Ah, the playoffs. I was really looking forward to them going in; they’re just so exciting once you have all the Cleveland’s and Detroit’s weeded out. Good football, I thought. I cooked two pots of chili, got a two-liter of root beer, and got ready. I figured out how to wire the surround sound. I even bought a new 32-inch television. I got a whole lot of milk because the chili was spicier than I’d thought. And I sat down on the couch to watch what I was sure would be epic, competitive, exciting football.
Except that never happened.
The Jets game was all right. It was close enough that I thought the Bengals always had a chance to start catching passes or to start throwing those passes a bit closer to the receivers, and get back into it. They were running like mad on the best defense in football - 160 yards on the ground - and so they were in it. But they never really closed the gap and Sanchez never made a mistake on the other side of the ball and the Jets pretty much had it for the whole game. The Bengals just looked bad. And give the Jets credit: Revis and Company shut those wide receivers down. New York took it and I thought: the next one will be better.
It should have been, after all. Dallas and Philadelphia are huge rivals. Dallas, after trailing in the division all year, had just punched the Eagles in the mouth the week before. Tempers should have been hot and both offenses should have come out swinging. A high-powered game on prime time.
But, of course, I was wrong again. The Cowboys manhandled the Eagles all night; it was basically a replica of the week before, with the Cowboys scoring points and keeping that quick-strike Eagles’ offense from ever striking. With the exception of one brilliant pass from Mike Vick - showing off for whatever team wants him next year, no doubt - the Eagles were just not very good. Jackson was non-existent. The offense faltered and punted and it was a boring blowout.
Tomorrow, I told myself. I took some Mylanta and vowed off the chili and waited for Sunday. Then I would get my excitement, I said. Then I would get that fabled playoff football.
Not in the first game. I was late getting home and by the time I turned the television on, it was already 14-0 in favor of the Ravens. That trend continued, heartily. Brady fumbled and was intercepted multiple times. Randy Moss couldn’t get his Atlas Shoulders running down the field fast enough to get open. The Patriots were wiped out at home in front of a stunned crowd that booed them off the field.
(Photo courtesy of Matt York – AP)
Nothing is going to be close, I thought. None of these teams remember how to play. None of these players look like they know how to or want to win.
To be fair, I’m sure fans of the winning teams were excited. It’s always fun to watch your team blow someone out, run someone over. It’s especially fun to watch them do it in the other guy’s building, so that the fans start booing and throwing beer bottles on the field. But from a neutral fan standpoint - I’m not really a neutral fan, just a fan of a team not good enough to taste the postseason - it was boring football. Watching the Ravens crush New England’s receivers is awesome as far as highlight material, but doesn’t make for a riveting game that keeps you on the edge of your seat.
Then came the Packers and the Cardinals. Two teams often overlooked, battling it out in a state not really known for football: Arizona. The last game, the last chance. I ate a little more chili for good luck and prayed that this would be the one. I couldn’t handle much more of that good luck and didn’t want to have to try again.
It was. There’s not enough paper to write out the highlights. It was like watching backyard football - Brett Favre in his Wranglers. Warner and Rodgers lit up the screen. At one point, Warner - he’s 38, by the way - was 18-20 with four touchdowns. He finished the game with more touchdowns than incompletions. There were one-handed catches from Fitzgerald and Jennings, both for touchdowns. I mean, there was so much scoring that a fullback got into the end zone. Twice. And, in good fashion, it went to overtime. Neal Rackers, who hadn’t missed since Week Two, pulled an easy 33-yard shot so far to the left that it was painful to watch, and the game went to extra time.
The team who won the coin toss would win, I said. Neither defense had been there and either team could march down and score. Either team. The Packers won and I wondered why they didn’t just call the game right then. Rodgers missed a wide-open Jennings for a touchdown and I thought it was just a matter of time. One more play, maybe two. Then the unthinkable happened.
Rodgers was hit by a corner blitz, fumbled, and Karlos Dansby grabbed it out of the air (Rodgers kicked it up for him, kindly, as he fell) and ran it in.
I almost didn’t believe it. A defense that hadn’t made a play since the first quarter had just won the whole thing. The fans were screaming and waving things that were red around in the air - not sure if they were towels or shirts, but it didn’t matter. Dansby was pointing at the captain’s C on his chest and flapping his arms like he was a Cardinal. Old Man Warner was cheering and running down the field. It was insane and crazy and it was, finally, playoff football.
I threw out the rest of the chili. Thanks for that Dansby, more than anything else.
BYLINE:
Jonathan Schlosser is a writer and part-time library worker. He has published some short fiction and is working on finding a publisher for his novel. He has a B.A. in Writing, which means that, for a living, he is allowed to put away books at the library. He is also allowed to tell parents to tell their children to be quiet. He lives in Grand Rapids, MI. Email Jonathan at jonathan@zoiksonline.com.
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