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.