Despite all appearances to the contrary, I have not abandoned this blog. I’ve just been busy, as I’m sure you’ve guessed.

However, with the Super Bowl coming up tomorrow, and Peyton Manning’s smiling mug staring out from the top of the fold, I want to be clear about one thing: like Atrios, I am rooting for the Bears.

Update: Lance Mannion chimes in with an important reminder: Rooting for the Colts is not the same as voting Republican

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I’ve hated Peyton Manning for a long time. Despite his obvious talent, his meticulous game preparations, and his field-commander mentality, Manning’s line-of-scrimmage gesticulations and last-second audibles have always seemed a little too showy, a little too self-important, for my taste.

His effectiveness during the regular season has never been in dispute, but Manning has often crumbled in the playoffs. And when he has crumbled, he has blamed everybody but himself for his team’s losses. He put his unique brand of sulky arrogance on display last year, when, in a stunning breach of football etiquette, he blamed his offensive line — the very group of roughs charged with protecting his million-dollar arm — for a playoff loss.

Even his television commercials are offensive. In one ubiquitous MasterCard spot, for instance, Manning cheered on insurance adjusters, accountants, and supermarket deli workers as they went about their jobs. The intent, I suppose, was to parody the ridiculousness of sports-hero worship, but the commercial came across as an insult: ultimately, the ad reinforced the idea that most of our lives are not worthy of the reverence we reserve for guys like Peyton Manning.

My list of grievances goes on and on . . . I disliked the fact that, years ago, Manning disparaged Mike Vanderjagt not just for being an idiot, but also for being a kicker (as a former soccer player, I have a soft spot for NFL kickers who, it seems to me, get saddled with enormous amounts of pressure while receiving little respect). I didn’t like the way that Manning handled the situation, even if Vanderjagt had it coming.

All of this explains why I found myself surprised, last night, to be rooting for Manning’s Colts to come back from a 21-3 deficit against the Patriots. And what a comeback, what a game, it was: a pitched battle between two longtime rivals that came down to the last minute of play. In the end, I was happy to see Manning win one for a change — not because I dislike dynasties, but rather because, against all odds, I had come to like sympathize with Manning himself.

Have I gone soft? Did I simply fall prey to the habitual American instinct to root for the underdog, for the guy who has been kept down for too long? Perhaps. Or, perhaps it just seems to me that I’ve been a little unfair to Manning, and that it’s finally time for him to win the championship that he so desperately desires. I’m glad, at the least, that he has put himself and his team in a position to win it.

But if the Colts lose the Super Bowl, and he turns on his teammates again, all bets are off.

Update: Upon reflection, I’m not sure that I’m ready to go with “like.” “Sympathize with” seems like a more accurate description of what I was feeling as I watched the game.

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Can watching this video over and over again salve the pain of a tough playoff loss?

Well . . . maybe just a little bit.

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Andy Reid impersonator on Philadelphia’s 610 WIP this morning, commenting on yesterday’s Eagles loss to the Saints:

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“I’m starting to get concerned,” the radio host said during his euphoric postgame Eagles report. He had that feeling again, the one that had proved so dangerous to so many Philadelphia sports fans over the years: the feeling of hope.

Fans celebrate Lito Sheppard’s endzone interception (Jerry Lodigruss/Inquirer)

You couldn’t help but feel optimistic after the Eagles beat the Cowboys today by a score of 38-24. But this is Philadelphia, the city in which bad things happen to good teams, time and time again. The one Eagles loss this season — a devastating fall to the Giants, whom they had outplayed for three out of four quarters — reinforced the sense here that no lead was safe; even a sure victory could be snatched away at a moment’s notice.

Read the rest of this entry »

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T.O.’s attempted suicide has many of us scratching our heads. It’s hard to know what to make of it.

But it has been obvious, for a long time, that T.O. is a troubled man. On WIP, Philadelphia’s sports-talk radio station, mid-day hosts Anthony Gargano and Steve Martorano have done an impressive job of framing the issue and discussing it in a responsible way. After interviewing several psychologists who spoke about bipolar depression, they asked former Eagles player Hugh Douglass whom T.O.’s friends were when he played for the Eagles. Douglass mentioned that Jeremiah Trotter was his closest friend, but said that even Jeremiah was not that close to him.

Today, it seems to me that T.O.’s famed hyperbaric chamber is an apt symbol of his troubles: isolated from his teammates, T.O. lived under the constant pressure of media scrutiny. He courted that scrutiny, and in some ways seemed lost without it. But he wouldn’t be the first person who sought the look of the cameras because the alternative — standing alone in his room and looking at his face in the mirror — scared him.

Let’s hope that he’s able to get the help that he so desperately needs.

Update: Owens refutes report, says he didn’t attempt suicide.

Dan Le Batard believes him; I’m not sure what to believe.

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“There are, uh, uchhmm, some strategical things I should have done different.”

– Philadelphia Eagles Coach Andy Reid, after yesterday’s ridiculous loss to the Giants

I’m sick and tired of Andy Reid’s muffled throat-clearings and half-swallowed phrases. The Eagles looked like a Super Bowl contender for three out of four quarters yesterday. They need a coach who will show them how to finish.

‘Cause coffee’s for closers only.

“Get mad, you sonuvabitches, GET MAD!!!!”

UPDATE: The BM Rant has a nice recap, if you can stand to read it.

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Awash as we are in mass-media memorializations of 9/11, all tied in propagandistic fashion to the never-ending War on Terror, it’s surprising to find a mass-market sports magazine, Sports Illustrated, providing one of the most incisive and subversive takes on the construction of national identity, myth, and memory.

In an extraordinary article titled Remember His Name, which appeared in the September 11, 2006 issue of SI, Gary Smith recounts the life of death of Pat Tillman, the iconoclastic football player, Army Ranger, and thrill-seeker who was killed by friendly fire in Afghanistan.

Smith sets out to breathe life and personality back into the myth of Pat Tillman. He also provides a story about a story, a cautionary tale about the ways in which the political need to make Pat Tillman’s death fit the imperial narrative of martial sacrifice demeaned the ideals for which the man himself strived.

Thanks to the members of his family, who have refused to be silenced by military brass, most of us have known the truth behind Tillman’s death for some time. But what makes this piece remarkable is its ability to convey that truth — and Tillman’s fiercely independent personality — to a wider audience. As Smith points out in the last paragraphs of the story, facing Tillman’s death, and his life, honestly is about the least we can do to honor his service.

Although the piece is in some ways apolitical, its implications are obvious. The piece casts deserved blame on the Bush Administration and the U.S. military for their repeated cover-ups of the real cause of Tillman’s death, but also points toward larger problems with our political speech that have been very much on view in recent days during our nation’s remembrances of 9/11.

If Pat Tillman’s story teaches us anything, it’s that the symbols being used so callously by politicians of all stripes — but most often and most callously by the current administration — to promote war and extend political power represent a contemptible misuse of human lives that borders, in the end, on fascist propaganda. Whether the subjects at hand are Pat Tillman, Private Lynch, or the victims of the 9/11 attacks, we need to find a way to deconstruct the political mythology driving our country deeper into this endless, losing war.

This article, in a mass-market sports magazine, is a start. But there is a long way to go.

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King Kaufman, Salon’s sports columnist, is dependably excellent, especially when he writes about the third rail of professional sports in America: race. When I interviewed him last year for this blog, I asked him why the issue of race resonated so strongly with him. He responded:

Photo courtesy of NCAA

In today’s column (click through the ads to see it), King addresses another aspect of that slow process of integration when he highlights the fact that Warren Moon is about to become the first black quarterback inducted into the Football Hall of Fame. King finds that some sportswriters are minimizing this fact, because it highlights the racial struggles Moon went through during his career:

That a forty-nine year-old man has just become the first black quarterback in the Hall of Fame is a measure of how far we have to go. As King notes, the first step towards getting there involves an honest look back at Moon’s career.

Update: This post reminded me of an earlier one about an Asian college player trying to make it into the league: Racism in the NFL.

Timmy Chang, the subject of that piece, was picked up by the Eagles last year, but sent off to play a season in Europe. He may get his chance this year as a third-string backup to Donovan and Jeff Garcia. He’s currently on the roster.

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It was only a pre-season game, and one against the Cincinnati Bengals at that, but the Eagles looked very, very good last night.

A 64-yard touchdown pass was a nice way for T.O. to begin breaking the ice with Eagles fans, who have frozen him out of their hearts after tumultuous off-season. As Inquirer columnist Phil Sheriden wrote, “Philadelphians will boo a lot of things, but an Eagles touchdown is not and never will be one of them.”

Opinions of T.O. have gotten so low around here that when I saw this guy walking around in South Philly, I thought his t-shirt was about T.O.:

It turns out that the Satan in question was not T.O., but rather a hockey player named Miroslav Satan. Eagles fans may be saying F.U.T.O., but they haven’t consigned him to hell. . . yet. He’s an insane, ego-maniacal jerk, but the man can play football.

I had been worried about the Eagles because I thought that injuries, contract disputes, and off-season antics would have a divisive effect on the locker-room. But the Eagles were all business on the field. The defense was strong, and will be the emotional center of the team this year. The rookies look promising, and Greg Lewis’ one-handed TD catch was a thing of beauty.

With the rest of the conference looking weak, I’m beginning to be hopeful again.

As for T.O., Eagles fans may be willing to forgive the poor devil if he can put his mischief (and his agent) behind him.

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