First of all, let me threaten the lives of all of the staff of my satellite provider who kept me in the dark for the first half of the Bears and Packer game. I was frantic enough to watch the Green Hornet instead.
As it turns out, screaming blue bloody murder at a low level tech, who thinks I'm calling from Odessa, Texas got me nowhere fast. After she realized she could not fix the problem, she attempted to transfer me to a supervisor and I was promptly cut off and had to re-dial and endure the same nonsense. It was early in the third quarter when I finally saw Green Bay seeming to have the game in hand until the Bears' QB Jay Cutler was knocked from the game with a knee injury. Enter Todd Collins, a seasoned veteran who looked like Homer Simpson for two plays and then was immediately benched for the third stringer. Caleb Hanie came on to lead a late charge by the Bears only to throw an ill-advised interception late in the fourth quarter to seal the fate of the Packers.
Aaron Rodgers was not the usual pinpoint passer we have come to witness, and late in the game he took a filthy shot to the head from Bears rush end Julius Peppers. This monster will no doubt be fined and face possible suspension. Rodgers did enough to win and in Chicago's frigid weather he helped the Packers to become the only NFC team in history to make it to the big dance after being seeded sixth overall.
Each of their playoff wins have been on the road and playing the Super Bowl in the cozy Dallas stadium will be like a holiday in the tropics. James Starks is emerging as the Packers lone rushing threat and wide out Greg Jennings had a great day nabbing eight balls for 130 yards. Shutting down Devin Hester, the Bear's explosive kick return specialist, was a key to victory.
I enjoyed this half of football more than any shoot out between Manning and Brady because I was able to find a station that worked. The gal I used to date didn't even have TSN let alone FOX Sports. Tell me there is a future in that kind of relationship and I'll tell you who is getting pistol whipped by an overblown female ego without a sense of how vital these games are to all of humanity.
If the wrong club loses, people end up drinking too heavily and putting up messages on Facebook that even Zuckerberg can't erase.
Women who don't love sports can focus on their own hobbies like watching reality TV and Oprah.
At halftime in the Pittsburgh/Jets game I broke out a bottle of a new Aussie red wine and began to compose this column while I checked back on my early season picks for who'd meet in the Super Bowl. Surprise, surprise.
Mendenhall looks like a tougher and faster version of LaDainian Tomlinson in his prime and had nearly 100 yards in the bank by the end of the half. LT had two carries for one yard and appears ready for those new recliners that massage everything but your naughty bits. The Jets' vaunted run defence looked porous.
Tomlinson had a Hall of Fame career, but nobody will want to see Mark Wahlberg play him in a Hollywood retrospective. Not because Wahlberg is white - he's just not a good enough actor. LT was great, but he isn't anymore. LT is as washed up as his coach is ready for liposuction.
Sure I was afraid of Brady, who wasn't? Blaming his playoff loss to a broken foot makes me nauseous. I learned to type with two fingers, do you need a foot to throw a football? Maybe. Jay Cutler may have made an argument out of that idea. I picked the Packers to go deep, just like I did the Steelers. And lookie lookie who's a bookie?
Sure the Jets made a game of it. Sanchez played well and the second half had as many exciting moments in it as the last time I let a home care nurse give me a needle. Goal-line stands, safety touches, clutch third down conversions and enough cheese and crackers to keep me from having to cook for my son. Santonio Holmes scored a TD to make it close then executed a perfect (illegal) pick play on the goal-line to allow Jeremy Cotchery to make it close. In the end, it was Big Ben making the plays when he had to and watching Jets' coach Rex Ryan throw his headset onto the frozen turf in Pittsburgh basically made my day.
I used to think that if I was stranded outside in a -40 C blizzard I could curl up in the folds of Rex Ryan's skin and easily survive in his layers. Good Lord he is easy to hate, just like his moron father before him. Buddy Ryan was an idiot who used to punch his own assistant coaches. Now his kid is about to put the local steak pit out of business - or put them on the map once the livestock population is given ample time to recover.
His blather, bluster and pompous behaviour over these past few weeks have me leaning towards sticking with my $500 North Face parka and a jug or two of this new wine, if I happen to land upside down in a ditch and need to brave the elements. As we march towards the big game, it's great that the vintners are coming up with more inspired blends of varietals than the brilliant brains that design NFL playbooks.
Who knew that Shiraz and Grenache wouldn't simply implode in your innards? Who knew who was going to the Super Bowl? Me, that's who.
