So it was written. Sitting on our boxes of Cardinals’ world championship t-shirts, we are angrier than ever. Not for the fact that we hoped the Cardinals would win, but angry that our merchandise will now be worthless on E-bay. Come on ARCrdnl#1fan pony up the cash, we need this more than anyone in this economy. What hurts us more than our wallet, is that we almost fell for the dog and pony show that Kurt "I'm not going to Disneyland" Warner put in front of us. And we love dogs and ponies. Ponies. For a mere second we believed the hype. We heard "he's still got it", "he can get it done", "maybe his wife isn’t that ugly" and though that lovable bastard could pull it off. It was the story that America needed so badly to believe in, that you could go from stock boy in a Canadian Piggly Wiggly to having a bronze bust adored by millions of pigskin fanatics at the cathedral in Canton. Now, however, we all must endure the chants and yells from the unemployed iron mongers of "SIXBURGH". Is that really what anyone wanted?
Arizona was a team of chance, a team to believe in, a team that, like America, was ready for change. And yet, all we got was more of the same. A team that in 40 years has only had 3 coaches that exists in a sport that has more coaching turnovers then the frozen pastry section of your local Safeway. Mmmm, turnovers. Kurt Warner was a symbol, a beacon of light in this dark time. It wasn’t that you wanted to root for him, it was just that you had to. And for a brief second, it looked like the old gunslinger had done it again. But then that Frankenstein lookin' Harley-Davidson riddin' , crusty beard wearin', Hamms drinkin' genetically engineered Swedish wunderkind fuck that is known to this world as Ben Roethlisberger tore our hearts out with his precision passing and a wee bit of tip-E-toe luck... wait we went a little too far there. Hamms is a quality beer and has both great taste and an affordable price. Fuck you Roethlisberger for making us burn Hamms. How dare you? Seriously though, you have to know that he made a pact with the devil to be this good. God tried to kill him 3 years ago, but Satan would have no part in that. Who drives a high performance motorcycle 60 MPH in the city without a helmet unless Satan is riding in the sidecar? Who we ask you? Who?
Weeks of pregame only fueled our anger and made our indignant remarks about the players all the more pointed. Because we knew everything about every player, current and past, ranging from their blood type, to their preference of breakfast pork product, our burns were going to be good. But we really didn’t have any reason to use this angry knowledge, as the Puppy Bowl was far more competitive then the first half. (Note: Animal Planet MUST start testing for anabolic steroids, some of those puppies were juiced. Never seen a Shitzu so big, except for our toilet after the big game.) We skipped the Boss at halftime because we decided that if we wanted to see a 59-year old New Jersey man slam his groin into the camera we would have rented the unauthorized Jon Bon Jovi story. Livin' on a prayer. Really, the Super Bowl came down to the last 5 minutes of the game. The safety, the Larry Fitzgerald catch, and Kurt Warner’s unrelenting determination to not be forgotten. It was finally living up to the hype. But it didn't. No it did. It did. Not quite the greatest of all time, after last year’s “greatest spectacle” the sport has ever seen. It might not have ended in the fashion we were hoping, but... it was good game. Both teams played hard. Thank you Rasheed.
It's been a while since we've been at this. For those who know us, you know we ebb and flow like the tides. For a high school paper this would fail. However since were on the inter-web now, our collection of random thoughts and half knowledge of how to work a computer provides you the dirty recesses of two angry minds focused solely on the wide world of sport. We'll be back soon, Good night and Good luck...Wait... that’s already been taken… In that case read it or shove it. Cause it’s on the table...
