Week 19: Glory Road

I'm going to skip the intro and cut right to the post-game analysis by the second biggest football fan in the household, my mother, delivered two minutes after the game ended.

Mom: "We're going to Seattle!"
Me: "I know, can you believe it?"
Mom: "That Steve Smith, no one can catch him!...he's so fast...and so short...that Groxman [Ed: Rex Grossman] needs more practice..."
Dad (in background): "When do I get to talk?"
Mom: "...I thought when it was only two or three points that Chicago would win, but that Del Hom [Ed: my mother believes every syllable in the name 'Jake Delhomme' deserves equal emphasis] brought them back!...here, talk to Daddy."
Me: "Okay."
Mom: "Oh, and one more thing."
Me: "Yes?"
Mom: "Those Patriots are junk."

Random weekend thoughts:

Second Most Retarded Football Commentary
Joe Buck: "A HUGE three-and-out for the Bears [defense]!"
Time? Less than four minutes into the first quarter.

Most Retarded Football Commentary
CBS Broadcaster: "...when Pittsburgh jumped out to a seemingly omnipotent 14-0 lead..."

Most Brokeback Moment
Shot of Delhomme talking with coaches on sideline
Aikman: "He's a beauty, isn't he? All smiles."

Just once, and I'm not saying all the time, but just once, don't you wish you could have a day like Jack Bauer?

After the Steelers sacked Manning at the 2 with under three minutes to play, I called and left Mike a vm. "Congratulations, man!" I told him. "I can't believe the Steelers won!" Then I go into the other room and check my email. I come out and Peyton is throwing a touchdown pass to Reggie Wayne, and I'm just standing there with a dumbfounded, Steve Bartman-like expression. Not as bad, though, as the Panthers-Pats Super Bowl two years ago. During halftime, I whipped up a fresh round of drinks for the room. "Who wants margaritas?" I sang. Silence. No one was even looking in my direction. I tried again. "Who wants...Pantheritas?!!" Again, nothing. Everyone looked shellshocked. I came around the kitchen to see what
everyone was staring at.
Dave: "Was that...Janet Jackson's boob?"

I can understand why Fox could only get B- and C-list stars for "Skating With Celebrities," but who the hell is this skater 'Tai Babylonia'? You're telling me they couldn't come up six legit skaters with name recognition without trying to foist onto us a woman who is clearly either a stripper or a porn star ("Saving Ryan's Privates" starring 'Tai Babylonia'!)?

Onto the game. . .
In their previous outing, the Chicago Bears had drubbed the mighty Panthers, 13-3. QB Jake Delhomme had been sacked eight times. And now they were fielding a quarterback who could create even more threats on offense. They were playing at home. On one week's rest. No chance, said the experts. How can the Panthers possibly prevail?

It took WR Steve Smith exactly two plays to answer that question! On the second play of the game, the Cajun Hannibal, QB Jake Delhomme arced a high one to Smith, who ran it past three of Chicago's vaunted defenders for the touchdown! Barely a minute gone by, and the Panthers are up 7-0!

Tremendous punting by P Jason Baker kept pinning the Bears deep within their own territory, and Chicago's masterful play-calling ("Just keep throwing the ball as far as you can, and let's see how it plays out"), combined with lights-out defense from the Growling Wall kept the Bears scoreless for most of the first half. (This despite a dubious bit of officiating robbing DE Julius Peppers of a clear INT runback for a TD, but, all in all, it was an abysmal weekend for NFL officiating.)

To understand how ferocious Carolina was during the first half, you needed to watch Baker. On one play, he punted _and_ busted the wedge on the Bears' return team! According to Dr. Timothy Gay, author of "The Physics of Football," wedgebusters (the guys who run full-speed and break up the blocking wall on a punt return) hit a 3-man wall at a speed of about 10 yards/sec and feel a force on contact of about 2,400 pounds. According to Gay, that's the equivalent of "what he'd feel if he did a bellyflop onto a boardwalk from a height of 20 feet." And this is by a guy who expects to get hit during a season about as often as Latrell Sprewell's coach.

But then a strange thing happened. Grossman, with his rifle of an arm and well-plucked eyebrows, grew gradually more confident, leading the Bears on a referee-aided TD drive. By halftime, the score was 16-7, but the crowd was roaring, and the tide seemed to have turned.

(btw, don't you wish you could listen to whatever Kyle Orton would say to him whenever Grossman went to the sidelines? "Hey, you know that thing you did where the ball actually got to the receiver? That was pretty cool. Can you spot me twenty bucks?")

By the time Grossman brought them to within two in the third, it seemed as if the prognosticators had been right all along. Perhaps this wasn't the Panthers' day after all.

Two words: Steve Smith.

Delhomme to Smith in single coverage! Thirty-nine yards for a touchdown! Panthers up 23-14! But the Bears hung on. After RB DeShaun Foster went out with a broken ankle, the game turned into an offensive shootout, touchdowns trading back and forth. With less than five minutes to play, Bears down by eight, Grossman was leading a game-tying drive when--interception! Interception by the unheralded--you know, I really can't keep calling CB Ken
Lucas unheralded now that cnnsi.com ranked him the second biggest impact free agent acquisition last offseason (behind WR Plaxico Burress of the Giants). So let me say this--it's nice to see my man get some well-deserved props. Interception by Lucas! Minutes later, it's over! Smith finished with a career day, 12 catches for 218 yards, 4th all-time in the playoffs! Panthers advance to the NFC Championship game for the third time in their 11-year history!

Reader mail feature:

From Robin, wife of Steelers fan Mike Y., regarding Mike on Sunday:
"There was a lot of yelling, throwing things, and conspiracy theories."

From Kelly H., in Scituate, MA:
"The Rulon Gardner-John Kitna comparison is so accurate, it's frightening...am studying for the Mass Bar...and all the teachers are the same....I will now light myself on fire."

Onto Seattle. The extra week of playing has caught up with the Panthers in the form of injuries. Foster, showing the resilience of IKEA furniture, is out with a broken ankle. Peppers separated his shoulder. DT Kindal Moorehead (DT Brenston Buckner's relief) is questionable. On the other
hand, one of the Seahawk defensive linemen, who celebrated Sunday night by punching his girlfriend, is out of jail and will be playing. And their running back, Shaun Alexander (kind of a minor-media-market version of Tiki Barber), who was severely concussed on Saturday and currently has the mental acuity of Radio, will be playing on Sunday. Where's the cosmic justice in that?

But here's the difference-maker. Lucas will want to have a monster day against his former team. I don't necessarily expect Carolina's CBs to make interceptions, Hasselbeck's a terrific QB. But Lucas and CB Chris Gamble are good enough to stay in single coverage, freeing up the safeties to play closer to the line of scrimmage. Look for big plays from S Marlon McCree
and S Mike Minter. Panthers advance to the Super Bowl.

Until next time.

Rrowrrr!

Week 18: Fun With Steve and Jake

(not much of an intro today, but wait until the reader mail feature)

There was this article yesterday about a rise in hermaphroditism in polar bears. Scientists claim that the presence of both sets of sexual organs is a direct result of increasing pollution of the arctic environment.

So these bears have to endure a little teasing growing up. Big deal. What do you want me to do, drive a Prius?

Onto the game. . .

This past weekend was wildcard weekend in the NFL, the first round of playoff action on the road to the Super Bowl! What I saw:

Patriots-Jaguars: QB Byron Leftwich wins the 2005 Fuamatu-Ma'afala Award for Player With Most Promising Second Career on the Professional Eating Circuit.

Redskins-Buccaneers: text of my email to dave and mike at end of first quarter--"washington has half as many first downs, fewer total yards, fewer passing yards, fewer rushing yards, fewer plays, more penalties, and 1/3 tampa's time of possession. yet they're leading 14-3."

Steelers-Bengals: I came in midway through the first quarter and Rulon Gardner was playing quarterback for Cincinnati.

Panthers-Giants: coming off a woodshed thrashing of the Falcons, many speculated that the Panthers had overspent themselves. Many thought it would be a different story against Eli, Tiki, and Michael Strahan. Many were wrong. Coach Fox's game plan was simple yet brilliant: with the Giants weak at the linebacker spot (and losing one of their starters early in the game), establish a consistent running game, use Steve Smith to prevent stacking at the line of scrimmage, and let the Tar Heel Terror Squad hurry the rookie meat QB.

The key to the running game? A move first developed by your intrepid author. On the flag football circuit, it's called the "PF Twist." You spin in the direction of your pursuer's momentum at the last second, just as he's trying to wrap his arms around you, in effect rolling off of him while letting his weight carry him forward. When used correctly, it's unstoppable.

Using the PF Twist, RB DeShaun Foster uncorked a ground assault on the Giants. But it was the Palmetto Lightning Bolt, WR Steve Smith, left inexplicably in one-on-one coverage, who scored from the 22 for the first points of the game. Panthers lead, 7-0! With the half drawing to a close, and the New York fans merely listless, the Giants gave them something to boo about, whiffing a punt reception inside the Giant's half of the field with time on the clock. One K John Kasay kick later, halftime score, 10-0 Panthers!

The Giants' halftime adjustment ("let's not suck so much this time") failed to materialize. In the third came the game's turning point. With the Giants finally rallying, low-profile/high-impact free agent acquisition CB Ken Lucas picks him off, setting up Smith for a touchdown one play later! Panthers up 17-0! S Marlon McCree picked off Manning twice more, leading to a 23-0 Panthers victory. Gotta love how the '05 RB Tiki Barber is about as discrete about having post-career ambitions as the '04 Spitzer, going as far as saying they had been "out-coached."

Reader mail feature:

Last week's email generated more responses than any other email in your esteemed writer's memory.

first, from Robin, wife of Steelers fan Mike Y. in Kansas:
"He was terrible! Jumping up and down, screaming about calls. He was tense whenever the Steelers had the ball, or when the other guys (I forget already who they played) were close to scoring - which was pretty often that first quarter. He thinks that if he doesn't breathe or pulls his t-shirt up over his mouth that good things will happen for the Steelers. Or, (and I'm not kidding about this) when the Steelers needed a change of pace, he turned on the lights. I'm surprised he didn't get out the terrible towel and wave it around. Yes, he has done that before, as if that helps distract the other team through the television. And the worst part of it is that we'll have to go through it again this Sunday."

onto the pictures. from Arch S. in Palo Alto:
"I think it would be a great idea. One of my friends back home got his nipples pierced and it was hot. He was straight as an arrow."

from Jessica T., in NYC:
"For crying out loud, don't you EVER wear a shirt?!?!?"

It was a big week for "EVER"
from Brian B. in NYC:
"Oh I've got some reader mail for you. (a) Don't EVER (in the sense of "ever") send me shirtless pictures of yourself, EVER again. Understand? (b) But with respect to the belly button ring, sure, go ahead. As long as you follow it up by immediately killing yourself."

I'm going to count that one as "pro-piercing."

from Al R., in his parents' basement:
"I threw up twice after seeing the topless photos."

from M. Lo, in South Beach:
"You have a stomach of iron. I only made it past the first topless photo."

from Mary C. in St. Lou-eee:
"let me add to the conversation about relationships. remember when you took that girl to the dance at HLS? at the end of the night you said something to the effect of: 'want to spend the night?' ok. ok. nothing wrong with asking. and then you explained yourself: 'because I don't feel like walking you home.' classy."

This weekend: Last time they met, the Chicago Bears sacked Delhomme eight times en route to a 13-3 victory that solidified their status as an NFC contender. G Mike Wahle: "We weren't prepared for the ferocity of the Chicago defense." The Chicago D looks tired. Rex Grossman has played about as many NFL games as Maurice Clarett. And the Panthers are coming off of successive dominating performances. Who's looking ferocious now?

Until next time.

Rrowrrr!

Week 17: Memoirs of a Cajun

I was explaining my theory on New Year's resolutions to Anne. I don't make them, I said. I'm always trying to improve myself, so I don't like to limit it to a single day out of the year.

Me: But I guess if I had to pick one area where I need a lot of improvement, it would be relationships. I just don't seem to be very good at them.
Anne: Mm-hmm. Your female relationships?
Me: No, Anne, my GAY relationships.

Why is that? Well, it could be any number of things.

Diana: Look at the pretty shell I found on the beach.
Anant: You know what you can do with those? You get a wide earthenware bowl, fill it with glass pebbles, put the shells on top them, then fill it with water. It's a great display for floating candles. I did that with some shells I picked up at Cape Cod.
Diana: (pause). You know, you might want to tone down the Martha Stewart a
little.

But there are a number of changes I've been considering recently. The one I'm most intrigued by is a belly button ring. Unfortunately, 100 percent of the female friends I've polled thus far have said that it would look "very gay."* (*technically, two of the responses were "god, you're an idiot" and "you are _so_ retarded," which, for the purposes of this poll, are being tallied as "gay")

Anne: Name one heterosexual male with a navel ring.
Me: Lenny Kravitz.
Anne: Okay, name two.

Although people seem to be coming around to the idea.

Reenah: It's just not--how can we put this--you.
Diana: Maybe if Brooks Brothers carried a selection.

Navel rings: the new ascot.

So that's why I'm opening it up to a larger audience. We are standing on the threshold of fashion's vanguard, people. I firmly believe I can bring the belly button ring back into the ranks of the breeders. And it won't stop there--it's going to be the theme of my coming year.

2006: Hetero Again

Onto the game. . .

It was do or die for the Panthers. In an eery parallel to the season prior, their season came down to their final game. Win, and they were in the playoffs. Lose, and they were at the mercy of destiny. Last year, New Orleans, a team with nothing to play for at that point, came into Carolina and played spoiler. This year, America's Team traveled to face Atlanta, which similarly had nothing to play for. Would history repeat itself?

Yes, if the history you're referring to is William Tecumseh Sherman! The Panthers' General, QB Jake Delhomme, marched his team down the field on the very first drive. How impressive was he? Even his butt popped out to take a look. After having his pants taped up on the sideline, 12-yd pass to WR Ricky Proehl--touchdown! Panthers up 7-0. Towards the end of the first quarter, RB DeShaun Foster set a team record with a 70-yd run for a touchdown! Who's record did he beat? That's right, Timmy Biakabutuka, the rootin-est, tootin-est, biakabutuk-inest running back in Panther history!

The second quarter was all Panthers--two John Kasay kicks and one Steve Smith TD later, the Panthers went into halftime with a 27-3 lead.

Jim Mora has black-on-black eyes. It's some kind of birthmark of pure evil. Tom Brokaw and Jim Lehrer have the same thing.

In a brilliant maneuver, the Falcons switched to a just-pick-a-guy defense for the second half. By the end of the third, the Panthers were up 37-3. Vick had only one carry for zero yards rushing. Screw you Theismann, screw you! Ceding a TD in garbage time, the Panthers left the Falcons embittered, demoralized, and mangled, 44-11. After a one-year absence, your CAROLINA PANTHERS are headed to the playoffs!

End of season thoughts:
-Why did espn.com give the game ball for this game to Brett Favre?
(http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/recap?gameId=260101001)
-I had thought that Joe Theismann was the worst football commentator I'd ever heard until I heard Sterling Sharpe.
-Dave, Mike and I watched the BCS game at Bailey's in Ballston. I don't know when breast implants became popular among college girls, but God Bless Texas.
-Why does every football commentator feel compelled to explain the "challenge rule" every time a play is under review, yet won't bother with any number of confusing penalties?
-Who would win an arm-wrestling contest between Tony Little and Ed Hochuli?

This Sunday:
NFC Wild Card matchup. Carolina Panthers at New York Giants. Can the Giants do what no defense has done this year and stop Steve Smith? Can the Panthers, with run-stuffer DT Kris Jenkins out for the season and LB Dan Morgan always semi-injured stop RB Tiki Barber? Can Eli Manning ever look fully awake? My prediction: CB Ken Lucas is the X factor. Panthers
advance! You better pray this Saturday night, because we play on Sunday! Until next time!

Rrowrrr!

Week 16: Chronicles of Trickeration!

I spent Christmas back home, six days to re-bond with family and revel in holiday festivities. Typically when I go home, my mother will designate a random mug for serving me tea for the duration of my stay. This last one is my favorite. Instead of advertising a medication for some disgusting genitourinary disease, it was a gift from a patient that said, on both sides in big block type, "CLASSY LADY."

I also experienced six days' worth of my mother's bon mots, among them:

On Pope Benedict XVI:
"At least [Pope John Paul II] was handsome. This one looks ready to die."

On the poor:
"You know that the government pays the heating bills for welfare recipients? So they just stay at home and turn their heat all the way up. That's a nice life."

On New Orleans:
"People ask me, what are you going to donate for Hurricane Katrina relief? And I say, not a penny. Let them work."

My parents approach the gift-giving season with a Tetris-like mentality of netting out the least accumulation. By the time I went home, they had already passed along the popcorn tins and fruitcakes (while saving, on express instruction from my brother and myself, the Ghirardelli and Godiva). All that was left for us to open on Christmas morning was a bag containing five resents. My mother had somehow misplaced the labels. I declared that whatever you unwrapped was yours. I ended up with a nice set of tealights. My mother got a wine glass. My father received a sixteen-month hummingbird calendar.

Our home exists in some weird land before time, lacking cable (ultimately they declined our gift), internet service, or blackberry reception. With a couple of video cameras, it could be "Frontier House" on PBS. In order to check my email, I would take one of my parent's cars after they had gone to sleep, drive out of our neighborhood, past the velociraptors, to the place in the county where my signal was strongest: the Wal-Mart parking lot.

(You may wonder, is it safe being out at two o'clock in the morning? Most people in town know my parents, and the only danger is in being recognized and trapped in an hour-long coversation. Patients always ask my parents about me and my brother, except now instead of being the one wanting to go to medical school, my brother is now the one on the teaching faculty at Harvard, and instead of being the one who wins the spelling bees, I'm now the one who cruises the Wal-Mart parking lot for gay prostitutes at two in the morning.)

Every year, we see wild rabbits running through our yard, every year, my mother reminisces about a red fox that used to live in the area and hunt them down, every year I start pounding my chest and declaring that this is "the big one," and every year, it goes right over my mother's head. Priceless.

'Who's taking care of your birds while you're away?' they asked (I've raised a pigeon ever since I discovered a nest on my porch this spring.). 'It's only the male,' I said, 'and I've trained him to find alternate food sources. The female flew away when she got big enough.' 'Why is that?' they asked. 'Oh, you know how women are," I told them. 'As soon as they find a man with his own place, they want to move in and start a family.' They didn't ask me much about my dating life this time around.

As some of my long-term readers know, I always try to take new music home with me. My parents enjoy it. Last year I discovered they really got into the Santana I left behind. Not the new duets stuff. Classic Carlos Santana. We spent the entire hour driving back from the airport listening to "Evil Ways" and "Black Magic Woman." Over and over again. I half-expected the house to smell like pot.

This time, I took my guitar and a bunch of music on my iPod. My father is a tabla player, a kind of Indian congo drum (think percussion in "Get Ur Freak On"), and I thought it would be fun to finally jam together. We went through the Counting Crows ("Rain King"), the Cranberries ("Linger"), Creedence ("Bad Moon Rising"), Allman Brothers ("Blue Sky"), Simon & Garfunkel ("Cecilia," or what I now realize may be the three most boring minutes ever written for a percussionist) and others, but where I thought we really tore down the house was Wyclef ("(If I Was) President"). After ripping through the final riff, I looked exultantly over at my father. His
take? "You haven't stopped playing the piano, have you?"

But I didn't say anything. Above all else, I am a Classy Lady.

Onto the game. . .

The only thing worth watching on ESPN's pre-game show is the announcers trying to pretend that they get Kenny Mayne's sense of humor.

This week, our crusaders of the gridiron, the Scourge of Dixie, America's Team, your CAROLINA PANTHERS hosted the Dallas Cowboys. Sitting atop the NFC South, a win would clinch the division and a playoff berth. However, Paul Tagliabue and the NFL officiating crew had other plans. . .

The Panthers came out fast and furious. A K John Kasay field goal, a WR Drew Carter (playing in only his second game ever!) TD, Panthers up 10-0! Miss Ellie is rolling over in her grave! The Cowboys squeaked back to tie it up, but another Kasay FG and a *perfectly legal blocked field goal* sent the Panthers into the locker rooms at half time with a commanding 13-10 lead. Stick a Southfork in them, the Cowboys are done!

It was during those ignominious minutes that a plan was hatched by NFL officials. The Panthers are too good, too powerful. Spike merchandise sales by sending Dallas into the playoffs. The Panthers must lose. By any means necessary.

At the start of the third, the Cowboys went up 17-13, but the Panthers were hardly concerned. Dallas was already gasping trying to keep up with the superior conditioning of the Tar Heel Terror Squad. As the Cajun Hannibal, QB Jake Delhomme, marched his team down the field, defeat hung like a flag at half-mast in the eyes of the Cowboy defenders. Then, in a miraculous play, WR Steve Smith recovered a fumble by Delhomme and ran it to the 39, only to be shoved hard to the ground by Dallas' Newman. The refs throw a flag, but is it on Newman? Has Sue Ellen ever refused a drink? Smith is ejected! Dallas is on its way to the playoffs.

Nice plan. Except someone forgot to tell the Panthers.

Despite the absence of their star player, the Panthers soldiered on, and in one of the top ten drives in NFL history, score the go-ahead touchdown with less than three minutes to play! What pluck! What verve! Officials huddled nervously. QB Kerry Collins took the Cowboys to FG range to send it to overtime. It's blocked! CB Ken Lucas, the unheralded off-season acquisition, blocks the kick! It's over! Panthers win!

Except. . .

Bedevilment! In underhandedness reminiscent of Cliff Barnes, officials call DE Julius Peppers and CB Lucas for roughing the kicker! New set of downs! With the odds clearly drawn against them, the Panthers tried to hold on, but the referees were too much--the Cowboys scored a TD and stole the victory.

Here's the scenario for this week, folks:
IF the Panthers beat Atlanta and Tampa Bay beats New Orleans, the Panthers get a wild card spot.
IF the Panthers beat Atlanta and Tampa Bay loses to New Orleans, the Panthers win the NFC South.
IF the Panthers lose, they need help from Dallas and Bobby Ewing's death to have all been a dream to get in.

The season comes down to tomorrow aftenroon. Win and you're in. Lose, and hope.

Until next time.

Rrowrrr!