Note: The quotes in this article are fictional.
Philadelphia vs. New England
"L.G.O.T.S." says New England quarterback Tom Brady. "Let's get one thing straight. This Super Bowl is not about being a dynasty, not about repeating as champions, and not about becoming the second team to win three Super Bowls in four years. It's all about 'O.F.T.M.F.' And no, smarty pants, that's not ghetto graffiti one would find spray-painted on the side of the local Norfolk & Western train car. 'O.F.T.M.F.' means 'one for the middle finger.' I've got two rings, one on each ring finger. Now, I just need one for the middle finger. In case you're wondering, that's this one."
As Brady raises his right middle finger high above his head, he suddenly realizes he is on stage, as keynote speaker at the Fellowship of Christian Athletes convention in Jacksonville.
"Uh oh," Brady mumbles to himself. "I just shot the bird to a roomful of quality, God-fearing individuals. How can I get myself out of this one? Time for an audible that would make Peyton Manning envious."
"And that, folks," says Brady to the congregation, "was my Randy Moss impression. Thank you."
As the room erupts in laughter, Brady steps from the dais to a standing ovation. Moss is fined $50,000 by the NFL, and later finds his home plagued by a swarm of locusts, and a flaming hailstorm.
Such is the charmed life of Tom Brady, All-American boy-next-door and two-time Super Bowl MVP. Apparently, nothing can stop Brady and the Patriots; not the Colts, not the Steelers, not even the flu.
"Impressive is all I can say," adds Eagles' coach Andy Reid. "I'll have to register the coaching job of my lifetime to lead my team to victory. The greatest mystery of the 21st century is answering the question: how do you beat the Patriots in the Super Bowl? I'm not sure I have the answer for that, nor for the second greatest mystery, for that matter: why is Kid Rock famous?"
Good questions on both counts, Andy. But don't knock the Rock. What this planet needs is more honkies melding the worlds of country music and rap into a genre that both find equally unlistenable. But I digress. The betting line in Las Vegas opened with the Patriots as seven-point favorites, and the over/under on exposed breasts in the half-time show started at ½, while the over/under on Nielsen ratings for the Super Bowl halftime show opened at .0037.
"Wow! That's some line," says Terrell Owens, who has medical clearance to grant interviews, and a license to ill. "But what qualifies as half-a-breast? A fully exposed 34A? Or a half-exposed 38DD? Do man-boobs count, 'cause if they do, Coach Reid can expose himself with his shirt on? That is, unless he's wearing a Manzeer, courtesy of the design team of Seinfeld's Cosmo Kramer and Frank Costanza. I'm taking the over on exposed breasts. I'm also taking the over on the number of times my leg injury is replayed. I think the line is 1 ½."
"I think T.O.'s missing the point," explains Donovan McNabb. "It's insulting that we are seven-point underdogs. Now, we should be underdogs, but seven points? Come on. It looks like we'll be playing for R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Find out what it means to me. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Take care. T-C-B. Sock it to me. Sock it to me. Sock it to me."
Uh oh. It looks like Donovan's going Motown on us again. I guess now he moonwalks. But you know he's bad. He's bad. Sham on. You know it. Anyway, the Eagles could use a good woman like Aretha Franklin, if not to inspire them with her vocals, then to anchor their offensive line. I can see it now: the Queen of Soul pulling around right tackle, flanked by the Weather Girls and Mama Cass of the Mommas and the Poppas, forming a massive wall of blockers. Add Rosie O'Donnell at fullback and the shifty and skanky 'Lil Kim at tailback, and you have the makings of a devastating offense. But, I digress.
Beating the Patriots is no easy task. Nor is outsmarting Patriots' resident wizard Bill Belichick. Whereas Belichick was seven or eight steps ahead of Steelers' coach Bill Cowher in the AFC Championship game, the Eagles' Reid knows he must close that distance to one or two steps to have any chance of winning.
"Look, I'm under no illusions here," explains Reid. "I can only devise a game plan, hand it to my players, have someone read it to some of them, and hope it works and we win. We know we're dealing with greatness here. Win or lose, I think the Patriots are still a dynasty. And when you're challenging a dynasty, whether it be the Tang, the Ming, the Shang, the Xia, the Wang Chung, or hell, even the Poon Tang, you know you've got your work cut out. To have a chance, we've got to come out blazing and score first."
That makes sense, Andy. In all but one of their 16 wins this year, the Patriots were first on the board. And, playing with a lead, the Pats can stay with their game plan, and, in turn, force the other team out of their game plan.
"It's simple, really," says Belichick. "Everybody calls me a genius. I'm no genius. It doesn't take a genius to recognize what our opponent's strength is. That's just common sense. It's just a matter of what you're willing to give up to nullify said opponent's strength. Against Pittsburgh, we just told ourselves, 'Okay. Let's stop the run. Once they abandon it, we'll drop eight guys into coverage. If they fool us with a draw play on 3rd-and-12, so be it.' Well, with eight guys in coverage, it's very difficult to complete a pass of any consequence. The result: our opponent plays right into our hands. Like I said, I'm no genius. I think it's more a case of me being a man of average intellect, and everyone else being just a plain idiot."
Wow! I think that's more than Belichick has spoken in one sitting in his entire life. Now, if we could just get him to grow a soul patch and install some blonde highlights in his hair, he could be hangin' with P. Diddy and dating Paris Hilton.
"Not going to happen," replies Belichick.
I guess winning a third Super Bowl is more important than friendship with Suge Knight "Lite" and a courtship with a debutante with more miles on her than the pavement at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. At least to some people.
Belichick's master plan will center around containing McNabb and shadowing Eagle running back Brian Westbrook with one of his speedier linebackers. Westbrook was a matchup nightmare in Philly's two previous playoff wins over Minnesota and Atlanta, and despite his relatively small size as running backs go, he's been playing like a giant.
"Fe-fi-fo-shizzle," replies Westbrook, "Zeke Mowatt showed a reporter his Patriot Missile. Sorry, I just felt like rhyming there. Now, when you compared me to a giant, were you referring to 'a legendary humanlike creature of great strength and stature,' as defined by Webster's, or were you referring to a New York Giant?"
Well, neither, Brian, but now that you mention it, you do remind me a lot of Tiki Barber of the Giants, in that you are a breakaway threat catching or running the ball. And against the Patriots, you and the Eagles will need a few long gains to spread the Pats' defense, which in turn, will make it easier for Eagle receivers to get off the line of scrimmage.
Before the coverage rule change, Patriots' defensive backs were often guilty of more illegal contact than Pee Wee Herman and George Michael locked together in an adult theater, or a public restroom. Even with officials clamping down on illegal contact, New England still employs a philosophy of impeding receivers from smoothly entering their routes. This is why not having Owens at full strength hurts the Eagles. Owens normally could overpower any defender, whereas Freddie Mitchell and Todd Pinkston, those of the buggy whip arms, can not. The time a receiver uses to start his route is that much less time his quarterback has to avoid a rush.
"So you're saying," asks McNabb, "that I'll have to buy some time in the pocket with my elusiveness?"
No, I didn't. That sounds like something Trey Wingo would say on ESPN's NFL Live. But if I were on television, that's what I would say.
Okay, enough with the pregame analysis: let's play ball. The game is nearly cancelled before it starts when President George W. Bush delays the kickoff.
"The eagle is the powerful symbol of America," cites Bush, "and anyone trying to harm the eagle is in violation of federal law and the Patriot Act. Ummmmm ... wait a minute. How can the Patriots themselves be in violation of the Patriot Act, which, I believe, states, 'Don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes. The British are coming. The British are coming. Taxation without representation is tyranny. Give me liberty or give me death. I cannot tell a lie.' Beer me."
As a confused Bush is lead away by his handlers, right before, he had planned to throw out the first pitch, Adam Vinatieri kicks off to the Eagles, and Super Bowl XXXIX is underway.
McNabb comes out blazing, showing no jitters, working the underneath routes to his tight ends and Westbrook. McNabb punches it in with a six-yard touchdown run, and the Eagles take a 7-0 lead.
Not to be outdone on the biggest of stages, Brady and the Pats fire back, attacking the middle of the Eagle defense with Dillon, and the edges with quick passes to David Givens and Deion Branch. Dillon ties it at seven with a two-yard TD run, then loses all memory of his tenure in Cincinnati.
As is the case in all Patriot Super Bowls, or at least those in which they weren't blasted 46-10 by the Bears or defeated by Brett Favre, the game comes down to the final possession. Once again, Brady is primed to lead New England into position for a Vinatieri game-winning field goal.
"Okay, guys," Brady says in the huddle, "it's time for a Sirius Sunday Drive. Seriously. If I can't plug Disney World after I win the MVP, then I'm gonna give my satellite radio cronies a shout out."
"Uh, Tom," says Dillon. "The clock is running. Call a play, will you?"
Brady makes the call, and dumps a screen pass to Kevin Faulk, who races to the Eagle 31-yard line, where the Pats call for a T.O.
"Hey. They're calling my number," says Owens. "I better get out there."
Owens limps onto the field and pokes his head into the New England huddle.
"You rang," says Owens.
"Sorry, T.O.," replies Brady. "We called for a 'time out', not 'Terrell Owens.' Now get lost. And grab those two yellow flags, one for 'off sides,' and the other for '12 men on the field,' and hand them to the referee."
The referee steps off the five-yard penalty, and Vinatieri casually nails the 43-yard game-winner. New England wins, 38-35. Brady pulls an engraver from his pocket and personally etches his name on the MVP trophy.
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