Picking more playoff winners

Last week: 2-2
Playoffs: 5-3

Just imagine how crazy it will be for the promoters of the Super Bowl if Brett Favre and the Minnesota Vikings win in New Orleans tomorrow. Think of all the story lines that are just waiting to be pushed out there—Favre vs. the Jets or Favre vs. Peyton Manning.

It’s almost too easy. Never mind that Favre is a walking soap opera to begin with, but just imagine all the blathering and carrying on that will be belched out through Super Bowl Sunday if the Vikings get there.

Go ahead and think… I’ll wait.

The thing with Favre quarterbacking the Vikings is that no one will talk about the fact that the team is already 0-4 in the big game and no team has lost five Super Bowls.

That’s the hope for the right’s holders, of course. Favre, as we have learned, garners extreme feelings and Americans love to watch things specifically to root for the failure of others. How else could anyone explain the popularity of shows like “American Idol” or “How I Survived to Dance with the Stars?” You know… crap. Favre in the Super Bowl would pull in mega ratings of slack-jawed types rooting for the old man to get slapped around for 60-minutes.

What fun is that? Who wants to watch others fail? You know, besides jerks.

I guess it makes sense though. After all Favre said he was going to retire and he cried in front of writers and TV cameras because he was going to go back to Mississippi and enjoy life. A couple of months later he changed his mind about Mississippi, retirement and fun. In other words, the tears meant nothing. He was just faking it.

Nevertheless, the Packers traded him to the Jets where he played pretty good for awhile before struggling late in the season. When it was over there were the typical stories about how Favre was a divisive force in the locker room, didn’t really mingle with his teammates and just didn’t have it any more.

So what did Favre do? Yep, retirement, Mississippi, fun. At least for a little bit. When the Vikings came calling, Favre bolted out of Mississippi faster than General John C. Pemberton. Who could blame him? The guy loves to play the game. Better yet, the TV networks love to show him as he loves to play the game. How could they not? The guy is a gunslinger.

Still, Americans like retirees to remain retired. Most folks are counting down the days until they can quit their day job and go off to do what they really love, which is watch television and judge others. So by repeatedly retiring only to go back to work a few months later, Favre has proven himself to be more un-American than Alger Hiss.

Meanwhile, the city of New Orleans stands between Favre and a trip back to the Super Bowl. The Saints, representing the city on the gridiron, are in the NFC Championship for the second time in the last three seasons. Making matters tough for the Vikings is the fact that the Saints are playing in their home dome with the entire city galvanized behind them while loaded with an offense that scores more than … well, let’s just say the Saints score a lot.

Pick: Saints (minus-4) over the Vikings

We went through all the reasons why it name “Colts” and “Indianapolis” do not belong together last week. No sense rehashing it this week or proving that my ability to retain sports information stopped cold in 1983. Besides, if Baltimore has moved on past its depressions and given us state senator Clay Davis and detective Bunk Moreland, well, I guess it’s OK to cede the nickname Colts to Indiana.

That doesn’t mean I like it.

Besides, wouldn’t it be more fun if Peyton Manning played in Baltimore?

Anyway, in the most recent issue of Sports Illustrated, there was a big story on Jim Irsay and his stewardship over the Colts. Jim Irsay, of course, is the son of Bob Irsay, the dude who crept out of Baltimore with a football team packed into a Mayflower truck under the cover of night. No, I haven’t read the story yet, but by all accounts the apple fell a long ways away from the tree—Jim is nothing like his old man.

For starters, the pictures in the magazine (yeah, I looked at the pictures not the words) reveal that Jim Irsay has a pretty bitchin’ vintage guitar collection. In fact, I saw a double Gibson-SG in one of the photographs, which is something I never knew existed. A double Gibson-SG? Can you imagine? Jim Irsay also owns the original manuscript of Jack Kerouac’s, “On the Road,” which was scribbled onto to a scroll that stretches 40 yards when unfurled. A few years ago Irsay lent out his scroll for a nationwide tour.

Hey, looking at a manuscript in a museum is no dumber than looking at King Tut.

For now, the media has focused on Jets’ coach Rex Reed, the son of legendary Eagles’ coach, Buddy Ryan. According to the stories, Rex likes to eat… a lot. Word is he needs 7,000 calories a day to keep going and likes to eat Mexican cuisine so much that it has been renamed, “Rexican food.”

Sounds gross.

Certainly Peyton Manning knows something or two about good food seeing as he comes from New Orleans. Archie Manning, Peyton’s dad, used to be the quarterback for the sad sack Saints back when folks turned out for their games wearing brown paper bags over their heads and calling their team, the Aints. Frankly, that’s your story line right there…

What kind of hype will we have force fed on us with the Mannings and New Orleans when they meet in the Super Bowl.

Pick: Colts (minus-8) over Jets

'I think of Dean Moriarty...'

Ain’t nothing changed here but the prefix ahead of the day. We’re still settled in our constant state of alert, which, interestingly, kind of spices things up around here. We are nothing more than rank-and-file members of the leisure class that Plato wrote about so any type of adventure is welcomed.

Anyway, things are taking shape.

In that regard there will be no baseball or sports viewing around here for a minimum of two days. I’m taking a time out in order to waste my time on something else. Besides, all of the injuries ripping through the Phillies’ clubhouse kind of make me anxious since I’m fighting some aches and pains, too. Apparently I have some sort of inflammation of the Psoas major (or minor) muscle that makes me warm up extra long before runs and then zaps my speed after 90-minutes of running. It also hurts when I sneeze.

This, as they say, is no good.

No, I don’t need the disabled list and I seem to be responding to treatment, but it’s easy to understand why someone wouldn’t want to look at the walking wounding in red-and-white pinstripes if at all possible.

Speaking of the Psoas major, the hip flexor and the Iliotibial band, there was an fantastic story about our boy Floyd that will be out in this Sunday’s The New York Times. It’s longer than the one I wrote, and constructed how I wish I could put mine together as well.

Plus, the USADA called the Times back and not me? That’s so lame.

Oh well, you do what you can… when you are 50 percent of a staff there isn’t much time to go jetting off to places in order to write a better story. Besides, how interested are the folks in Philadelphia in anything not relating to the Eagles or Phillies?

Sigh.

Speaking of jetting off to places, the Times also had a few interesting stories about the 50th anniversary of the publication of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road.

For as much as I enjoyed On the Road when I was in my late teens and early 20s, I thought (and think) Dharma Bums was much better.

Still, 50 years for On the Road gives me an idea for a road epic… how about a bike race from Floyd’s old house in Farmersville to his new one in Murrieta, Calif.? By my estimate it is probably a little more than 2,600 miles from Lancaster County to Southern California, which is slightly longer than the Tour de France, but it would probably be just as good a race.

All we need are a few sponsors, some prize money and a couple of the best bike riders in the world and we’re set.

***
Finally, there was a story in the Inquirer today about former Phillies GM Ed Wade. It seems as if Ed got himself snagged in a tree on the way back to earth after a sky-diving excursion... or so they say.

If I didn't know any better I'd say that Wade, now an advance scout for the San Diego Padres, was pushed out of the plane or tried to pull off a D.B. Cooper type stunt.