Second things first: I just turned on ESPN to see a clip of Baseball Analyst Steve Phillips explain that he just got out of the same Mississippi Sex Clinic as Tiger and tell us all about the first step, “that he is powerless over his disease and his life became unmanageable.” I mean… come on. Anyone who is familiar with last call and the end of a Johnny Walker bottle has found themselves powerless over their life. Does this make us all sex addicts? No. No it doesn’t. It means that when Steve Phillips makes it rain at C Folds he doesn’t just stop at the “Light Touching Mezzanine,” he goes straight to the Champagne room where all the rumors are true.
And another thing (Sports Center is still on…) Is Dana Jacobson the real Sasquatch? Seriously… she’s a monster. She could have played the tall one from Deuce Bigalow.
But I digest…
Eff you Colts, Eff you Jim Caldwell, Eff you Peyton Manning and Eff you Indianapolis. Watching the Saints win the Super Bowl was just perfect. Though it was a soft year in commercials, I personally supplemented my normal commercial watching routine with an abnormal excess of eating and drinking.
To be completely honest with you the reader, (I’m watching you), I didn’t watch a ton of the game. I was immediately defeated by the 10-0 Colts burst to begin the game and may have had one to many comforting libations, and with every second of tedium that ticked by while The Who played their old white guy medley, Freeney’s shredded Schilling ankle got tighter and tighter to the point that it was simply unusable in the second half. As the 3rd Q progressed, the Saints were simply more and more dominant.
The most exciting moment of the game for me was Tracy Porter’s INT. He was just so clearly prepared for that play and might as well have been inside the heads (and bodies) of Peyton Manning and Reggie Wayne. As Porter sprinted towards the endzone, 6 points in-hand, and pointed to the stands as the flash bulbs went crazy, this chemical reaction happened and everyone in my living room went crazy.
Warren Sapp, in fact, celebrated by posting bail on charges that he choked a hooker. True Story.
There were no more holdouts after that, from that moment forward, the entire country knew the right team was winning. There’s something inside all of us that wants to be a Saints fan. The combination of values and partying that the Saints stand for simply inspires us as fun loving Americans.
The image of Super Bowl Champion and MVP Drew Brees standing on the podium with his son raised above his head as the confetti and cheers rained down on both of them is the sports moment of eternity and New Orleans should be not only INCREDIBLY hung over, but very proud of their team. It wasn’t cheesy, it was awesome.
Go New Orleans and Go Drew Brees.
And Go Katfish.