Super Bowl Report, Part III

A few hours later I found myself wondering down the strip clutching the tickets I had from the Sports Book. I was sad, depressed, let down, confused, hurt, and frustrated.

How did this happen?

How did the Bears manage to let that homo Peyton Manning beat them?

What happened to our vicious Defense?

What the fuck is up with Rex?

I tossed the $500 worth of paper into the night sky and kept walking.

“Fucking losers,” I said softly to my companion. “I can’t believe it.”

Just then a group of Colts fans passed by screaming and jumping on each other.

“That was supposed to be us,” he said.

As we walked I kept replaying the game. The first quarter we looked like all stars, like there was no way that the Colts could touch us. Then everything went to hell. The Bears team that took the field in the second half couldn’t have been the same group of guys. I think the band beat them with their tubas and trombones in the locker room and took their uniforms. It was a pathetic showing.

They had managed to embarrass them selves, their coaches, and the entire City of Chicago.

And I wanted to point a finger so badly, but couldn’t find a distinct place to direct it.

Grossman played like shit…like he did for the majority of the second half of the season. He botched two snaps, threw two lame duck passes that were easy pick offs. The kid continued to make bad decisions and showed the world that he doesn’t have IT. Yes, I know even some of the very greatest quarterbacks in the history of the game have had some dismal first seasons, and by rights, this is Rex’s first season, but they all had something that Rex doesn’t. They all showed a glimmer of hope, that they understand the game and how to play it. Grossman didn’t show it all season, and without a doubt, didn’t even come close in the Super Bowl. He looked like a deer in headlights in the pocket, refused to scramble, threw terrible passes, and over all made some horrible decisions.

But the offensive line couldn’t block anyone. And Ron Turner made some questionable calls.

And the great Bears defense? How about stopping the Colts on a 3rd and 8? They gave Peyton Manning every pass underneath to defend the deep ball, and he picked them apart. They never made a single adjustment. Never got any pressure on Manning. Tackled like shit.

By the time we got back to the hotel, I had pegged my scapegoat.

Lovie Smith.

Yes, I had blamed this loss on the head coach. He stood by and watched this game get away from his team. He didn’t react to anything Indy did as a unit, didn’t change one aspect of his game. He looked like Dusty Baker on the sidelines.

I was so pissed off and still hung over from the night before I headed back to the room. Before I knew it we were both sleeping. It was 9:30 pm.

Super Bowl Report, Part II

I’ll spare you the graphic details of the following morning. I will however put it to you like this; my stomach felt as if it contained two wolverines that were in the midst of some instinctive mating ritual where males battle to the death for the right to impregnate the female. And my head felt like one of Bonham’s drums, the pounding was constant and even had a rhythm you could tap your foot to.

I woke around noon to my room mate walking through the door and announcing there was a lengthy line at the Sports Book. He was counting his tickets.

I quickly showered and headed downstairs to place my bets, but when I entered the Book the manager came over the speaker announcing the system was down.

“Ah Fuck!” The short, fat man in front of me announced. He was wearing a Colts’ jersey.

“Easy pal,” I assured him. “There’s still plenty of time for you to place your losing bet. Your boys are going down. I hate your quarterback, and so does eveyone else outside of Indy. He looks like a Special.”

“Get fucked, buddy” he replied with a smile.

Before our conversation could get carried away the speakers boomed once again, with the manager announcing the system was back up.

I approached the big haired lady behind the counter and announced my bets, peeling off a handful of crisp, clean, fresh $100 bills.

“Good luck sir,” she said as she handed me my tickets.

“Don’t need it lady, this one’s a sure thing.”

___________________________________

Twenty minutes later we were in the Colosseum Ballroom at Caesars. There were projection screens on every wall, tables of 10 everywhere, a buffet spread lining the room, and a sports book at the entry way just incase you needed to place a last minute bet. We met up with our group, the same people we had met the previous evening for dinner, and discussed who placed what bets.

“I got Hester 5 to 1 to return a kickoff or a punt,” one of them boasted as he passed the ticket my way.

“Not a bad bet, but the real money is Hester to score the first touchdown of the game. It’s 50 to 1 right now,” I explained.

“That’s a sucker bet. He’ll take one to the house, but there’s no way he scores first.”

I smiled, “We’ll see.”

We made small talk for an hour or so, sharing our stories about the first night in town, eagerly awaiting kickoff. Time flew by. I scanned the room to see it was chock full of Bears fans. I only saw one Peyton Manning jersey. This was a Chicago crowd. This was Chicago’s game.

Billy Joel’s rendition of the nation anthem went under the time Vegas set for one of their most outrageous prop-bets. It was time for kickoff.

The room blew up when the Bears won the toss.

“Looks like a few people got dough on Hester. This could be interesting.”

A few short seconds later I found myself jumping up and down on my chair screaming at the top of my lungs. People were cheering, jumping out of their seats, high-fiving. He was going to do it. 30. 20. 10.

“HOLY FUCK!” I was screaming. “NO FUCKING WAY!”

This was it. The Bears made a statement on the very first play. This game was going to be a landslide reminiscent of Super Bowl XX. I was sure I would be collecting just over $1200 in a few short hours.

Unbeknownst to me….

Superbowl Report Pt. 1

Ah…breathe deep. Suck it in.

It’s good to be back home, in the cold, where it takes two hours to travel a distance no greater than forty miles on a Tuesday afternoon.

Where thirty car pile ups snarl expressways for hours.

It’s nice to have two feet planted on terra firma after the pilot announced yesterday, after spending nearly twenty minutes in what the airlines call a “holding pattern” (which sounds much better than “hovering over Lake Michigan until we nearly run out of fuel and have to make a decision”) that we were going to “try and land” at Midway. He even went as far as announcing that in winter conditions like the Chicagoland was experiencing yesterday (Feb. 6, 2007) that the standard practice was to “come down hard” and “stop harder” which left me uneasy in my seat.

Yup, welcome back…

After three days in sunny Las Vegas, eN Vee, I have returned a different man.

While most major Sporting News agencies and even a few fellow Bloggers (Kissing Suzy Kolber, Deadspin, With Leather) sent representatives to South Florida (has it struck anyone else strange that they refused to refer to the City of Miami by name?) The Monday AM QB decided it would be a good experiment to buck the trend and send me to Vegas. Here’s what I remember………..

Saturday February 3, 2007.
Day started with a Bloody Mary and a fat sandwich from Pot Belly. There were Bears fans everywhere at Midway International. Chicago was abuzz with Super Bowl Dreams. I sat and spoke football with my travel companion. We were both feeling the same…IF the Bears show up and play, they have a chance. The ‘experts’ were off base. Good for Rex for telling that reporter to suck his ass.

The flight was quick…at least it is when you’re snoring your ass off for the majority of the trip. I woke up shortly before final decent into Vegas. A flight attendant came over the speaker telling everyone to take a dollar out and write their seat number on it. He cracked some smart ass joke that he only laughed at.

“You’re all gonna lose money when you land anyways, might as well have a shot at a winner.”

He was a prick. The cash ended up going to someone a few rows back. The frugal fucks actually wrote two seat numbers on one bill.

“Good for them,” I thought to myself. “That’s more money then those two fuckers brought for their whole trip.”

Shortly after the excitement we were on the ground and deplaning. Our bags showed up rather quickly and we hopped a cab to our casino.

Due to some good planning by my part, we had exactly two hours to check in, change into suits, and head to Caesar’s Palace to meet some associates for drinks and dinner before heading to a Comedy Show at the Mirage at 10:30. I had managed to plan it so I wouldn’t be able to gamble away a single dollar before midnight at the earliest.

Little did I know…

We got lost walking in the Forum Shops at Caesars. Then the people we were meeting were late and even though we had dinner reservations we waited an hour to be seated. The opening act at the comedy show was 100 times better than the headliner but got 1/3 the stage time. He wasn't by any means BAD, but the opener kicked his ass.

I won't share his name with the world, but I'll give you this as a hint...His TV Wife...

By the time we got back to our room to put on some street clothes, I was hammered. I had my heart set on hitting the Sports Book and making a few wagers on the Big Game, but instead grabbed a seat at a Blackjack table. This was sometime around midnight.

My associate busted out and headed to bed around three o’clock in the morning. He was just as drunk as I was, mixing a slew of various liquors over the course of the day. But I was determined to stay up, take the joint’s money, and party with my new friends at the table.

There was Tony Blair, a young black man from London. He talked just like Basher from Oceans 11. He was with his cute wife, an Indian woman also with an English accent. I quickly dubbed her Bend it Like Beckham.

“Can you do me one favor?” I was looking her dead in the face smiling ear to ear, trying not to laugh.

“Sure, what is it you wish?” She had a sheepish grin, but she had been drinking a glass of Pinot Grigio every time the waitress came around, so she was a little tipsy also.

“Repeat this sentence. Hello, welcome to Jumbo Mart.”

Reluctantly, she uttered the words, confused, unsure of my intentions.

The dealer and I started laughing hysterically. Evidently he was a fan of E.R. too.

We gambled for hours, drinking heavily, winning, losing, and shooting the shit. They were on a 4 day layover before heading to Australia for his new job. And Better yet, they were completely oblivious to the high light of the weekend.

“Where you guys watching the Superbowl tomorrow?” I was making small talk. We were running out of topics.

“Waaaaas dat ‘mate,” he looked confused.

“You know, the Superbowl. Football. American Football. Helmets and pads and high speed collisions”

“Ah, we don’t give a minute to that game ‘mate.” He was laughing. “It’s not something we follow. It’d be like me asking you if you were taking in today’s Cricket Match, now wouldn’t it?”

He had a point. To the rest of the world, football is Soccer. And here in America, Soccer is something kids play, not a professional sport followed by virtually everyone with a pulse. It’s strange to look at a sport that means so much to our culture in the eyes of someone who knows nothing about it. Here’s this kid from England in Las Vegas on a HUGE sporting weekend in America, and he has no clue.

We sat and talked a while about the strangeness of the whole thing. Eventually he busted out and headed off. I sat and played for a while until a strange man came over and sat right next to me. There were four other open chairs, but he sat close by and talked even closer.
I quickly learned he had been at the casino for a week. He was moving from Tucson to LA to become an actor.

“That’s thinking outside the box,” I quipped. The dude was creeping me out.

After a few hours he finally leaned in and asked, “So, are you holdin’ man?”

I knew now what his M.O. was.

“No man, I’m not ‘holdin’ shit. First off, I’m no addict. Second off, I flew in from Chicago, so even if I was how the hell am I supposta get shit through security?”

“Well I got a joint if you wanna come up and smoke a bit and catch some breakfast in a while. You’ll smoke a little won’t you man?”

He was giving off the creepiest vibe I’ve ever felt in my life. He seemed like a normal fella, but something about him was fucked.

“No thanks man. I’m gonna go up in a bit and pass out. I’ve been at this since midnight and I’ve been drinking since this afternoon. I really need to catch a few winks.”

“Alright man, that’s cool. I’m gonna hit the bathroom, think about it. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He got up and walked away. I practically threw my chips at the dealer.

“Color me up. I’ve had enough.”

He knew I wanted to get the hell out of there and quickly handed me my chips.

“Have a good evening sir,” I said to the pit boss as I walked away, flipping a $100 chip on the table.

“Mr. B, its 7:30 am, so the correct term would be ‘have a nice morning or nice day’ not good evening,” he was busting balls still.

Earlier in the night he mentioned he was from Detroit and was picking Indy to win the Superbowl. I was getting a little more vocal, and I always try and bend a pit boss’ ear. You want them to remember your face, but not necessarily your name.

“You’re from Detroit, what the hell do you know about football? Your team couldn’t beat themselves. Your GM is certifiably retarded. Marty Morningwig was your coach for chrissake. And YOU’RE telling me about football? HA!”

I strolled over to the elevators, looking over my shoulder the entire way. As I stepped through the doors and put my key card in the reader to be whisked away to the 35th floor, I had visions of getting all pissed to the sheets with that guy, heading up to his room, and waking up in a bathtub full of ice with my kidney missing.

In my old age I was starting to make wise decisions. And with one colorful chip in my pocket worth the initial $1,000 I had started the session with over seven hours prior, I knew I was going to make some wise decisions in the Sports Book the next morning.

After all, in six hours my Chicago Bears were going to win the Super Bowl.

Calm Before the Storm

So here we are on the eve of Super Bowl XLI. I'm waiting to hop a plane to Vegas and reading what all the 'big boys' have to say about the game. I've gotta say, based on what I'm reading, there's no way the Bears can win this game. And that's the very reason why they will.

All the major sports media outlets are clinging strongly to Peyton Manning's nuts.

The Headline on CBSSportsline.com reads, 'He's the Man' with a picture of Peyton in a classic pose, audibling out of a play.

Yahoo Sports is running a story about Dan Marino's deep running love for Peyton Manning, whom is has been going to dinner with in Miami and giving pointers.

ESPN.com features a shot of Manning and Urlacher and breaks down how either can swing the game.

But there's one source propping the other QB up on a pedestal. FoxSports.com is giving Rex Grossman some love sighting the Florida Gators dominance in all sports over the last year.

I for one am sick of hearing about Peyton Manning. I truly hope in my heart of hearts that the Bears 'D' kicks the living hell out of him, making Sunday the longest day of his life.

Everyone loves the underdog, but I'm not so sure the Bears should be the 'dog in this game.

More tomorrow.

Barack's Super Bowl Musings

It’s the start of Super Bowl week and I couldn’t think of a better way to break down next Sundays’ game than through the eyes of Illinois Senator Barack Obama.

The young Senator has recently announced his intentions of seeking the Democratic nomination in the 2008 Presidential Election, and I for one hope he gets it. As a young Republican, I must say I have been completely let down by Bush V2.0 and have lost faith in the party all together. I feel like the college girl who wakes up in a boy’s apartment after a drunken tryst and can’t find her underwear. I’ve been taken advantage of, and I don’t like it. Unless Giuliani runs, Barack is getting my vote...

But I digress. Barack is the hottest thing in Illinois politics since Governor Ryan’s drivers license scheme opened the over-the-road trucking profession to hundreds of would-be morons who couldn’t handle a Yugo let alone a Big Rig.

And to make things even more interesting, at least for our purposes, he also happens to be a Bears fan. So on this day, a mere 150 hours from the biggest moment in Lovie Smith’s career, we enter the head of Barack Obama.

Barack on Lovie Smith:

"Dick Juron. What a fuckin' moron. This shit is easy."

Barack’s proud of Lovie. He’s taken a 5-11 team and turned them into Super Bowl contenders in 3 seasons. Barack can see the parallels between Dick Juron and George Bush, and plans on using Lovie’s model for immediate improvement if and when elected to the White House. Added Bonus: Lovie has a White Wife.

Barack on Brian Urlacher:

"Honey, take that man for all you can sister!"

Barack sees the Bears MLB for what he is; fast, vicious, a master of the trade. He also knows of ‘Lach’s taste for young black women, but Barack doesn’t mind sparing a few of his Nubian Princesses’ for the cause.

"We did it in an alley behind Gino's East. It was HOT."

But in the same breath, he mounted Paris Hilton, and that's just gross. Still, Barack respects Urlacher for being a true swordsman.

Barack on Rex Grossman:

"Block that guy right there or I'll have to come up with a clever exuse."

Obama loves Grossman’s confidence. Throw 3 interceptions in a game? Tell the media you’ll do better. Have a ZERO passer rating? Say you made some bad choices. Barack can see how this can be used in his political career.

Barack on Thomas Jones:

"Shit. Tank Johnson ain't no Gangsta. I'm Gangsta."

Obama enjoys watching Jones hit the hole and sprint down field. While he may not be the second coming of Walter Payton, Barack believes Jones is a nice fit for the offense, but he’s concerned with that tattoo on his neck. Could he be a gang banger?

Barack on Peyton Manning:

"I like Black People. See."

It’s obvious to Barack that anyone with such a southern drawl must be a republican, a member of the confederacy, and or a descendent of slave owners. While Peyton may understand the game of football, Barack hopes God has mercy on his soul.

Barack on Tony Dungy:

"That little fucker better listen to me next weekened or I'ma smack the taste outta Archie's mouth."

Obama respects Dungy because Lovie does. He’s happy to see another black man in the position Dungy has found himself in, but deep down has a burning hatred for him. Barack is perturbed by the number of times Peyton has disregarded his coach on 4th down and short, waved off the punt team, and went for the first down. Barack knows that Tony has to stand up to his young white QB and if need be, ‘smack a ho.’

Barack on Super Bowl XLI:
Simple. Bears 32 – Colts 24

Miami SUCKS

The story broke early this week. Its effects on would-be fans from around the country will be monumental. Bears’ and Colts’ fans planning on heading down to south Florida without tickets, but with dreams of a parking lot post game bash are in for a rude awakening.

"There is no tailgating allowed in the Dolphin Stadium parking lots," Sue Jaquez, a member of the Super Bowl XLI Host Committee, confirmed on Tuesday. "And there is no tailgating anywhere within a one-mile radius of the stadium."

What? Don’t they know who they’re dealing with? Bears fans are notorious for their professional pre-game tailgating rituals. When I head this news I didn’t believe it and had to hear it from the horses mouth myself.

I called, emailed, faxed, and even wrote the people at the Super Bowl XLI Host Committee.

Finally, this afternoon I got a human voice on the other end.

“Hello. Thank you for calling the Super Bowl XLI Host Committee. How may I help you?”

“Good afternoon. I’m one of the lucky few who managed to get tickets to the big game and I’ve got a few questions. I’m bringing a group of employees and associates to the game and I’m concerned with a few things.” (I was lying my ass off.)

“Well sir, you can visit our website at…”

“I’ve been on your website.” I quickly changed my tone from inquisitive to aggressive. “Your website hasn’t answered my biggest question. Chicago media sources are reporting that tailgating is prohibited within one mile of Dolphin Stadium. This can’t be true?”

“Yes, it is sir. We’ve…”

“Who made this decision? I need a name and a phone number. Do you understand what a mistake you’re making?”

“Sir, I’m sorry. Can I be of any further assistance this evening?”

“No. Thank you for your time. Have a wonderful time at your lame ass game.”

I slammed the phone down in disbelief. This couldn’t be true. I was still in shock. Whose idea of a sick joke was this? After all, this is the SUPER BOWL, not the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. It’s football.

Maybe I’m wrong here, but wouldn’t a city want to capitalize on each and every financial benefit this game could bring? I don’t know, maybe they could generate a few dollars by actually placing beer vendors at every street corner within walking distance of the stadium? I’m quite sure they wouldn’t LOSE money on the deal.

Could it be the fact that the average Joe who attends regular season games and arrives five hours before kickoff to tailgate can’t afford tickets to the Super Bowl? That the game has become such a corporate spectacle that the only people who can afford to attend are the rich, famous, or connected…not the typical football fan?

Regardless of the reasoning, two things are very evident. The NFL has propped its championship game on such a pedestal that they have essentially thumbed their noses at the average fan. And that the Super Bowl XLI Host Committee, the City of Miami, and the old crow that had the final say in this situation is out of touch.

So think twice before heading to Miami without tickets…you’ll most likely end up watching the game in a bar, and you could do that at home.

The "Don't Bet on This" Playoff Preview

Ahhh the NFL Playoffs. I love it! Enough of the political tomfoolery that is known as the BCS, time for some real football! I know that Big Willie already posted his first round predictions while playing the spread but I'd like to do mine March Madness style and pick my winners all the way through right now. And, since I am sure to be wrong on most of these (although if I am right you will hear me gloat) I will not play the spread since I don't like to gamble on football that much. So, here we go:

DALLAS COWBOYS AT SEATTLE SEAHAWKS

First off let me state how pitiful the NFC is. That fact cannot be overstated. Seattle has quietly come into the playoffs, while RomoMania has cooled off in the last few weeks (let me go on record as saying that I personally believe Romo had a few good weeks that made his head big but now its time to come back to earth and play like the no-name QB he really is but like I said, 99.9% of my predictions are usually wrong). Bill Parcells, FUPA and all, has lost control. Its not his fault. The blame is solely on owner Jerry Jones. He basically forced Parcells to have T.O. and lets face it, nobody can control his pompous ass. But I digress. Seattle is finally back at full strength and they are playing at home. I'm taking Seattle in a blowout.


NEW YORK GIANTS AT PHILADELPHIA EAGLES

Gotta hand it to Andy Reid, he's a hell of a coach. Just a month and a half ago everyone was saying the Giants were the team in the NFC. Then it was Dallas. Well, the Eagles emerged from that division the victors, winning 5 straight and rolling into the playoffs with momentum, and they did it without their star QB. On the other hand, the Giants have looked just awful. Their lone bright spot has been Tiki Barber. Eli Manning (a major pussy) has been getting bashed in the media, and rightfully so. I am actually surprised Daddy hasn't come to his defense and demand the newspapers quit picking on his baby. Well, once again Barber will be the lone bright spot (maybe some Brandon Jacobs action too, since him and I are alumni of the same school), Eli Manning will suck hippo cock, Shockey will blame the coaching staff, Coughlin will blame Eli, Strahan will blame Plaxico, Plaxico will say "I don't give a shit what that gap-toothed fat fuck thinks, now let me smoke this spliff in peace", Pappa Manning will defend Eli, Coughlin will choke Pappa Manning ala Latrell Sprewell, the Giants will lose and Coughlin will get fired.

















"Stop picking on my baby boy! He's very
sensitive! You're hurting his feelings!"


NEW YORK JETS AT NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS

Bill Belichick feels he was betrayed by Eric Mangini and feels Mangini is being a baby. Belichick has actually acted like a baby after a regular season loss to the Jets. Conventional wisdom would say Brady + Belichick + home field + playing the goddamn Jets = easy New England victory. I say otherwise. Now, this is mostly on sheer gut feeling, but I think the Jets will be the surprise team of the playoffs. The major X factor here is Belichick's cockyness. He had won so many times with interchangeable parts that he told Dieon Branch, New England's only real receiver, to get the fuck outta town. Mangini has proven he can coach, and I think he will have a defensive scheme that will contain Brady. If the Jets can stop Lawrence Maroney, which is no easy task, they will squeak by the Pats. Now let the barrage of emails calling me a complete moron begin. I won't blame you.


KANSAS CITY CHIEFS AT INDIANAPOLIS COLTS

This may be the easiest game to predict. The Colts have no defense. The Chiefs have a helluva offensive weapon in Larry Johnson (by the way, just to show you I do admit when I am wrong, I predicted that the Chiefs would have O Line problems this year and LJ would be a flop. Boy do I have egg on my face!). The Colts window of opportunity has officially shut. Plus, Peyton Manning has proven time and time again that when it comes to the postseason he is useless (I hope Pappa Manning doesn't demand I take that statement back). I'm taking the Chiefs in a landslide.


This all brings us to the Division Round:

PHILADELPHIA EAGLES AT NEW ORLEANS SAINTS

Let me say that although Nick Saban is getting bashed for taking Duante Culpepper instead of Drew Brees, lets be real. Both QBs were injured last year and it was a crap shoot. That all being said, Brees is a stud. Personally, I think he should have won the MVP, or at least Co-MVP (I'm sure I will get another barrage of emails but let me say that LT is my favorite current player in the NFL and the above statement is not taking anything away from him, I just feel the Saints would be a 4 win team without Brees, whereas the Chargers would be above .500 without LT). This game is where the Eagles run out of gas. The Saints offense is too potent, especially at home on turf. Saints in a barn burner.


SEATTLE SEAHAWKS AT CHICAGO BEARS

Da Bearss! Da Bearss!! Polish Sausage, Ditka, Bearss.....Enough of my dreaming. This is definitely the hardest game for me to predict. Good Rex = Bears Blowout, Bad Rex = Bears loss. Which one will show up? And what about that banged up defense? And have we seen enough of the Seahawks at full strength this year to fairly assess them? ARRGH!!! Well, I'm a lifelong Bears fan, so I'm pretty accustomed to disappointment. God, I really hope I am wrong on this one, but I'm predicting Bad Rex comes to play and brings his 1.3 or lower passer rating with him and sends the Seahawks to victory.


NEW YORK JETS AT BALTIMORE RAVENS

The Ravens are another one of those teams nobody talks about. Their defense is stellar as usual, and their offense is improved thanks to them actually having a QB for once. That's about all the commentary I have on them. Brian Billick thinks he is a genius, Eric Mangini could be a genius. Gut feeling here again, I'm taking the Jets in an upset.


KANSAS CITY CHIEFS AT SAN DIEGO CHARGERS

San Diego Chargers, featuring league MVP LT. Kansas City Chiefs featuring the game's second best RB LT. Wow. What a game this will be. San Diego is the toast of the NFL. The Chiefs defense is improved this year, but they are not as good as the Chargers' defense. LT will have 5 TDs and the Chargers will roll to victory.


Now for the Conference Championships:

SEATTLE SEAHAWKS AT NEW ORLEANS SAINTS

Once again, who the hell knows what we will see from Seattle. The potent Saints offense will once again be at home on turf, but Shaun Alexander will also benefit from playing on turf, and Seattle also has a good defense. The Saints have virtually no defense. I'm going with big game coaching experience on this one and giving the nod to Mike Holmgren and the Seahawks. Repeat NFC Champs.


NEW YORK JETS AT SAN DIEGO CHARGERS

It's time for Schottenheimer to finally make it to the big game. Mangini may be a genius, but this Jets team just doesn't have the manpower to stop the Chargers. San Diego in the Super Bowl.


Finally, The Super Bowl

SEATTLE SEAHAWKS VERSUS SAN DIEGO CHARGERS

This is the match up of the last two MVPs. Seattle will once again fall one victory shy of the promised land. With no John Elway standing in his way, Marty Scottenheimer will finally win the big one and be the feel good story of the year. San Diego Chargers: Super Bowl XLI Champs.