yard touchdown ejected me off the couch with a hearty, "No fucking way!" hurled at the tv. Yes, Kidlet was napping and missed my sailor-esque verbal spewing.

Fortunately, the Bears didn't do much after that to elicit any more, as Spock once put it, "colorful metaphors". I did feel powerfully bad for Rex Grossman, because he looked like a lost 15 year old in a sea of dark blue jerseys, afloat on the backs of his offensive line, which was the only thing that kept him from being pounded like salt by the white froth of the Colts' defense. I will give him a testosterone point for diving after one of the many, many fumbles in yesterday's wet, raining, sloppy conditions, not seeming to think or care that he was about to be plowed flat into the turf by a collective 1200 pounds of Indy defenders. And the QBs don't even wear as many pads as the rest of the guys, but he jumped right in there with the rest and for that, I salute him. However, that said, he played football like some sort of alien had beamed down in his place, all, "This... bumpy brown object I am holding...? What is its purpose?" Bah, he's a young'un. Given a chance, he might not be half bad.

And, though I tried valiantly, I still managed to see part of Prince's halftime performance, and... good gravy on French toast. It was just as bad as I thought it would be. I mean... orange and aqua? Really? Hair tied up in my grandma's rain scarf? "Proud Mary"? Seriously? Prince, dude, you're decently good at certain things, but covering CCR classics is NOT one of them. Also, the commericals were as ridiculous as I imagined, but not to the point where I actually remembered any of them. Well, except one, and I may just stop eating Snickers bars because their commerical was just that stupid.

So, in conclusion -- yay, football! Yay Indy! But, now I heave a big sigh and settle in to read and re-read all of my NFL websites in a shallow attempt to stave off my sadness that the season's done. Fortunately, there's always something going on, even in the off season, that's interesting enough to keep me going.

saturncat at 9:44 p.m.

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