Let’s be clear about this thing… Although I wanted the New Orleans Saints to win the Super Bowl, there was no way it seemed possible. Nothing personal against Drew Brees, Sean Payton, any of their teammates, Who Dat Nation, Dr. John, or anyone else from NOLA you can mention – it just didn’t seem like there was any way possible for them to come out on top against Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts. As much as it wounded my soul to admit it, it seemed Manning would walk away with yet another trophy and that much closer to solidifying his status as perhaps the greatest quarterback to play in the NFL.
New Orleans Saints 31, Indianapolis Colts 17. Whoops.
So what’d I miss? First and foremost, I completely disregarded how many formerly hapless franchises have managed to win championships since the beginning of the 21st Century. The New England Patriots (three), Boston Red Sox (two), Chicago White Sox, Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Arizona Diamondbacks, Tampa Bay Lightning, Florida Marlins, Anaheim Ducks, and Carolina Hurricanes all overcame miserable histories or extremely long championship droughts in order to win the big one. That’s not including franchises who may have won previously, but had other factors working against them: Indianapolis Colts (Peyton Manning’s transformation from happy-feet to clutch QB not to mention overcoming the bad karma from their move to Indy), Baltimore Ravens (had the corpse of Trent Dilfer starting at QB), Boston Celtics (overcame the deaths of Len Bias and Reggie Lewis, the natural disaster that was Rick Pitino, mass incompetence on every level, and the fact no in the NBA ever wanted to see them successful again because Red had screwed just about every other team at some time or another in deals), Philadelphia Phillies (just a horrid team for years), and New York Giants (Eli Manning… ’nuff said). That evidence alone should’ve made me realize that a Saints win was practically preordained by the football gods and fighting against The Century Of The Losers was pointless.
Second, I completely forgot that the Colts were far from being a juggernaut – they were a good team who happened to have one of the best two quarterbacks in the NFL running the show. Peyton Manning is such a technician and knows the offense so well at this point that I could line up in the slot for him and I’d probably wind up with 900 yards and 6 touchdowns next season. However, aside from Manning, how scary was this team? It was widely acknowledged that without Peyton, the Colts were questionable as even a playoff team – how did that not start ringing alarm bells? Wasn’t that the same thing folks always said about John Elway back in the day before Terrell Davis and Mike Shanahan got into town? At some point, doesn’t a team need someone other than their prime guy to make a play in order to win a championship? How many times can I answer my own questions with more questions before my head explodes?
Third was maybe the biggest mismatch that no one seemed to mention prior to the game – coaching. Sean Payton has been coaching the Saints for the past four years, was 41-30 heading into the Super Bowl, and his team has never ranked lower than 4th in overall offense. Jim Caldwell was in his first season as a head coach after being the hand-picked successor to Tony Dungy, nobody knew how he’d handle a pressure situation, and his emotional reactions on the sideline seemed to range from Al Gore to Zombie Al Gore. Um yeah, looking back that’s a bit of a red flag, wouldn’t you say? Say what you will about how lucky Sean Payton was with some bold calls going his way (the onside kick, going for it on fourth down at the end of the first half and still getting three points, blitzing the crap out of Manning when common sense dictates you respect him and drop back into coverage), but sometimes the difference between “good” and “great” is just that – luck. Taking an educated guess and having it work out. Hell, at least he guessed – Caldwell allowed his team to use the same play twice in four plays, which doesn’t even work out in Madden on the easy level. Worse than that, it was a play they run constantly – something the defense would already be on the lookout for.
Fourth, and perhaps most importantly of all, I had assumed that the “Footsteps” Manning had disappeared forever, leaving us with “Field Marshall” Manning for the rest of eternity. Who knew that he’d come swinging in on a rope during the third quarter and make his un-triumphant comeback? Most everyone thought that all those years of tap dancing in the backfield and winging it to a runningback so he could get clobbered instead of number 18 were over – we all thought Manning had turned the corner and gone clutch. Except, we all forgot a couple details… The Colts probably wouldn’t have gone to the Super Bowl in the first place had the Patriots employed actual wide receivers that year instead of Reche “Stonehands” Caldwell and the corpse of Troy Brown. They certainly wouldn’t have won as easily had the Bears had an actual, you know, defensive strategy besides “Don’t allow anything deep and allow the most accurate quarterback in the league to pick us apart like a Thanksgiving turkey” and been facing the second worst quarterback to ever start a Super Bowl, Rex Grossman. That’s not even mentioning that amazingly odd defensive run that the Colts experienced that year through the playoffs when they suddenly learned how to stop the run – something they didn’t ever do before and haven’t done since. Had this been baseball, that’s the equivalent of a career utility infielder adding 50 pounds of muscle over the all-star break and belting 40 homers in the second half – the HGH jokes would’ve been thick. I guess what I’m saying is that my assumption that Manning had changed was based on some rather flimsy evidence.
So I guess we still have Peyton Manning to kick around after all. The Manning Face has returned, and it is epic. In fact, I think what we were seeing on the sidelines during the third quarter went beyond the traditional Manning Face – it was something darker and more manic, like Private Pyle from Full Metal Jacket just before he sends R. Lee Emery to that great boot camp in the sky. For a Colts fan, it must’ve been a deeply disturbing moment. For someone who had consigned themselves to their inevitable fate, it was like seeing a messenger come streaking into the room with a Governor’s reprieve just after being strapped into the electric chair. Now that, my friends, is priceless.
