Never have I thrilled to a victory for another town’s teams, let alone a New York team, like I did for Joe Namath’s Jets in Super Bowl III. And again the next year when Kansas City, still a double-digit underdog courtesy of the NFL skeptics, poleaxed Minnesota. That victory proved once and for all that we were worthy of inclusion in the big league. We weren’t second-tier cities any longer. Oakland emerged from the football shadow of San Francisco. My town, Boston, was no longer Giants territory.
My love affair with the Super Bowl has never diminished. While I would never claim Ripken stature, I am proud of my streak of never having missed a Super Bowl. I would like to say I have watched every game from beginning to end, but there was one notable exception and therein lies a story. In 1987 I was burrowed in my favorite couch-potato spot for Super Bowl XXI. The Giants were trailing the Broncos early in the second quarter when my wife interrupted with a startling bulletin: she was going into labor. My response was apparently memorable. At least my wife has recalled it on more than one disputative occasion. I asked her, very nicely I seem to recall, “Can’t you just wait till halftime?”
In retrospect, I am not very proud of that suggestion. On the other hand, given the length of those Super Bowl halftime shows, was it so ridiculous to think that we could catch the end of the half, race to the hospital, deliver the baby and still catch the fourth quarter? Now that would be a truly Super Sunday. OK, it didn’t exactly work out the way. And this Sunday, by way of reminder, will be my daughter’s sweet 16th. So I’m saying “Happy birthday, sweetheart” now, so we don’t let sentiment get tangled up with Sunday’s real celebration.
Because, at least on paper, this is a game that won’t brook interruption. It figures to continue a recent trend–as the great Meat Loaf said, “Two out of three ain’t bad”–of Super Bowls that are worthy of their name. I despair, however, that the trend may not continue past this Sunday. This will be the final Super Bowl, according to current NFL plans, to be played just one week after the championship games. Next year, the game will be held in February and revert back to the two-week hiatus. The NFL hopes that this will result in the teams being healthier and better prepared. And, of course, the league profits from the extended hype.
But history suggests the longer break may have the unintended effect of devaluing the game. In the past, Super Bowls played with a two-week respite have tended to be one-sided, with an average margin of victory twice that of those Super Bowls competed with just a single week off. There is no way to prove a causal relationship between the two. But I suspect one exists, that teams after an extended rest lose both their physical and emotional edge. Though “bye” teams went 17-15 this past season, there were some truly sluggish postbye performances by decent clubs. Atlanta, Miami, Kansas City, New England, Denver, San Diego, Buffalo and the Giants all lost off-bye weeks. More revealing, these teams, all but one ranked in the upper half of NFL offenses, averaged just 11 points in defeat and were whomped, on average, by two TDs. If one team comes out sluggish in the Super Bowl, you’re headed for a rout. If both teams come out sluggish, you’re bound for bore.
I am, of course, obsessing about next year’s Super Bowl because, frankly, I feel fairly clueless about this one. I also find it rather remarkable that this is the first time in history that the NFL’s top-rated offense takes on the first-ranked defense, kind of the Rams of three seasons back against the Ravens of two years ago. Somewhere in the back of my mind is the notion that great defense always trumps great offense. But I fear I may be confusing games and thinking of the old baseball adage that good pitching always beats good hitting.
Regardless, I don’t think the Bucs defense, super as it is, is quite the caliber of the Ravens’ in their Super Bowl season. And even with Sapp, Brooks, Rice, Barber and Lynch leading a formidable charge, there isn’t any one player on Tampa Bay that rivals Ray Lewis circa 2001 as a singular wrecking ball. Oakland’s offense, however, is every bit as awesome as the Rams’ in their heyday–and a different beast than the pedestrian New York Giants attack stuffed by Baltimore two years ago. And it is currently running on all cylinders. Even Oakland’s penchant for penalties hasn’t slowed it down one iota. The Raiders scored 93 points in two games against Tennessee, averaged 30 in three games against Denver and Pittsburgh’s, the AFC’s second- and third-ranked defenses. Just because Jon Gruden recognizes the attack, indeed helped design it, doesn’t mean Tampa Bay can stop this juggernaut.
Still, the game figures to be close. But Oakland happens to be blessed, in graybeards Jerry Rice, Rob Woodson and Bill Romanowski, with difference-makers who have proved their mettle in past Super Bowls. That is one intangible that should prove very tangible come Sunday. So my head once again lies with my heart, with the silver and black–and, far more meaningful to me, with an old AFL team playing in San Diego, another old AFL city. As an old AFL man, it’s a parlay I can’t resist.
