Seth, I think Roidy McGee is the breakout character of this dialogue. I predict that he will be bigger than Terry Tate, Office Linebacker. Also, friend/colleague/ Bengals apologist Rob Weintraub points out that San Diego’s collective rap sheet is almost as long as Cincinnati’s. In the last year, the Chargers have had a player suspended for juicing, another arrested for trafficking cough syrup, a third throw down with the police, a fourth get shot by the police, and a fifth get charged with domestic violence. If only we had taken heed of the portentous lyrics in that “San Diego Super Chargers” song: “You know we’re shooting for number one/ With thunderbolts and lightning.” As you both know, in West Coast parlance “thunderbolts and lightning” means “nandrolone and cough syrup.”
And Chris, I love your story about Marty Schottenheimer’s weekly Blizzard ritual. I wouldn’t have pegged him as a Tropical man. Perhaps he picked up a taste for island flavors in Hawaii, where he served as the AFC’s semipermanent Pro Bowl coach, on account of his penchant for losing the conference championship game.
As for your other points, I’m not sure Terrell Owens would fit in with this year’s Philadelphia team. When they were teammates in San Francisco, Owens implied that now-Eagles QB Jeff Garcia is gay, saying: “Like my boy tells me: If it looks like a rat and smells like a rat, by golly, it is a rat.” (I’m guessing T.O.’s boy was Joe Montana.) Also, I’m not buying your argument that the 2000 Ravens are the worst Super Bowl Championship Series winner ever. I think that choice reflects the unfortunate tendency of football fans and analysts to underrate teams with outstanding defenses and overrate teams with great offenses. You should be ashamed of yourself, Chris. My incredibly unsexy choice for the worst champs ever: the 1980 Oakland Raiders. Seventh in the NFL in points scored, 10th in points allowed, the QBs combined for 23 TDs and 24 INTs, and the leading rushers were Kenny King and Mark van Eeghen. Eep! My slightly sexier No. 2 choice: last year’s Steelers, a mediocre team that wouldn’t have beaten the equally mediocre Seahawks without a load of friendly refereeing.
I scheduled our dialogue for this week because I think the conference semis—and not the conference championships or the Super Bowl—are the best couple of days in the NFL. The field’s been winnowed enough that we’re assured of seeing the league’s best teams, and there are enough games on the schedule that the weekend’s not a total loss even if the Bears and Seahawks are playing each other. In conclusion, I will spend about eight seconds outside my apartment on Saturday and Sunday. What I’ve yet to figure out is who I’m going to watch the Saints game with.
This is not a trivial question. As my girlfriend would be happy to tell you, I’m prone to fits of irrational, sports-borne anger and sadness. Or, rather, fits of sports-borne anger and sadness that appear irrational to people who aren’t me. Watching a game I really care about is stressful. Watching a game I really care about with a bunch of people who don’t care about said game is doubly stressful, as the stress of the game is compounded by the stress of trying (and failing) to appear unstressed. In the absence of like-minded fans—I have no friends or family in D.C. who give a whit about the Saints, plus I find sports bars alternately annoying and depressing—I usually end up watching the game alone, in the dark. It’s not lost on me that this is also the preferred therapy for getting over a migraine headache.
I feel no shame about getting riled up during Saints and LSU games. Really, I would feel a lot worse if I didn’t get passionate about the games considering all the time I waste reading and thinking about sports. I do feel a bit of shame, though, that I get agitated by the presence of nonobsessed well-wishers, and it can be anti-climactic to celebrate a big win by myself. Another point in favor of having company over: I’ve got a really sweet setup for watching the games, since (spoiler alert!) I’m currently testing out HD-capable projectors for a future Slate “Shopping” piece. It feels wrong to keep such fantastic football-viewing equipment to myself.
So, what do you guys think? Seth, are you capable of watching an important Pats game like a civilized human being? Will you be crying after Sunday’s game, or setting a car on fire, or both?
