PickSix 2.5.09

Steel Curtain 2.0: The Steel is Real
By Vince Darcangelo

To be honest, the P-6 is at a loss for words.

As I told the G-6 before the Super Bowl, when your team isn’t in the Big Game, you hope for a classic, a nail-biter, something like last year’s Patriots-Giants showdown. But when your team is playing, you want it to be the most boring Super Bowl in history. Screw all the impartial fans. You’re rooting for something like Super Bowl XXII, in which the Redskins took a 35-10 lead into the locker room at halftime.

Up 20-7 entering the fourth quarter, we thought our wish would be granted.

Not quite.

However, the only thing better than watching your team walk away with a blowout win in the Super Bowl is watching your team walk into history by suffering through a heart-stopping, lead-changing, final-drive victory that takes about 15 years off your life and instantly turns your hair gray. We still haven’t exhaled, even though the Gatorade was poured long ago.

This was one for the ages. Forty years from now, we’ll still be watching the highlights of this game and smiling.

Make that 25 years from now, subtracting those 15 years we lost on Sunday.

While this victory was one for the ages, more importantly, it was one for this age. Seldom are the Super Bowl’s one-year wonders remembered long after their time has passed. The 1968 Jets and 1985 Bears may be the only exceptions. The teams that get remembered are those that do it at least twice in one incarnation — the Packers, Steelers, Dolphins, Cowboys, for example.

How legendary are the 2000 Ravens and the 2002 Buccaneers? Not very. You don’t hear much talk of the celebrated 1969 Chiefs, do you?

The 2005 Steelers risked suffering the same fate if they could not climb back to the top of the mountain. Instead, after one of the most amazing Super Bowls ever, the Steelers of the Oughts will be remembered for winning two championships in four years, making it to the AFC title game three times in five years, and four times in eight.

A team that went 15-1 in 2004. A team that in one decade produced an offensive rookie of the year (Ben Roethlisberger), a defensive rookie of the year (Kendrell Bell), coach of the year (Bill Cowher), comeback player of the year (Tommy Maddox) and defensive MVP (James Harrison).

This is a Steelers team that will be remembered for making it to the playoffs in six of nine years, and for enduring only one losing record in that stretch (6-10 in 2003).

In fact, even the losses were wins. A decade ago, following a Championship Game loss to Denver, the Steelers laid the groundwork for a future dynasty with a draft class consisting of Hines Ward, Alan Faneca and DeShea Townsend, who sport five rings between them.

A down year in 1998? That led to a 1999 draft class of Joey Porter, Aaron Smith and Jerame Tuman, who have a combined four rings (Tuman now plays for the Cardinals, but was inactive on Sunday).

There were many more draft gems, but perhaps the most significant was in 2004, when Pittsburgh — benefiting from a down year in 2003 — snagged Roethlisberger after geniuses at franchises like Cleveland, Oakland, Houston and Detroit all passed on the gunslinger.

Sure, there were many first-timers at Tuesday’s victory parade, including Super Bowl MVP Santonio Holmes and coach Mike Tomlin, but with a core group of players like Ward, Roethlisberger, Troy Polamalu, James Farrior and the like, the Steelers of the Oughts will now be remembered as more than a one-year wonder.

Hot Reads

Home-Field Advantage: This year, the P-6 and kick-ass girlfriend the G-6 watched the game from the friendly confines of the Shenango Valley in Western Pennsylvania, a short trip northwest of Pittsburgh. Winning a sixth championship was a thrill made all the more rewarding for enjoying it with family and friends and great food.

Got Pride?: Think your hometown loves its football team? We’re sure it does, but it ain’t got nothing on Six-Burgh, where a statue of local hero Franco Harris greets all arrivals at the airport (see attached photos).

Drive for Five: This is a golden age of sports viewing for the P-6. For the fifth consecutive calendar year we have had a team competing for a championship. In order:

2005: Colorado Crush (won Arena Football League championship)

2006: Pittsburgh Steelers (won Super Bowl XL)

2007: Colorado Rockies (lost World Series)

2008: Pittsburgh Penguins (lost Stanley Cup Finals)

2009: Pittsburgh Steelers (won Super Bowl XLIII)

Now the Bad/Good News: With football season finished, the P-6 must go into sports hibernation as basketball dominates the airwaves. (We hate basketball.) The good news is that this will free up the equivalent of a part-time job in our schedule without all that football programming and ESPN morning shows to watch!

Douchebag of the Week: It’s hard to get down on anyone after winning the Super Bowl. But for the sake of filling space: Anyone giving Michael Phelps (aka the lost Manning brother) a hard time. Seriously, it’s 2009 and we’re making a big deal about a bong hit? Get over it, douchebags.

Luckiest Player of the Week: Santonio Holmes, who was in danger of being our Douchebag of All Time had any of his bonehead celebrations cost the Steelers the Super Bowl. First of all, Santonio, this is the pros. You celebrate touchdowns, not first downs, and you’re lucky that your ridiculous showboating on the final drive didn’t cost the team any yards in penalties.

And as much as we loved your LeBron celebration after the touchdown, save it for the sidelines. That easily could have been a major penalty that could have swung the game the other way.

Also, nothing personal, but Big Ben should have won the MVP.

Six Pack: After correctly picking the winner of the Super Bowl, the P-6 completed another season in the W column, going 53-36. Although this record loses some of its luster considering we did not once win the office pool.

P-6, Over and Out: It’s been another great NFL season, and sadly, we at the PickSix are signing off for another long, cold winter and what Gary Zeidner rightly calls the Dark Time. Much thanks to all of our wonderful writers: Zeidner, newcomer Mikey Hammerstone and guest columnist Joel Warner. And most of all, thanks to everyone who swung by the PickSix.biz and http://gamedaygourmet.blogspot.com/.

We might be updating periodically during the offseason, but either way, we’ll be back in April for the 2009 NFL Draft.

Super Special Super Bowl Guest Commentary

The Wild, the Innocent and the Halftime Shuffle
By Joel Warner

My reaction to hearing that Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band were going to perform at the Super Bowl XLIII halftime show? A great, big, ambivalent “eh.”

Now that’s a big deal, coming from a guy whose first musical love affair was with Springsteen, born from a season washing dishes at a summer camp while Bruce’s devastatingly haunting album “Nebraska” was on permanent repeat. Especially since for me it’s an affair that never went away.

There were was many a teenage night when only the grandiose strains of “Jungleland” blasting from my bedroom CD player could calm the angst-ridden tatters of my adolescent heart, torn asunder by some girl or other who’d only wanted to be friends. Then there was the ultimate high school graduation present given to me by my brothers in arms: A shiny green street sign torn straight out of the ground from a Sudbury, Mass., street that had the misfortune of being named Thunder Road. And finally there were the concerts — oh, the concerts. Little in my life has compared to the feeling of the E Street boys, right there in front of me, tearing into the first, momentous strains of “Growin’ Up” or “Born to Run” or “10th Avenue Freeze Out” as the stadium goes bonkers. Maybe my wedding and the birth of my son outrank it. Maybe.

But Bruce’s newer stuff? I just don’t know. Don’t get me wrong; it’s good, great even. But as one of my closest Springsteen compatriots sheepishly admitted to me last week, he just doesn’t find himself keeping most of these later albums in regular rotation. Instead we find ourselves opting for newer bands who unabashedly ape Bruce’s early anthems and rock operas, folks like the Hold Steady, Arcade Fire and Gaslight Anthem. It’s not that Bruce isn’t pushing the creative envelope — quite the opposite, in fact. He’s continued to develop his sound, while we’re still stubbornly stuck in 1975.

And then there’s the fact that being a hardcore Bruce fan is a full-time job. Now that I’m actually doing all the things I’ve always listened to him sing about — settling down and starting a family, spending my days working in the factory (ahem, cubicle) — I’ve had to leave a young man’s indulgences behind. There’s no time for ordering obscure 1973 live bootlegs from the Netherlands, no time to scrutinize new concert set lists online for signs of lost classics like “Thundercrack” and “Santa Anna.”

That’s why I didn’t even realize Springsteen’s new album, “Working on a Dream,” was coming out last Tuesday. Sure, when I found out I dutifully purchased a copy, but after a play or two I could already see it fading into the far reaches of my iTunes library. And while I agreed with a buddy to try to get tickets for Bruce’s upcoming Denver concert when they went on sale this week, I knew that if I didn’t score seats, it wouldn’t be a big deal. And although I told myself I would watch Bruce’s much-hyped halftime show, I expected to keep one eye on the TV and one eye on the chips and dip.

All that changed in the first 20 seconds of the halftime show.

“Oh shit,” I said to myself as the E Street Band’s horn section kicked into a swinging intro that never fails to send a shiver down my spine. “10th Avenue Freeze-Out” — a killer old favorite. “Is there anybody alive out there?” hollered Bruce, the crowd went wild and I completely lost it.

I loved every over-the-top second of the 12 minutes that followed. Bruce’s over-exuberant knee-slide that led to him landing a crotch-plant right into the TV camera being watched by millions. Bruce promising Wendy, just like he always does, that he’ll love her with all the madness in his soul as thousands around him holler, “Baby we born to run.” The gospel groove sing-along of the obligatory new song, “Working on a Dream.” Even the ridiculous shtick of the show-closer “Glory Days” — the Super Bowl-specific lyric changes, the make-believe referee calling time’s up, band member Steven Van Zandt’s strange insistence on always dressing like a pirate.

Some reviewers have since knocked the performance — the gaudy spectacle of it, its unabashed giddiness. But those folks don’t know Bruce Springsteen. He’s first and foremost an entertainer, always ready to please his fans with whatever’s called for — whether that’s a ghostly hymn perfect for cruising alone down a dark interstate highway, an angry protest song dedicated to all those wronged working men out there, or, when the time is right, an exploding birthday cake of a routine designed to rock the faces off 100 million viewers worldwide. Plus, who wants to hear about broken marriages and crushed dreams in the middle of a Super Bowl?

There you have it. I’m back on the Bruce bandwagon, crazy as ever. Getting tickets to his Denver show became a must — and my buddy came through by scoring four general-admission floor tickets, the best of the best. Plus the more I listen to “Working on a Dream,” the more I think it might just make it into regular rotation. Best of all, my wife and I have now taught our 18-month-old son to say Bruce (“Bop,” he calls him) and trained him put his fist in the air and say “Whoa.”

Talk about being born to run.

Goin' Deep 2.5.09

Trippin’ My Other Ball Off
By Mikey Hammerstone

When Goin' Deep last checked in, with "Trippin' My Ball Off," Mikey, Gary and Jimmy had just arrived in Phoenix to watch the NFC Championship Game. Mikey's road diary concludes with part II.

Saturday (1/17/09) 4 p.m.: The three of us wake up after a much-needed nap and start to plan out the rest of our time in Phoenix. I call my buddy Denis, who is an employee of the Philadelphia Eagles, to see if he traveled with the team. Denis and I go back to high school and I’m totally stoked when he calls back to tell me that he’s also in town for the game. He tells me about this bar in Scottsdale called the Upper Deck (aka The Eagles Nest Out West). I check out the bar’s Web site and sure enough the brothers decide that this is the place to be the night before the big game and call for a taxi.

Saturday (1/17/09) 7 p.m.: After a 30-minute taxi ride that costs a grand total of $40 plus tip, we finally reach our destination. The bar is overflowing with Eagles fans and the chaos that ensues is nothing short of a true rally that any bar in Philly would be proud to sponsor. My guess is that there were somewhere between 300-400 people at the bar — 99.99 percent of them wearing some form of Eagles gear or another. The Eagles fight song could be heard from blocks away and EVERYONE is having a blast. Denis meets up with us a short time later and the four of us immediately toast our Birds with shots of Jaeger.

Saturday or Sunday (1/17/09 or 1/18/09) I think . . . Midnight-ish?!?: I’m completely hammered. Over the course of the last several hours I have managed to accomplish the following 1.) Consume enough alcohol to kill a baby elephant, 2.) Befriend dozens of other Eagles fans, 3.) Leave the bar with blueprints of Lincoln Financial Field (yes, that’s right, blueprints of Mecca).

Sunday (1/18/09) 1 a.m.: Somehow we managed to actually make it back to the hotel. The three of us are now ready to pass out and try to get a good night’s sleep. We throw Invincible into the computer to watch it as we fall asleep hoping that the power of Papale will give the Eagles the big win.

Sunday (1/18/09) 9:15 a.m.: I wake up to Jimmy and Gary singing the Eagles fight song. The three of us, giddy with excitement, decide that we want to go down to the promenade before the game to get a bite to eat, have some hair of the dog, and take in the festivities in town. We get our cab and make the five-minute trek down to the stadium.

Sunday (1/18/09) 10 a.m.: We make it to the stadium and people are already packing into the promenade across the street. It’s a beautiful day with the temperature in the 70s and not a cloud in the sky. We end up grabbing some breakfast at a sandwich shop that turns out to be owned by a Philly native. There is at least one green jersey for every three red jerseys. Eagles fans travel well, and it certainly showed that day. The thing that I found most funny was that Cardinal fans looked at this game as if it were just some fun little “event” where as Eagles fans considered the game to be the most important thing in their lives up to that point. Now, I’m not saying that Cards fans pussies, but, um, wait, never mind . . . they are pussies.

Sunday (1/18/09) 11:30 a.m.: We decide that it’s time to head into the arena. With our golden tickets in hand, we pass through security, give the ticket takers a jolly “Go Eagles,” and head into University of Phoenix stadium. The place is awesome. In fact, I would have to say that it’s the only good thing about the Phoenix Cardinals. We head to our seats and find that we are in the last row of the stadium. That’s right . . . the LAST row. Except for the long hike up and down the stairs to get beer, food, and take a piss, the seats were actually really good. Full view of the field and surrounded by Eagles fans (that’s the best part about the nose bleeds . . . you know that you’re going to have a ton of “away” team fans in your section.

Sunday (1/18/09) 1 p.m.: The game is underway and the place is rocking. They kept the roof closed to make it loud and I have to say, it worked. The Eagles came out and played like a bunch of little girls. It was horrible. The Cardinals were ahead 24-6 at halftime. Needless to say, it wasn’t looking too good for the Birds. The third quarter, however, was a much different story. The Eagles put up 13 unanswered points and are within striking distance. The fourth quarter begins and the Eagles manage to take a 25-24 lead with about 10 minutes left in the game. Sadly, the Cards drive down the field, score a touchdown, convert the two-point try, and take a 32-25 lead. Sure, the Eagles had one drive left in them and took the ball all the way down to the Arizona 30. It’s fourth and 10 and Donnie throws to the sticks for Kevin Curtis (who, if you watch the replay was interfered with) and the ball falls incomplete. That’s it. Game over. The Eagles lose and (gulp) the Arizona Cardinals are the 2008 NFC Champions.

Sunday (1/18/09) 4 p.m.: Gracious in our loss, we start to leave the stadium. In the meantime, however, something happened to the Cardinals fans who, just hours before, were really passive about the game. Suddenly, anyone with an Eagles jersey on was now a combination of Hitler, Satan, and Genghis Khan all wrapped into one. I’m not sure if it’s because these douchebags finally had a winning football team (which would explain why so many of them didn’t know that the Halas trophy is given out after the game and thousands of “fans” left right away) or if it was the heat, but the assholes were definitely out in force. So as not to end up in jail or kill anyone, the brothers decide it would be within our best interest to get back to the hotel. We grab a cab, hit the liquor store, and get the hell out of Dodge.

Sunday (1/18/09) 6:17 p.m.: Tired, dejected, and pissed off we decide to stay in, order a pizza, and watch the Pittsburgh/Baltimore game. Not really caring about the “other” game, we eat the ’za and have a few drinks. As heartbroken as we all are, we begin our discussions of “Well, there’s always next year,” and “Hey, at least the Phillies won the World Series.” Jimmy decides that he’s going to pass out early and get a good night’s sleep so that he can captain the first leg of our trip back to Boulder. Gary and I stay up a little while longer and drown our sorrows in Miller Lite and Jim Beam.

Sunday (1/18/09) 11:30 p.m.: We call it a night and get some rest in order to be fresh for our journey home.

Monday (1/19/09) 9:30 a.m.: Up and out of our hotel room, we pack our gear and head out of town. Giving the finger to every Cardinals fan in sight, we leave Phoenix behind and plan our route back to Boulder. Instead of going back through New Mexico, we decide that we’re going to head back via Utah. Jimmy’s behind the wheel with G-man riding shotgun. I decide to get a few more hours of sleep and crash out in the back seat.

Monday (1/19/09) 12:30 p.m.: I wake up, rub my eyes, look out the window, and am completely amazed at what I see. The rock formations are AMAZING! I would put up some pictures, but since I was driving, I really didn’t get any. In fact, it’s so beautiful that I really don’t think that my words would do it justice. It’s at this time that I realize that my trip was about so much more than the game and that it really was more about me getting to see a part of America that I had never seen and may never again see in my life.

Monday (1/19/09) 4:13 p.m.: Moab, Utah. It’s a much smaller town than I had expected. It kind of reminds me of a really small Boulder in the middle of nowhere. We grab a bite to eat at one of the local joints and head back on the road.

Monday (1/19/09) 9:10 p.m.: We pull back into Boulder about 72 hours after we left. For what it’s worth, the trip was great. Despite the Eagles loss, the brothers had an excursion of a lifetime. I really want to thank you G-man and Hammy for such a great trip. Next year we’re going to have to road trip to Philly for the NFC championship game. Until then . . . GO EAGLES and FUCK THE CARDINALS.

PickSix 1.29.09

Victory March
By Vince Darcangelo

We are less than 72 hours away from kickoff. The time for lengthy diatribes and silly jokes has passed. The P-6 must concentrate all our strength on victory.

Sometimes that means returning to a place that gave you strength. Weekly readers know that many of this year's Steelers' victories were fueled by one thing: Kitten power!

So we again give you Victory Kittens: Super Bowl Edition.

Deal with that, Arizona Cardinals.

PickSix 1.27.09

Era of the Upstart
By Vince Darcangelo

Happy Super Bowl Media Day, every one!

What, not that jazzed? Come on. It’s another chance for broadcasters to stare into the camera with an incredulous look, refer to a cue card and dust off some tired joke about how there’s nothing wrong with your television, do not adjust your set, but the Arizona Cardinals are in the Super Bowl.

Enough, folks. We got our fill on Championship Sunday, when the joke was actually funny . . . for about a minute. It then became obligatory for every commentator, journalist, sideline reporter and Starbucks barista to announce the results with a stutter, feigned shock and finally incredulity: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a misprint. The Arizona Cardinals are going to the Super Bowl.”

First of all, as mentioned above, this joke ran out of legs as soon as it left the gate, and it should have been sent out to pasture just as quickly. Second, the repetition of this shock and awe is disrespectful to the Cardinals, an organization of professional athletes that worked pretty damn hard to make it to the greatest stage in its sport. Ridicule should not be the reward.

And finally, and perhaps most importantly, to feign shock at a first-time Super Bowl participant is just brainless. When we hear an announcer react incredulously to the Arizona Cardinals’ victory, we have to ask, “Did they just start watching football this season?”

Anyone who has paid even the slightest attention to professional sports knows that this is the era of the upstart, where expansion teams have been elevated and old doormats have become dominant. Forget the Yankees. In successive years, the Colorado Rockies and Tampa Bay Rays have competed in the World Series. Speaking of Tampa (host of Super Bowl XLIII), the city has two championships to its credit this decade: one from the Bucs and one from its hockey team, the Lightning (a title reign that lasted two years due to the cancelled 2004-2005 NHL season).

And who supplanted Tampa Bay when hockey eventually resumed? Carolina. In fact, it was Carolina’s second straight year competing for a pro title, as the Panthers had played in the previous year’s Super Bowl.

Sure, the Red Sox still dominate baseball, the Red Wings still rule hockey and each of the past four Super Bowls has featured at least one old-school NFL squad (Pittsburgh Steelers, Chicago Bears, Indianapolis Colts, New York Giants). But in a decade in which the Rays have won the AL East, multiple hockey championships have been hoisted south of the Mason-Dixon and the Panthers were a late field goal away from thwarting the Patriots dynasty in its infancy, don’t be surprised when the Arizona Cardinals become Super.

Toward that end, here are some relevant Super Bowl statistics the P-6 has compiled proving that we are living in the Era of the Upstart.

Front Seven

1. At the end of the 1993 season, 9 NFL teams had never made it to the Super Bowl. In the 15 seasons since, that number has decreased to 5 while the number of teams in the league has increased.

2. Put another way, at the end of the 1993 season, there were only 28 teams in the league and nearly a third of them (32 percent) had never made it to the Bowl. The league now has 32 teams, and only 15.6 percent have never made it to the Bowl.

3. The past 15 Super Bowls have given us 8 first-time competitors: San Diego, Atlanta, Tennessee, Baltimore, Tampa Bay, Carolina, Seattle and Arizona.

4. Seven of the past 11 Super Bowls have featured a first-time franchise.

5. You want diversity? Following the 1993 season, there had been 28 Super Bowls which fielded 56 teams. A mere 6 franchises accounted for exactly half of those 56 slots (Dallas with 7 Super Bowl appearances, Miami with 5 and Pittsburgh, San Francisco, Minnesota and Oakland with 4 apiece).

6. This actually increased in the two ensuing years. Following the 1995 season, with the league then increased to 30 franchises, those same 6 teams had accounted for 31 of the 60 Super Bowl slots, more than half. That has decreased significantly since then. Only Pittsburgh (twice) and Oakland have made it back to the Big Game.

7. The 5 teams that remain absent from NFL Films Super Bowl Highlights? Cleveland, Detroit, Houston, Jacksonville and New Orleans. All of these cities, except for Cleveland, have at least hosted a Super Bowl. As for the near future, Houston, Jacksonville and New Orleans are at least in the Super Bowl discussion next season. Barring some miraculous turnaround, Cleveland and Detroit are still a few Roman numerals away.

That said, it would not surprise us in the least to see Cleveland and Detroit throwing down for the title in next year's Super Bowl. We wouldn't bet the family dog on that matchup, but we also wouldn't view it as a sign of the Apocalypse.

Here's one thing we will guarantee. Should that improbable matchup come to light, despite what we've just learned, every article, broadcast, blog and sideline report will begin the same way: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a misprint. The Detroit Lions are going to the Super Bowl.”

Enough, already.

Pigskin Zen Photo Sidebar

The Last Row

By Gary Zeidner

Back o' the bus Birds fans

(l: Mikey Hammerstone, r: Jimmy Hammerstone)

Stupid Arizonians: Can't even get the flag right side up

Pigskin Zen Photo Sidebar

The Stadium
By Gary Zeidner

The mothership has landed

Two hours before gametime and this is the best the Cards fans could do?

Pigskin Zen Photo Sidebar

The Drive
By Gary Zeidner

Beauty abounds even as the Birds bungle

Only slighlty more pricks than at the game

Pigskin Zen 1.24.09

F-U-C-K-I-N . . . EAGLES
By Gary Zeidner

It’s eerily familiar, this feeling of hollow, angry dejectitude. I guess that’s what happens when your team makes it to the Conference final — a mere one game away from the Super Bowl — five out of eight years and only manages to get to the big game one time (and lose that game by three points at that).

At least my boys and I can endure the Dark Time with clear conscience. We did everything we could to help the Birds get over that championship hump. We drove our asses 14 hours to Arizona and represented in the very last row of the Cardinals’ beautiful stadium surrounded by asshole Cardinals fans who probably thought “football” meant soccer until three weeks ago. They were the kind of fans who left in throngs even before the Halas trophy had been wheeled out and presented. You want to talk about “front runners?” These miserable pricks were the very definition.

As cock-punched as I am by yet another almost-but-not-quite, always-a-fucking-bridesmaid Eagles season, the trip to AZ was a shining example of the journey being the destination. A road trip with my brothers through some of the most beautiful country in the U.S. to see our favorite team live exists of its own inertia and volition. The fact that the Birds couldn’t hold on in the fourth to oust the Cards and get to the Bowl sucks giant, hairy donkey balls, but it can’t diminish the experience; it could only have enhanced it.

Now, with one game standing between us and the torpor of the Dark Time, the future spreads her legs wide. If the Eagles keep Andy and Donnie around, replace the key weapons they’ll lose (like Runyan and Dawkins most likely) and add some top 1 percent talent in essential slots, they have a legitimate shot to finally get to and win the Bowl next year. If, instead, they drop Reid or McNabb and start the Great Rebuilding of Ought Nine, then the window that’s been open for the past eight years (through which the Eagles simply refused to climb) will be closed, and it may be another half-decade before we can expect our shot. For me, at least, hope springs eternal, and I will greet every year flush with the belief that my beloved Birds will finally get their rings. I just wish I would’ve been right about it this year. (Thanks, Santa, for making the effort. How about making it all the way to the end zone next year, you fat fuck?)

Goin' Deep 1.24.09

Trippin’ My Ball Off
By Mikey Hammerstone

Part 1 of 2

This past weekend, I was lucky enough to travel down to Phoenix for the Eagles/Cardinals NFC Championship Game. With the help of my brothers, we set off for a 72-hour trip, which included 28 hours worth of driving. As Friday night approached, Gary, Jimmy, and I could barely contain our excitement. We had packed the car with the essentials. Three bags of Eagles gear, the movie Invincible, Public Enemy’s Apocalypse 91 (for the sole purpose of blaring “By the Time I Get to Arizona”), a handle of Jim Beam, and three tickets to the game. Everything was set for what would turn out to be the best road trip of my life.

Friday 8:50 p.m.: The trip begins with the three of us so pumped with adrenaline that any one of us could have beaten down Rocky in the first round of a championship fight. It was finally here. As we pulled out of Boulder the three of us felt like kids in a candy store on the night before Christmas.

Friday 10:55 p.m.: After logging a couple of hours and not having had anything to eat since earlier in the day, we decide to stop at McDonald’s in Pueblo, Colo. Because there is no smoking allowed in the car, I jump out faster than a Nazi from his foxhole at the battle of Stalingrad. Just as I lit up, we realized that the store was going to close in five minutes. Puffing down my smoke in about four drags (ala Bugs Bunny… yes, I remember those days), we ran inside. As we sat down to enjoy our fine dining, two busses of high school girls pull up and enter the store about a minute before closing (now, I know where you’re minds are and get them the hell out of the gutter). The look on the manager’s face was priceless. We would have loved to have stuck around the see the fallout, but we had bigger plans on the road ahead of us.

Saturday 4:00 a.m. (ish): We need to gas up and stretch our legs. The original high of adrenaline has now crashed and I am in dire need of some Red Bull. I pull into a gas station in Santa Fe so that I can get my fix. I walk into the station only to find what might have been the largest Mexican I have ever encountered in my entire life. At first I really couldn’t grasp the actual girth of this gentleman. It wasn’t until I requested a pack of smokes and forced him to get his fat ass off of the stool that he had been sitting on when I realized that a mass of approximately 400 pounds could actually move. Afraid that I was going to be eaten, I paid for my smokes and ran out the door.

Saturday 6:00 a.m.: Time for another smoke and piss break. We pull into “The Indian Center” as the sun just begins to crack over the horizon. I took a picture of the place, but it didn’t come out that great. Next time I think I’ll try not to take pictures while holding my dick in one hand and a Parliament light in the other.

Saturday 8:15 a.m.: We’re making great time. Just outside of Flagstaff, Ariz. We stop for gas and see signs for the Meteor Crater (http://www.americansouthwest.net/arizona/meteor_crater/index.html). After realizing that these douchebags actually want to charge us $15 to see a giant hole in the ground, we decide that we’re going to pass on the small bit of Americana and get back on the road.

Saturday 10:45 a.m.: We made it to Phoenix. We pull into the hotel parking lot, check in, drop our shit off in the room and get back into the car to drive down to see the stadium (which is only about five miles away). The University of Phoenix Stadium is definitely a site to see. It’s a dome stadium that sits out in the middle of the desert and was designed after some sort of cactus or some shit (at least that’s what I heard). Half delirious from lack of sleep, and half giddy that we finally made it, we catch our 37th wind and decide to head to the Fox Sports bar for a bite to eat and a drink. With our bellies full and our heads spinning, we head back to the hotel and crash for about four hours.

Check back next week for the conclusion of our voyage in “Trippin’ my other ball off”

The Official NFL Widget

PickSix 1.22.09

It’s On
By Vince Darcangelo

Damn straight it is.

In advance of the AFC Championship Game, one commentator stated that, in movie terms, Ravens-Steelers for the title would be a mix of “Gladiator,” “300” and “Saw.” True dat.

The game lived up to its top billing, with big hits from both defenses (and offenses, in the case of Limas Sweed’s career-saving block on Corey Ivey). Seriously, Sweed would have been cut at halftime were it not for this hit.

Unfortunately, the big hits also highlighted the darker side of football, the side that nobody likes but has to live with as an occupational risk. Ryan Clark’s hit on Willis McGahee was clean, but when two players running at full speed lower their shoulders, heads will collide. It was a play that dampened what would have been a major celebration all across Steelers Nation — a situation made all the worse for having a douchebag running the stadium’s PA system (see Douchebag of the Week below) who thought CCR was a good soundtrack to temporary paralysis.

Numbers Game
This year’s Super Bowl run has definitely brought out the numbers geek in the P-6. For starters, we have an unhealthy fascination with NFL Films Super Bowl highlights. A few years back they started releasing them in box sets spanning 10 years apiece, and at the time there were three sets, through Super Bowl XXX, with a fourth on the way.

We did the math: The Steelers were on each of the three existing sets, with Super Bowls IX and X making the first, XIII and XIV making the second and XXX just barely sneaking onto the third volume. That made the charge toward Super Bowl XL all the more significant, as it was our last chance to make it onto volume four.

Mission accomplished.

At the time, the P-6 said to our football-watching cohort, Debbie “D-6” Chieffo, that we had 10 years to make it back to get ourselves onto volume five. With Sunday’s win, this too has been accomplished, and when that fifth box sets comes out in 2016, commemorating the first half-century of the Super Bowl, Pittsburgh will be the only team starring in all five decades of the Big Game.

Here are some other numbers to chew on:

The Steelers have been to 7 of the 43 Super Bowls. That means the Steel City has been represented in nearly 1 out of every 6 Big Games.

The Steelers have been to 7 of the past 15 Championship Games. That’s nearly 1 out of every 2 title games in that span. Could we have envisioned a run like that when Bill Cowher took over? You wouldn’t even dare ask for a run that successful. But you’re damn right we’ll take it.

And enough with the nonsense about how tough it is to beat a team three times in the same season. As Chris Berman says, “Once is an accident. Two times is a trend.” You don’t beat a team twice in the same season by accident. You win both games because you’re better. So isn’t the better team more likely to win the third game?

In the post-Noll era, the Steelers have met a division rival in the playoffs 5 times (Browns twice, Ravens twice, Bengals once), and 3 of those times had run the table against them in the regular season (Browns ’94, Browns ’02, Ravens ’08). Postseason record in those games? 3-0.

In fact, the Steelers have never lost to a division opponent in the playoffs. In addition to the above meetings, the team played the Houston Oilers in the playoffs on three separate occasions (’78, ’79 and ’89), winning all three, making the Steelers 8-0 all-time versus division opponents in the postseason.

(It’s worth noting that the Steelers did lose once to the Oilers’ franchise in the postseason, when the Tennessee Titans scored a controversial overtime victory following the 2002 season. That was, however, the first year of realignment, which placed the Titans/Oilers in a different division.)

Front Seven
With all but one game of the 2008 season in the rear-view, it’s time to reflect and review (and grade) some of our early-season foolishness. Way back on Sept. 4, the P-6 debuted the Front Seven with our first-ever “Outrageous, Ludicrous, Downright Criminal 2008 Predictions,” which were:

1. The New England Patriots will be a 9-win team this season

Grade: Check-minus. While technically correct, the spirit of the prediction was that the Patriots would have a downer of a season. And while they missed the playoffs, getting to 11 wins with Tom Terrific out for the entire year is pretty damn impressive. In other words, partial credit. (This is why it’s important to show your work, kids.)

2. The Detroit Lions will be a 9-win team this season

Grade: F. Wow, we would have been wrong if we took the over at a 1/2 win for the season.

3. Jacksonville will dethrone Indy atop the AFC South

Grade: D. We were correct in thinking that Indy would slip a little this year, but we had no idea that it would be the Titans, not the Jags, that would do the dethroning.

4. Forget the Super Bowl, the Browns won’t even make the playoffs and Romeo Crennel will be fired by year’s end

Grade: A+ with a smiley face.

5. Outrageous, Ludicrous, Downright Criminal Super Bowl Prediction — Nostalgic Edition: Pittsburgh vs. Dallas, the Super Bowl’s favorite rivalry — but screw Dallas; they’re not making the Bowl

Grade: A. We were half right with this prediction. The other half, the Cowboys, weren’t even good enough to reach the playoffs! So why does a half-right prediction get an A and not a C? Because when the Cowboys cry, the whole world sings.

6. Outrageous, Ludicrous, Downright Criminal Super Bowl Prediction — Completely Biased Edition: Pittsburgh vs. Philly, an in-state throwdown that we think is very possible, and would also make a lot of people working at the P-6 very happy

Grade: B. Missed it by that much. We’ll say this one was 75 percent right since it was less than three minutes away from becoming reality. That’s a solid B effort grading on the curve.

7. Outrageous, Ludicrous, Downright Criminal Super Bowl Prediction — Final Edition: Pittsburgh vs. New Orleans

Grade: C. Half right, half wrong. Asi asi, for all our Latin American readers. All that matters, though, is that we got the first part right.

Speaking of the Saints, we wonder what world-class taunter, second-class baller, Reggie Bush is doing this offseason? We suspect he’s joining up in flag football games at his local elementary school and taunting all the children as he scores.

Douchebag of the Week
Whoever in the Heinz Field PA box that thought a player being temporarily paralyzed — and one of your own players woozy himself — was cause to play party music. Unbelievable. As we sat before the TV watching the scene unfold, the D-6 turned to me and asked, “Is now really the time to be playing CCR?” Nuff said.

Six Pack
So much for palindromes. A 1-1 split on Championship Sunday brings the P-6’s season tally to 52-36 with one game left to pick.

We think we’re going to take our time with this last one, analyze some tape, keep a watchful eye toward Vegas, listen to the experts on ESPN, then weigh in with our prediction next week.

Um, OK, done analyzing.

Pittsburgh vs. Arizona
In the parlance of the kids, It’s on, bitchez.
P-6 picks: Pittsburgh

PickSix Photo Sidebar

PickSix Photo Sidebar: Divisional Round

In addition to our usual columns, we've got some photos from last weekend's divisional match-ups to share. With Philly and Pittsburgh playing on the same day, the P-6 got together with fellow columnists Gary "Pigskin Zen" Zeidner and Mikey "Goin' Deep" Hammerstone. Enjoy.

(l-r) Mikey, Gary and Mikey's brother Jimmy celebrating an Eagles' win!

Yes, the trio was able to purchase playoff tickets in Phoenix.
Here, Jimmy anxiously awaits a receipt from StubHub.


Road Trip! The guys are driving to Phoenix on Friday.
Here, they consider lodging options and try to locate the Eagles' bar nearest their hotel.

PickSix 1.15.09

Wake Me When It’s Sunday
by Vince Darcangelo

It’s Thursday, three days until the AFC Championship Game, and the P-6 is stuck on the couch. Stuck? Yes, and not in the good way, like when the SciFi Channel is running a two-day marathon of Twilight Zone episodes.

It’s more like a coma, and not the good kind of coma, like when the doctor gives you too many IV opiates. This is paralysis, and a bipolar one at that. The P-6, with our Western Pennsylvania roots and Pittsburgh football loyalties, is sick with anticipation. Sick with fear. Even sick with that night-before-Christmas-when-you’re-eight impatience. Because on Sunday, our Steelers are going to punch their ticket to Tampa.

Or maybe not. And that’s not doing our nerves any favors.

We’re impatient to celebrate a victory, and living in mortal fear of a loss. The double-edged sword of playoff success is that every step forward sets one up for greater highs and ever-lower lows. Losing the conference championship always hurts (take it from someone who’s lived through seven of them and was old enough to remember five), but to lose it to your most fierce rival . . .

Well, watching San Diego celebrate on our home field would hurt. Watching the Ravens do it might cause cancer.

That’s why the P-6 is huddled in the fetal position on the couch, watching hours of coverage on NFL Network and all the various ESPN channels. We want to stop. We want to look away, turn the channel. But we can’t. Even our healthy intake of Food Network programming has been deferred until a later date. For distraction, we’ve cleaned out our DVR, which only had about 10 hours of free space left but now has more than 50. Even that was a mild reprieve, as it only served to remind us that this chore was done in the interest of clearing space for two weeks of Super Bowl programming.

What we wouldn’t give for a Twilight Zone marathon right now!

Just start the feakin’ games already!


Turning Browns’ Fans Eyes Blue

While the Ravens are our most fierce rival (and the Bengals are the most comical, the Cowboys our most diabolical and the Patriots the most unethical), our most hated rivals are the Cleveland Browns.

Not to pile it on, but a Steelers-Ravens match-up for the rights to the Super Bowl has got to be a nightmare come true for Clevelanders. If you’re a Browns’ fan, how do you pick a villain? Who do you root for, your oldest and most hated rival? Or your former team that waited until fleeing your city to win a Super Bowl?

Either way, you lose.

No matter what happens in the AFC Championship Game, a historic piece of the Steelers franchise is guaranteed to play in the big game. In 1943, during World War II, in order to field a squad the Steelers combined rosters with the Philadelphia Eagles for a season, known as the Steagles. In 1944, the Steelers joined forces with the Cardinals (then based in Chicago), known as Card-Pitt (a name that just doesn’t roll off the tongue as pleasantly as Steagles).

So be it Philly, Phoenix or Pittsburgh, a piece of Steelers franchise history will be playing for a title in Tampa. We’re pulling for the much-heralded all-Pennsylvania showdown.

Douchebag of the Week

Dave Meggett. No contest. On Tuesday, Meggett was arrested and charged with rape — his second sexual assault charge in the past five months. In all, he’s had five charges of sexual misconduct or sexual assault since 1990, not counting a non-sexual assault of an ex-girlfriend in 1995. If he’s guilty, the P-6 hopes he winds up in some sort of penal program that specializes in sexual misconduct.

Six Pack

Last week’s return to form saw the P-6 go 3-1 in playoff picks, bringing our season total to 51-35. We hope to turn that record into a palindrome this week.

Philadelphia vs. Arizona
These are both sexy picks right now, but the Birds are too hot, and the Red Birds are too gimpy.
P-6 picks: Philly

Baltimore vs. Pittsburgh
Just start the game already! My heart can’t take all this waiting!
P-6 picks: Pittsburgh

Pigskin Zen 1.15.09

By the Time We Get to Arizona
by Gary Zeidner

This one goes out to all you Eagles and Public Enemy fans. (And no, I’m not talking about Cagney’s crime boss opus; I’m talking about Chuck D, Flavor Flav, the S1Ws and their seminal rant against AZ for failing for so many years to honor Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.)

After stumbling worse than Barbaro at the Preakness earlier this season, the Birds — possibly with some help from Santa Claus? — have made it to the NFC Conference Final and are just one game away from the Super Bowl. Equally improbable, based on their early season performance, the Arizona Cardinals will be hosting the Eagles. It is the first time the Cards have ever hosted an NFC Conference Title game.

No one gave the Eagles much chance to dethrone the reigning Super Bowl Champion Giants last week, but the Birds pulled an impressive coupe d’état anyway. For their part, the Cardinals shut the yaps of a bunch of their critics (or left them with mouths agape) by manhandling the Panthers. Given those two performances and the loony bin nature of this NFL season, if either team is looking past the other they’re doing so very much at their own peril.

With a wily Warner commanding the Cards (who have some potent weapons, including one WR name o’ Fitzgerald who makes circus catches like he ran away with Ringling Bros. when he was two years old), it’s going to take another Super Bowl-worthy performance from the Eagles to bounce Arizona in their own house.

Of course, the Birds have a Donnie who’s playing like the Donnie of old, an Andy who actually ran the ball arguably too much last week, a Westy who, even hurt, plays at a level most RBs will never see and a defense that has been leading the charge to our first Lombardi ever, so I believe with all my heart that the Birds will fly out of Arizona Super Bowl bound.

Just in case, though, maybe we Eagles fans should do something big to help our team? Maybe the Eagles faithful in Colorado should trek down to the Land of the Blazing Sun and support our team in person? Maybe a little extra Eagles’ green shining in the upper decks will inspire D-Mac and the rest of the team to that oh-so-vital victory? Now that’s a thought, isn’t it?

One more win to El Grande Dance-o. One more win from there into history. You can do it boys! The entire Eagles’ Nation has your back!! Like Chuck D said, “Hit ’em! Hang ’em high!”

E-A-G-L-E-S . . . EAGLES!!!

GamedayGourmet 1.14.09

Super Bowl Stuffing

The NFL’s championship round, which will decide this year’s Super Bowl contestants, is less than a week away, and the Gameday Gourmet is pumped. Will we get an all-Pennsylvania match-up: Steelers/Eagles? Or will it be a wacky avian pairing: Ravens/Cards? Or some other combination thereof?

We don’t know. (But our money is on Steelers/Eagles.) What we do know is that those watching the games at the Gourmet’s house will be well fed. You might even say stuffed.

Super Bowl Stuffing, that is.

This stuffing is hearty and delicious—a meal of its own—and is very easy to make. And it will have all the football fans at your party fuller than Andy Reid at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Ingredients:
Quarter loaf whole wheat or whole grain bread, diced
Quarter loaf white bread, diced
1 sweet onion, diced
2-3 apples, diced
1 lb. sausage (or turkey sausage)
24 oz. chicken broth
3 Tbs. olive oil

Begin by dicing bread slices, spread on cookie sheet or counter and leave out overnight. To skip this step, you could also buy ready-made croutons.

A few hours before serving, heat oven to 375. Brown sausage in skillet, about 5 minutes, breaking into bite-sized pieces. Set sausage aside and add diced onion and apples to skillet. Sauté over medium-low heat for about 10 minutes, until apples are crisp-tender.

Combine bread, onions, apples and sausage and toss with olive oil. Transfer to baking dish and stir in chicken broth. Cover with aluminum foil and cook for 20 minutes. Then remove foil and cook for another 15 to 20 minutes, until top gets nice and crispy.

Serve with vegetables.

And remember, we ain’t here to start no trouble. We’re just here to make some Super Bowl Stuffing!

GamedayGourmet 1.13.09

Single-Wing Sausage and Kale Soup

It’s not football season unless it’s cold, and as the playoff run coincides with the year’s coldest months, make this soul-warming soup this coming gameday. It’s surprisingly simple, hearty and more delicious than a zone blitz.

You don’t even need a football game to justify making this meal. Cook up a big pot for any of your winter activities. A steaming bowl of this soup is the perfect ending to a day of skiing or hunting.


Ingredients:
1 lb. sausage
1 head flowering kale
1 sweet onion, diced
2 potatoes, diced
64 oz. chicken broth

Begin by dicing potatoes and place in a pot of cold, salted water. Bring to a boil for 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, dice onion and sauté in soup pot for about 5 minutes. Add sausage and separate into bite-sized pieces while it browns, about 5 minutes.

After 20 minutes, drain potatoes and return to drained pot to remove excess moisture. Then add to soup pot with sausage and onions. Cook for a few minutes and add seasoning: salt and pepper, of course, but be adventurous. A dash of cumin is a nice touch, as is basil or a little hickory smoke seasoning. Whatever you prefer.

Then add chicken broth and kale and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for about 20 minutes, until potatoes are tender and sausage is cooked completely through.

Serve with a nice baguette or dinner rolls or bread sticks. Go ahead, it’s OK to dip.

Pigskin Zen 1.9.09

One Down, Three to Go
by Gary Zeidner

After experiencing a minor miracle in the form of the cosmic convergence that enabled the Eagles to get into the postseason this year, the Birds have never looked back.

After calling for Coach Reid’s head all season and burning Donnie in effigy every week, Eagles fans were munching some humble cheesesteak last week as they watched their team make it through the Wild Card round by beating the Vikings in the climate-controlled confines of the Metrodome.

Now with a ton of momentum and something to prove, the Birds head to Jersey to take on the Giants in the Divisional round. It’s a classic NFC East showdown that will determine who gets to vie for the Conference Title, and it can’t get here quickly enough. The defending Super Bowl Champ Giants are a formidable team, but I believe the Eagles will find a way to win. These two teams split wins in their earlier season meetings, so this one’s a rubber match of Herculean proportions.

IAWT. Go Donnie! Go Westy go! Crush, Kill, Destroy B’Dawk! Remember to take the ball all the way into the end zone before you drop it, D-Jax! It’s your time! Three wins to history!

E-A-G-L-E-S . . . EAGLES!!!

PickSix 1.9.09

Are You There God? It’s Me, the P-6
by Vince Darcangelo

Be still the P-6’s atheist heart. Recent events just might have us running to the nearest church, synagogue or mosque. (Or Buddhist temple — we do live in Boulder, after all.)

It all began at the conclusion of the regular season, when the hated Browns made a push to get the great Bill Cowher to dress in puke orange on Sundays. This was the P-6’s worst nightmare. In fact, we’ve secured a secret underground bunker in Nebraska to which we will retreat should that day ever come.

Thankfully, the Chin averted this doomsday scenario by rebuffing the Browns like a Detroit auto executive asked to fly coach.

All the P-6 had prayed for was that Cowher not go to the Browns. We received a much greater gift. The only thing better than Cowher (who is pretty much Mayor for Life in Pittsburgh) not going to Cleveland was watching him accept their flirtations only to give them a fake phone number at closing time. It was like watching your sworn enemy mac on your ex-girlfriend, and then she turns around and kicks him in the balls.

But wait, it gets better. Would the Browns finally get the formula right? Would they bring over Scott Pioli from New England? Bring back Marty Ball? Try and secure the services of one of the many fiery assistant coaches looking go all Tony Sparano or John Harbaugh on the floundering football team?

NO! They decided instead to hand over the reins to retread Eric Mangini, who garnered one playoff berth with Herm Edwards’ squad, but has missed the playoffs ever since. Now, the P-6 is a big fan of Mangini the Whistleblower, as he exposed the Patriots’ dynasty as the fraud that it is. We’ve never been impressed with his coaching talent, though, which makes us an even bigger fan of Mangini the Coach of the Browns.

We’re looking forward to another three years of blown coverages, wrecked motorcycles, dropped balls, draft busts, cap-busting free agents and other on- and off-field hijinx in Cleveland.

It’s enough to make us think that there just may be a higher power at work here. Although the front office moves of the Detroit Lions pretty much disprove Intelligent Design.


Six Pack

Wow, the P-6’s prognosticating prowess was at half strength in the Wild Card round, going 0-2 on Saturday and 2-0 on Sunday. That brings our season total to 48-34. Like Tony Kornheiser, we’ll try to do better next time.

Baltimore vs. Tennessee
The Ravens are frighteningly reminiscent of the ’05 Steelers and ’07 Giants.
P-6 picks: Baltimore

Arizona vs. Carolina
The Eastern Time Zone is a no-fly zone for these birds.
P-6 picks: Carolina

Philadelphia vs. N.Y. Giants
D-E-S-T-I-N-Y Eagles!
P-6 picks: Philly

San Diego vs. Pittsburgh
Let the beating begin.
P-6 picks: Pittsburgh

PickSix 1.3.09

Take it Outside
by Vince Darcangelo

Any football fan will tell you that January is the best of times and the worst of times. There’s a wealth of quality football on television — the Lions, Browns and Bengals are not on the guest list — but quantity is lacking. Gone are those wonderful Thursday, Sunday and Monday night games that made the week that much more bearable.

This thinning of football programming also reminds us that what Gary Zeidner refers to as the Dark Time is nigh.

But the P-6 is playing to the whistle, and this season isn’t over until we’re hoisting the Lombardi — or Pat Bowlen fires us.

Dome Theory

What’s wrong with the people of Arizona and Minnesota? These playoff-starved cities finally have a homecoming dance to attend, and their fans aren’t showing up! Risking possible (and unheard-of) television blackouts in the postseason!

We’re not too surprised, though, since both teams play in domes. The P-6 has long asserted that dome teams do not elicit much loyalty from their fans. Football is an outdoors, cold weather sport. This isn’t baseball, where the players run and hide in the dugout to keep their clothes dry when it starts to sprinkle. This is football. Bring on the mud, the fog, the snow, the rain. Blizzard? Even better. Hurricane? Ben Roethlisberger made his first start in a hurricane. No lie.

The best fans are those that root for cold weather teams in open-air stadia. Could you imagine cities like Chicago, Cleveland, Denver, Philadelphia or Pittsburgh going arena-style with its football stadia? Not a chance. There would be rioting in the streets. (Note that the cities listed above have been rightfully represented in more than a third of all Super Bowls.) Football towns love football weather, even in Cleveland where they don’t have much to cheer about, but dammit, they’re out there every week, shirtless, flashing signs, showing colors and tossing dog biscuits until the final gun.

As for Arizona and Minnesota (not to mention Detroit, which had to deal with blackouts earlier this year), even in good times you’re not supporting your team? Even with a comfort-control dome over your heads?

The P-6 says: Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow! And may the dome teams get knocked out this weekend so that true football towns can enjoy that magical playoff snow that comes only once a year.

Six Pack

Like the Arizona Cardinals, the P-6 limped into the playoffs, going 2-4 in week 16, dropping our season record to 46-32. We like to think of ourselves as the Philly of prognostication, though. We’re about to get hot at the right time.

Atlanta vs. Arizona
Shame on you, Arizona. And shame on you too, Atlanta, for having a dome.
P-6 picks: Atlanta

Indianapolis vs. San Diego
We’re pulling for you, Chargers, but don’t see it happening.
P-6 picks: Indy

Baltimore vs. Miami
Be afraid of the Ravens, NFL. Be very afraid.
P-6 picks: Baltimore

Philadelphia vs. Minnesota
Here’s to Donny Mac tearing the lid off that joint.
P-6 picks: Philly

Pigskin Zen 1.3.09

In Through the Out Door
by Gary Zeidner

Before the Eagles dropped an old-school kick-in-the-balls loss to the Redskins in Week 16, their destiny was in their own hands. After that clusterfuck – during which the Birds’ D held Washington mostly in check but the Birds’ O could only manage three pitiful points – the Eagles’ postseason possibilities were not only entirely out of their own hands, the odds of them even getting into the postseason were longer than mine of playing the role of Meat in the much-awaited (and fantasized about) Threesome With Rachel Weisz and Samantha Mathis.

Truly, dogs and cats had to sleep together, a Frenchman had to politely give directions to a visiting American in a Bush Rocks! T-shirt and the very planets had to alter their orbits if the Birds were to have any chance of reaching the postseason. Put another way, Tampa Bay had to lose . . . to the Raiders. Then, in addition to the T.B. loss, either Minnesota or Chicago had to lose. Then, on top of all that, the Birds had to beat the Cowgirls who, if they won, would make it into the postseason themselves.

Any Eagles fan will tell you that the vast (not just Pacific Ocean vast, like multiple-parallel-universes-sized vast) majority of time, the whole fucking world is against the Birds. In this case, however, it felt like for the first time in, well, forever, that maybe not the whole fucking world but at least some significant part of the whole fucking world was pulling for Donnie, Andy and the boys.

Sure as a New Year’s Day hangover, Tampa Bay managed to squander a 10-point lead and lose to the Raiders. The Vikings’ last-minute field goal got them a win over the Giants, but da Bears couldn’t sort out the Texans, and like that, the Eagle’s fate was back in their own hands. All that remained was to vanquish the hated Cowgirls, and it was off to the Wild Card round.

Vanquish them we did. Scratch that. We didn’t just vanquish the pack of crybaby criminals, malcontents and cocksuckers that are the Dallas Cowgirls, we knocked their dicks in the dirt, broke their spirit, stole their women, emptied their wallets, salted their lands and burned their homes to the ground! There are few victories sweeter for an Eagles fan than a victory over Dallas, and this 44-6 bukkake-fest all over Homo’s, T.O.’s and Jones’ faces – a victory that knocked them out of the playoffs while simultaneously landing us there – was sweeter than a warm piece of spongy chocolate cake covered in hot fudge and served on Natalie Portman’s pussy.

It’s three games to the Super Bowl. If the Birds play like they did against the Redksins, Minnesota could easily take us out in the Wild Card round. If my beloved Birds play like they did against Dallas, well there isn’t a team in the playoffs that can stop us. Go Donnie and Westy and B-Dawk and Jackson! Go Akers and Runyan and G-Lew! Go Birds!

E-A-G-L-E-S . . . EAGLES!!!