Week 14: Season's Beatings

Every December, my father attends a medical conference in New York City, and I fly up and spend the weekend with him. The conference took place this past weekend, and I flew up on Thursday night. This year, I flew my mother into town as well.

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Calling my mother on the way to LaGuardia

Me: Remind me what hotel he’s staying at?

Mom: Oh God, let me think. It’s…it’s called…he’s staying at the Twin Towers.

Me: Mmm, you’re going to want to recheck that.

(Correct answer: Sheraton Towers)

The first night at dinner

Every hotel stay for my parents becomes an epic battle of wills between them and the cleaning staff, whom they are convinced spend every idle moment devising new ways to rob them. We cannot simply leave our room than a soldier can pop away from his foxhole to stretch his legs a bit. The act of departing becomes a fifteen-minute ordeal. Anything of possible value has to be squirreled away into increasingly complex hiding spots. (My mother’s coin purse was tucked away into the inside pocket of my work bag, which itself was swaddled in loose papers for camouflage.) All loose change has to be collected, distributed across all of our pockets, and taken with us.

I’m the late riser of the house. My parents are usually up by 5:30, but even in New York, there’s not a whole lot you can do at that hour. Saturday morning, my mother turned on some lights and asked me how the t.v. worked. I handed her the remote and pulled a pillow over my head, waiting for a little more daylight before I went running in Central Park.

You know how, even if you’re not looking at a television directly, you can tell from the flickering light on the wall that something is happening on your t.v. screen? There was no sound yet, but I could tell there was activity.

I rolled over. On screen, across the top in bold letters, were the words “MATURE CONTENT,” and of the two possible options (“Select” and “Cancel”), the first had been highlighted. I looked over to where my mother was pressing random buttons on the remote.

“Here, why don’t you give me that?”

“But I want to watch a program.”

“You don’t want to watch that one.”

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We were waiting for the crossing signal across from Rockefeller Center when we heard the sirens. Several cars back, a police car was trying to make its way through gridlock. The cars in front of it honked at the tourist crowd who were (legally) on the crosswalk and blocking them from moving. The general response was to look up at the crossing signal and then back at the cars in annoyance, or just mouth off to them directly.

I guess when you buy the FDNY/NYPD sweatshirts, you’re not obligated to care the other 364 days of the year.

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My mother and I visited St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I tried to convince her that if she blew out all of the votives in one breath, her wish would come true. She wasn’t biting.

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True story, in line to get into St. Patrick’s

The tourists in front of us were awestruck by the cathedral.

“Isn’t this amazing? Oh, it’s so spiritual being here, it just puts you in a totally different frame of mind—”

As she moved forward, she consciously ignored the woman standing at the church door, begging for alms

“—very spiritual.” “Oh, I agree,” nodded her friend. “It’s very spiritual.”

onto the game. . .

Let’s take a trip in the way-back machine, to my ’06 season preview report:

“This past Saturday, the Panthers cut their number three and four QBs, Stefan LaFors and Brett Basanez. ??? Who the heck are these guys? Do you realize we’re one cheap Kimo von Oelhoffen hit away from a Chris Weinke start? It didn’t have to be like this. Jeff Garcia was available. Kerry Collins was available. You don’t think these guys would consider joining a team with a shot at the Super Bowl? Even Billy Volek is available.”

Fast forward in time. Rumsfeld has resigned, the Democrats have won a national election, hell has officially frozen over, and up first in “all skate” is Chris Weinke. That’s right, this past Sunday, when the 6-6 Giants traveled to the Den to take on their wild card competition, the Appalachian Express, America’s Team, your CAROLINA PANTHERS, Chris Weinke, architect of the Panthers’ 1-15 season, was standing in for The General, Jake Delhomme. (Delhomme was nursing ligament damage in his thumb that would have prevented him from overthrowing his receivers in the fourth quarter.)

To the delight of fans worldwide, the first half was an exquisite offensive ballet, were the ballet dancers Stephen Hawking and Terry Schiavo. Eli Manning, showing all the confidence of a flat-chested girl in braces at her first high-school dance, overthrew Plaxico Burress and underthrew Jeremy Shockey. Luckily for them, the Panthers, without their starting cornerbacks, lost one of their second-string corners five minutes into the game, and compensated by inserting a middle-schooler from the NFL’s “Punt, Pass, Kick” league with a “lot of upside.” Giants take advantage to go up by 10!

Would the Panthers roll over and die? Not with the offense in the hands of former Heisman trophy winner and Rogaine poster boy Chris Weinke! With WR Steve Smith in double coverage the entire game, Weinke threw a TD pass to WR Drew Carter, the best third option since Roger Moore ordered his martini shaken not stirred. A FG by K John “Leg of God” Kasay, and we’re tied at 10!

Then, in the third, with their ground game non-existent, Weinke threw two interceptions. The Giants converted, entering the fourth leading 27-10. The Panthers responded by abandoning the running game, finishing with a 61-15 pass/run ratio! Weinke throws for 418 yards with 1 TD and 3 INTs. The 2001 magic is back, baby! Giants win 27-13.

Reader mail feature:

From Kevin C., at FBI headquarters (re: Michael’s defense of going for a PAT even if your QB can make a two-point conversion more than 50% of the time):

“I had to read the whole disclaimer before concluding that he was just making a dick comment and had no punchline.”

Next week:

From Michael Y., in Cairo, Egypt (subject line: “This Weekend”)

“What most people thought could be a preview of the Super Bowl has turned into a battle between two mediocre teams. I'm certain my Steelers will prevail and keep their minimal playoff chances still possible.”

After a grueling season, the feel-good story of the year, the gritty Panthers have hissed and clawed their way into the wild card hunt. It’s playoff mode from here on out! Can the Cinderella team of the century overcome the odds, find strength in each other, put aside their differences to work as a team, learn how to love again, and save the park from the developer?

Were there but a single universal truth to beam out in radio waves across outer space to let our distant neighbors know that, yes, intelligent life does exist on Earth, it would be this: you cannot stop Steve Smith at playoff time.

And right now, it’s on.

Prediction: Panthers 49, Steelers 6

Until next time.

RROWRRRRRRRR!