Start spreading the news. I’m leaving today. I want to wake up in the city that doesn’t sleep and catch a train to the Super Bowl in New Jersey.
Yes friends the infamous “New York” Super Bowl has finally arrived.
How fitting the forecast would be mid-30s and rain, considering the only thing worse than taking a train clogged with half-tanked businessmen, in $500 arctic parkas, before standing in a security line for two hours, only to assume your tiny perch outside in a February rainstorm, is the fact most have paid well over $3,000 for the chance to do so.
It’s been a long two weeks for part-time pretend sports columnists everywhere as storylines in New York, not unlike a meal for under $100, have proven difficult to find.
They’ve done everything short of resurrecting Tim Tebow, bouncing from the Richard Sherman interview to Peyton’s legacy to the sophistication of New York to openly questioning the strong nose and masculine jaw line of Lady Liberty.
So the Mad Clapper, Seahawks coach Pete Carroll, giggle-snorts his way to the Big Apple as his Pro-Bowl corner reaffirms his position that he is in fact the greatest cornerback in our solar system.
And as President Obama stood before a joint session of Congress to give his State of the Union address Tuesday night, surely even he must have realized that the Sherman interview, and ESPN’s subsequent fanning of the non-existent flames, did more in three days to galvanize the nation than he’s been able to do in the past five years.
Now we stand as an adopted nation of orange, shoulder to shoulder in our wooden barrels and Mork from Ork suspenders, our heads playing home, if only temporarily, to one of those ridiculous plastic horse-head hats that would make even Brad Pitt, dapper as he may be, look like a complete tool.