Sleep through the static

I know, it's hardly practical to attempt a media blackout when you work in the sports department of a newspaper. But trust me when I say I did my damnedest. Save for Dave D'Onofrio's thoughtful postgame autopsy and the clear-eyed dispatches of Mike Reiss and Chris Gasper, pretty much everything I read in the past week I read only because I was being paid to.

My clicker never settled on ESPN, not for one shouted, hyperbolic, ill-informed word. No "Sports Illustrated championship pack" commercials for me, or, I suspect, you. No Peter King-Favre, and definitely no Kissing Suzy Kolber. No WEEI or WFAN (my usual late-night choice on the trip home from Boston). Just the new Jack Johnson CD, my own mental NFL Films reel, and ever so gradually, some peace of mind regarding the agonizing way it all played out. Yes, I may need to make a habit of tuning out.

So . . . eight days later, here we are, slowly moving on, trying to make sense of the fact that the quest for perfection was derailed by the likes of Eli Manning and David Freakin' Tyree. Not that we'd ever begrudge the Giants their epic victory; they were clutch, smart, well-prepared, aggressive, resourceful, and damn lucky, a formula that should be familiar to and appreciated by any Patriots fan with a shred of self-awareness.

But I don't think it's bad form to admit the Giants deserved to win while also bemoaning that fact that they Patriots had, what, four or five chances on the final drive to clinch the victory for themselves? It just goes to show that football, not baseball, is the ultimate game of inches. If Samuel holds on to the pick . . . if someone in that sea of hands hauls down Manning . . . if Harrison can just pull Tyree's hand free . . .

If, if, if.

Bleeping if.

Hey, like I said, we're returning from the underground slowly. It ain't easy. The hardest part to accept, other than the actual outcome itself, is this: the Patriots needed one play to secure a legacy as the greatest team in history of the NFL, and players who have consistently delivered those big plays in big moments had their chances . . . and shockingly, they let them slip through their hands, literally so in Samuel's case. And because of this out-of-character failure to make the one play they need, their legacy is not one of greatness or immortalily or dominance, but one of almost . . . I don't know, mockery or pity or as a cautionary tale or something. They seem to be regarded now like the marathoner on a record pace who tripped and fell right on his face before the finish line, except on a grander scale, because no one gives a *%&$ about marathoning. They're laughing at us, not with us, and I fear, with good reason, that 18-1 is the new 1918. I hate this feeling.

Odd how the pendulum swings. One play gets made, one play, and this team's relegates the '72 Dolphins to the obscurity they deserve. But one play didn't get made, and now we're left to wonder if the loss was an all-too-appropriate bookend to the Super Bowl victory over the Rams, the completion of the circle. Removing emotion from the equation, I honestly don't believe that we saw an era's conclusion last Sunday; a smart, talent-rich team with Bill Belichick on its sideline and Tom Brady as its quarterback is not going to fade from perennial championship contention because of one soul-crushing loss. We must concede, however, that the coach and the QB no longer have the air of invincibility in the postseason that they once did. This is three seasons without a championship, and the last two season-ending losses have come, excruciatingly, in the game's final moments. The Super Bowl victory over the Eagles is starting to feel like a long time ago.

In a sense, I wish next season would begin tomorrow, just to dull the memory of their last play. As much as I love baseball, this is not a wound that can be healed by another sport, and it's downright silly to suggest the arrival of pitchers and catchers, while a traditional sign that brighter days are coming, can do anything to ease the disappointment of what happened in Arizona.

Further, anyone who suggests this loss was less significant because the indignity was suffered by the Pats instead of the Sox is simply allowing personal opinion to overwhelm logic. Boston is not solely a Baseball Town, not now, and maybe never again; it is a Pro Sports Town now, as evidenced by the current swirling moods: the genuine grief of the Patriots' demise and the giddiness surrounding the Celtics' resurgence. Hell, I'm convinced that if Jeremy Jacobs ever spent some of his beer-and-wiener loot on his neglected hockey team, the marginalized Bruins could again become as beloved as they were in the Neely/Bourque years, if not the golden days of the Gallery Gods in the '70s. It's easy to forget now, but Boston was once a Hockey Town above all else.

We New Englanders are, however, the only ones who have any affection this Patriots team. Everyone besides you and me - to borrow a word from Tom Jackson - hates them, and you bet I believe the whispers that the press box erupted in cheers when the football settled gently into Plaxico Burress's hands.

While some - okay, a lot - of the public disdain is self-inflicted, and I think it would be hugely beneficial if Belichick would permit himself to always be as charming as he was during Super Bowl week, all the ancillary white noise shouldn't sap the fun out of being a fan. Yet it did; turns out it sucks being Goliath.

You'd think the journey to 18-0 would have been joyful, but between SpyGate, RunningUpTheScoreGate, ConsensualHorseplayGate, BradyInABootOnTMZGate, and all the other saturation b.s. "coverage" on ESPN and elsewhere, it turned out that the only fun in following this team came during the actual games . . . that is, until the last game.

Right now, I find myself looking forward to the day the Patriots are treated like just another very good football team again. If that's even possible.

* * *

As for today's Completely Random Football Card:


Yeah? Something tells me He loves you more, pal.

The loneliest number

Never would have thought before this season that 18-1 could feel so empty.

Almost perfect? C'mon, that counts for absolutely nothing at this hour. There is no solace to be found. So much more than a single football game was lost tonight. The Patriots were 60 well-played minutes from sporting immortality. They would have stood alone as the greatest team in the history of the sport.

Now? Now they will now be lumped with the '68 Colts, the '90 Bills, the '01 Rams as pumped-up favorites who did not live up to their billing. Those who prematurely reveled in their superiority will be left eating a heaping helping of our own words. (Hello there.) The '72 Dolphins will raise their glasses. The ESPN airbags will smirk. Your Patriots be called chokers. New Yawkers will gloat, loudly, for the first time since Oct, '04. We will have no choice but to endure it all.

I'm in no mood to compare and contrast my favorite teams' most devastating defeats, but I'll admit, the pain of this one won't equal the spirit-crushing sadness I felt after the 2003 ALCS loss; I guess baseball just owns a bigger piece of my heart. But it does leave me aching, and a little bit shellshocked. We've been so blessed as New England sports fans in recent seasons that you'd think disappointment wouldn't hit us so hard anymore. It does. The more you think about what happened tonight, the more depressing it gets. It almost doesn't seem real.


So we're left to search for an explanation for What Went Wrong, and we can't resist the temptation to distribute the blame. Scapegoats can be found without much of a search. The offensive line was a five-man homage to Max Lane; they helped make Justin Tuck a star tonight. Ellis Hobbs, a weak link exposed, still has no idea where the hell Plaxico Burress went. Benjamin Watson (one penalty, one false start, zero catches) would have helped the cause more by remaining behind in Foxboro. And that's just the starter list.

Even the two men who always gave us the confidence - sure, arrogance - to believe the Patriots would coast to their fourth championship in seven seasons were not their usual infallible selves tonight. Belichick's decision to go for a fourth and 13 in the first half rather than have Stephen Gostkowski attempt a 49-yard field goal was curious at the time, and in hindsight it looks like a strategic blunder that will linger. Worse, he now has something in common with Mike Martz. He was outcoached on the biggest stage, and those right there are words I never thought I'd write.

As for the quarterback, I imagine he never thought Plaxico Namath's 23-17 prediction would actually be generous to the Pats' offense. It's fair to say Brady was underwhelming for the second straight playoff game, playing sluggishly until the go-ahead drive in the fourth quarter. Brady, like his coach, no longer owns that invincible aura in the postseason - that happens when you lose to a Manning in the final minute two straight seasons. I would not be surprised to learn the infamous ankle was injured more than anyone outside of the Patriots' locker room knew; he did not step into his deep throws all night, and he was unusually scattershot on numerous passes longer than a dozen or so yards. The New York pass rush battered him like he was an honorary Bledsoe. The only way his day could have been more disappointing is if Gisele went home with Eli Manning.

While the Patriots contributed to their own demise, let's be clear. They didn't lose the game; the Giants went out and won the damn thing, and while that is absolutely no consolation whatsoever, it's a fact. Manning out-Bradyed Brady, throwing a pair of fourth-quarter TD passes and emerging confidently from big brother Peyton's enormous shadow, and it must have been easy for anyone without a New England allegiance to root for him tonight. I'm not sure I've seen a career-defining moment take place for two teammates on the same play, but Manning's escape-and-heave to David Tyree for the one-handed catch against his helmet . . . well, Steve Sabol IV will be showing that one on NFL Films reels decades from now. It will endure as The Play from this game, a Montana-to-Clark for this generation. I'd just as soon never see it again.

The cruelest twist, of coure, is that the Giants beat the Patriots with what was once their signature style - fierce and unrelenting defense, an opportunistic, efficient offense, and just the right amount of pure friggin' luck. (Tell me again how Pierre Woods failed to come up with that loose ball in the second quarter.) Watching the Giants play so admirably, you can't help but wonder if, during this high-flying, record-setting season, the Patriots have somehow lost their way, the essence of what they once were and what they should be. I do not need to remind you that his makes three straight years the Patriots have had to walk off the field with their heads bowed. While they remain the sport's model organization and surely will be in the postseason mix again a season from now, the dynasty talk for now belongs in the past tense.

We can't help but recall what Brady said often in the days leading up to the game. We will remember this game all our lives. Sadly, now it will be for all the wrong reasons. The coronation turned into a funeral. Those damn Giants, they were right all along.

Four-front

During the hypnotizing hype (as the great Joe Posnanski calls it) of this ridiculous two-week hiatus between football games, I've passed some time attempting to temper my surging arrogance about a certain dynasty's immediate destiny.

I reminded myself that this is exactly how St. Louis Rams fans felt six seasons ago. I paid proper respect to the strengths of this admirable if mouthy Giants football team - the thunder 'n' lightning running duo of Brandon Jacobs and Ahmad Bradshaw, the fierce Strahan/Umenyiora-led pass rush that surely will test Tom Brady's re-booted ankle, the height advantage talented Plaxico Burress holds over the Patriots' shrimpy cornerbacks. I even wondered if my desperation to witness the completion of a flawless season is blurring the line between what I hope happens and what is likely to happen.

I considered, pondered, even worried a little . . . I tried, honestly I did. But in the end, my forced attempts at humble concern were as bleepin' hopeless as the underdog's chances tonight.

The New England Patriots are going to pulverize the New York Giants this evening. Think Steve Young vs. Stan Humphries. Fetal Tony Eason vs. the 46 Defense. The How 'Bout Them Cowboys vs. the hapless Bills. A mismatch for the ages.

It's been a redemptive run through the postseason for Eli Manning, Tom Coughlin, and the Giants, a team that has legitimately suffered more skeptics and doubters than the Patriots could ever imagine. (And admittedly, a lot of the Patriots' are imagined.) But all logic suggests their bandwagon will go careening off the road today, and football fans everywhere will be left rubbernecking at the wreckage.

We'll keep this simple. To stay with the Patriots today, the Giants will need every positive event from their 38-35 loss in Week 17 - four red-zone TD passes from Manning, a kick return for a TD, a stalled Patriots running game - to reoccur. And the will need to eliminate every mistake they made in the previous meeting while containing, if not entirely shutting down, a Patriots passing attack that is sure to be rejuvenated in the Arizona sun.

To stay with the Patriots, they are the ones who will have to be perfect. And the chances of that happening are roughly the same as the chances of Brady ditching Gisele to go back to Tara Reid.

This is how it's going to go, people. The Patriots will pull ahead early, Brady finding Randy Moss deep once or twice against the Giants' spotty defensive backfield, and suddenly Manning will find himself playing from behind against a Patriots defense that will undoubtedly reveal wrinkles and complexities he did not see in the previous meeting. For a quarterback who considered a disappointment if not an out-and-out bust six weeks ago, it's a recipe for embarrassment. When it's all over, Archie Manning will remember why Peyton was always his favorite.

Yes, today will bring the culmination and the coronation. Nineteen wins, zero losses, a legacy that will endure for all time. Do you really think a team led by Bill Belichick and Brady, a team populated by savvy veterans, a team that knows its way around a Super Bowl or four, will let football immortality slip from their grasp?

Not a chance, which in part explains why Belichick was in such an unusually jolly mood this week. He knows his team is ready for its closeup, and nothing - not Eagles fanboy Arlen Spector's curiously timed grandstanding, not Matt Walsh's vague insinuations, not even the look-at-me pleas for attention by the likes of Merril Hoge and Gregg Easterbrook - can bring them down. In fact, that's the irony that is somehow lost on their haters and skeptics. Their doubts feed the beast. I've never seen another professional sports team that so effectively converts sleights - both real and imagined - into fuel come game time.

Which is why, at roughly 10 p.m. this evening, we'll bear delightful witness to one final act of vengeance. The confetti will rain, the Patriots will reign . . . and Roger Goodell, a fake plastic smile creasing his face, will have to hand over the Lombardi Trophy to Bill Belichick.

If that isn't the perfect final scene to a perfect season, well, just you tell me what is.

* * *

As for today's Completely Random Hall of Famer:


A long overdue honor for 'ol No. 56, and a rather fine way to kick off the Patriots-centric weekend as well.

First and 10: Perfection

1. So there you have it: 16-0. History. Perfection. The impossible as reality. The 2007 New England Patriots are the single greatest team in NFL history . . . during the regular season. You, me, and a certain gridiron genius in a gray hoodie realize that this team's true legacy will be determined in the next three games. The Patriots will either go down as the best team ever in professional football . . . or the best team in professional football that didn't win the Super Bowl. The difference there is bigger than Vince Wilfork's backside. But there are two weeks before that next football game, two weeks before the first chapter in Three Games To Glory, Vol. 4 is recorded, and right now is the time to savor what this impossibly brilliant team has accomplished up to this point. We'll begin with all the glittering numbers - Tom Brady's 50 touchdown passes, Randy Moss's 23 touchdown catches, the league records for points (589 . . . 589!) and touchdowns (75) - but you know what makes these Patriots truly special, and perhaps unique in the annals of professional football? An uncanny knack for always - always, always, always - making the play they need to make at the moment they need to make it; just ask the Colts, or the Ravens, or the Eagles, or the oh-so-close Giants tonight. I do not need to tell you that so much of that magic in the clutch is because of the unflappable quarterback, and while I feel obligated to attempt to say something profound about Brady right now, I'm struggling mightily to find the words to do justice to what he has accomplished so far this season. Brady finished 32 for 42 for 356 yards and two touchdowns tonight against a Giants team that made him earn every single yard (so much for resting their players). And yet, even as the Patriots fell behind by their largest deficit of the season, 12 points, there was little doubt that No. 12 would make sure his team would emerge with the victory. The best I can offer is that Brady - whom I considered on par with Joe Montana as the finest quarterback of all time even before this year's statistical explosion - has become one of those elite athletes, like Montana, Michael Jordan, Bill Russell and so very few others - who can be properly described as transcendent. With three more victories, the same term will apply to his team.

2. The Giants have a well-deserved reputation as one of the most maddening teams in the NFL - one week they can look like a legitimate contender in the NFC, and the next week they'll look as hapless as the '76 Buccaneers. That said, my respect for them grew considerably tonight. Their defense came to play, outhitting the Patriots in the first half and landing good, clean shots on Prince Charles all night, and I was also impressed with running back Brandon Jacobs, whose relentless style caused the Patriots to miss countless tackles, especially in the brutally physical first half. (He left tire tracks on Rodney Harrison on more than one occasion.) And while I'm reluctant to praise the Lesser of the Mannings given that the Patriots have had their problems with the inept likes of Kyle Boller and A.J. Feeley lately, I must admit that Eli showed me something tonight. I'm not saying he'll ever escape his brother's shadow, and he may never justify being the No. 1 overall pick, but he played well enough to put up 28 offensive points on a 15-0 team tonight, and for that he deserves credit. Besides, he's not nearly as sorry as Philip Rivers, the all-talk, no-action QB he was, in effect, traded for. Of course, now that we praise them, they'll go and lose to Tampa Bay by two touchdowns next weekend. There's a reason Tom Coughlin looks so tense.

3. I was surprised to see on the stat sheet that Laurence Maroney finished with just 46 yards on 19 carries. Maybe his performance was exaggerated in my mind by the two rushing touchdowns, including the clincher in the final minutes, but I was very impressed with him tonight, and during the last couple of games, really. He's been running violently, and with perhaps as much determination as he has since the beginning of his rookie season, and while I think some of the criticism he has absorbed this season comes from people who always need something to complain about, I am convinced that someone - a coach, a teammate, one of the dudes with a musket - got to him recently and convinced him that he needs to toughen up and bring his game to the next level if this team is going to win a Super Bowl.

4. Brady's double-record-breaking touchdown pass to Moss, a 65-yard bomb with a little more than 11 minutes remaining, was just as aesthetically pleasing as we dared imagine it would be, and that it was the go-ahead score seemed appropriate. There are, of course, certain other on-field matters to be settled before we even begin to consider who will be back with this team next season and who won't be, but I have to say right now that it's absolutely imperative that the Patriots bring Moss back next year even with the higher sticker price. After watching him, I've been completely spoiled, and no other receiver can possibly compare. The circus can't leave town just yet, you know?

5. He might not be the single toughest Patriots pound-for-pound - at the moment, I think that title must go to one Wesley Welker, who finishes the regular season with 112 catches, or one for every pound he weighs - but is there any Patriots fan who isn't thoroughly impressed by Kevin Faulk right now? In his younger days he used to make you nervous because of his penchant for putting the ball on the ground at the worst times, but at this point in his career, he's become the running back version of Troy Brown, the undersized, underestimated guy who never fails to deliver a huge play when the moment demands it. Tonight he had eight catches for 64 yards, and as usual, a couple of his catch-and-run receptions gained crucial first downs. Faulk's one of those guys, like Brown or Steve Nelson or Steve Grogan or Willie McGinest, who we'll remember with increasing fondness as the years pass.

6. I'm sure we'll hear the usual vaguely insulting words associated with Bill Belichick over the next few days and weeks - humorless, bland, dour, frumpy, stoic, emotionless, unsentimental, cold, and so on - but the man sure looked pretty damn happy to me as he embraced his players as the clock wound down on history. I've said it before and I'll say it again: That Belichick is reluctant to share his human side with the media does not detract from the reality, which is this: He's might be the most compelling person in the entire league, he has more players and coaches who are immensely loyal to him than any coach I can think of with the possible exception of Bill Parcells, and to pigeonhole him as some sort of android just because he is uncooperative or wary is the act of someone who would rather settle for a cliche than put the effort in to find the complicated truth.

7. Know who led the Patriots in tackles tonight? Harrison? Always a good guess, but No. 37 (who was particularly, um, "animated" tonight) was second with six stops. Mike Vrabel? Again a good guess, but he had just two (and one huge onsides kick recovery). Ellis Hobbs? A good sleeper pick, for he always seems to be hauling down a receiver after a reception, but he also had six tackles, five solo. Ready for the answer? Brandon Meriweather, with seven, six solo. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what that means - does Belichick trust him more in the base defense now than he did a few weeks ago, or were his stats enhanced by playing special teams? - but it's certainly encouraging that this year's first-round pick suddenly is showing signs that he will live up to his advance billing, and it couldn't happen at a better time. The more playmakers the Patriots have, the better, especially against the looming Colts.

8. I'm not saying I'm shocked that Giants punter Jeff Feagles is still employed in the NFL, but it fairly amazing that this is the same guy who impressed few while averaging a measly 38.3 yards per kick for the 1988 Patriots. Being a punter is a nice and lucrative life if you can get it. (Somewhere, Sean Landeta nods in agreement.)

9. I'm just going to assume that the new and alarming holes in the usually stellar kick coverage team were due to the absence of special teams aces Willie Andrews and Kyle Eckel, and that it's something Brad Seely will have properly repaired by the time the Patriots take the field again. (And that concludes tonight's B**** About Something Minor Minute. Thank you for joining us, and please visit us again in two weeks when we attempt to urinate on another parade.)

10. As for today's Completely Random Football Card:



You know, I was all set revel in the fact that it's finally time for the ubiquitous Mr. Morris to shut up and go home, but after hearing his hilariously oblivious humiliation of Fred Smerlas and Steve DeOssie on WEEI this week ("Did you guys ever play football? Didya?"), the crazy old Dolphin is all right in my book. Don Shula, however . . . now there's someone who can just shut up and go home.

First and 10: Patriots 17, Bears 13

1. It was a far cry from flawless, what with the nine combined turnovers, including five by the Patriots, three in the red zone. But you know what? Our Guys won, and if there's anything we've learned during the Belichick/Dynasty Era, it's that a W is a W is a W, not matter how aesthetically unpleasant it may be. Besides, we tend to agree with Ron Borges's take this morning - there is something intrinsically appealing in watching two violent and relentless defenses do their thing. It was a fun and ultimately rewarding game to watch, mistakes, blunders, terrible calls, deflected passes and all. Best of all, the Patriots took the Bears' best shot, and for the first time this season against an elite foe, they didn't prove to have a glass chin; finally, they earned a notable victory against a team with a winning record, and if the season progresses in the manner we expect it to, it's entirely possible that the rematch of these two heavyweights will be scheduled Feb. 4 in Miami.


2. Farewell, Junior Seau. I admit I was a skeptic when you deferred your "graduation" to answer Bill Belichick's call - aging former superstars with a reputation for freelancing aren't often willing accomplices to the Patriot Way. Yet you played so remarkably well and fit in so seamlessly in your 11 games as a Patriot, damned if it didn't feel like you had been one of ours all along. Here's hoping that raucous, appreciative salute the Gillette Stadium crowd gave you as you departed gave you a measure of pride and joy to combat the agony of the moment.


3. Wow, was that Asante Samuel out there, or was it Ty Law in a braided wig? No. 22's performance Sunday was right out of ol' No. 24's highlight reel - three interceptions that showed off hands Chad Jackson would kill for, a surprisingly steady and stout presence in the running game (nine tackles), and an occasional, forgivable gamble that doesn't pay off. Samuel is a free agent after this season, and while he strikes me as a solid No. 2 cornerback rather than a legit No. 1, I hope the Patriots pay him, even as the price keeps rising. Quality corners are rare gems, and Samuel has proven to be at least that.

4. Brady's Vick-in-super-slo-mo fakeout of Brian Urlacher has to be one of my favorite random Patriots plays of all-time, and it was enhanced by the players' reaction to it: Brady busted out the completely out-of-character, animated "First Downnnn!" signal, while Urlacher's sheepish smile revealed his embarrassment beneath his facemask. And for what it's worth, after watching him brawl with my favorite team, I admire Urlacher even more now than I did before. Not only is he a force of nature on the field - no one that big should be that fast - but, at the risk of sounding like one of those Favre suck-ups, he's clearly enjoying himself out there. The guy is a joy to watch, for both talent and temperament.

5. He's still something of an enigma - how could he allow two sure receptions to ricochet skyward and become interceptions? - but it's worth noting that Ben Watson is quietly having a stellar statistical season. He's fourth among tight ends in receiving yards (599, ahead of such notables as Todd Heap and Alge Crumpler) and fifth in receptions (45). And best of all, he seems to be getting better and gaining more of Brady's trust with each passing week. He's becoming exactly what we hoped he'd be, even if he's not quite there yet.


6. Dr. Z has long been my second-favorite football-loving curmudgeon (after my dad), but I really lost a heap of respect for him after this irresponsible item in a recent column:

Let's take a look at all-pro DE/DT Richard Seymour. . . . I watched Seymour when the Pats lost to the Jets. Biggest dog you've ever seen on the field. No effort, no technique, I mean tight ends were steering him around like a VW. OK, maybe he was hurt. You never know with this club.

C'mon, now, what the hell is that? A vicious attack ("biggest dog you've ever seen") followed quickly by a half-assed concession that he "might" be hurt? Pathetic. Seymour, his elbow and leg injuries apparently healing, was again his havoc-wreaking self against the Bears. I hope Dr. Z took notice, though I suspect he was too busy watching Matlock re-runs and worrying about making it to the early-bird special in time to pay much attention.

7. I've got "Monday Night Football" on in the background here at the TATB home office (a.k.a. the couch). And while I might be mistaken, apparently Joe Theismann stopped admiring his reflection in his always-handy pocket mirror long enough to pay attention to tonight's game, because I swear I just heard him blabber these well-worn words: "That's just Brett trying to make a play there. You've really got to admire his competitiveness." So what gridiron miracle did Funny-Bone Favre pull off this time? Hail Mary touchdown pass to Driver, perhaps? C'mon, you know better than that . . . try and ill-advised, who-gives-$*&#& heave, followed by an interception, followed by the requisite excuse-making from the color commentator. I've really got no problem with Favre, who's likeable enough even as he fades into mediocrity. But I've gotta say, the incessant verbal backrubs really make me root for him to suck.


8. Hmmm . . . looks like Giants fans are starting to suspect that Eli Manning isn't and never will be the quarterbacking equal of his big brother. How soon before Stage Father Archie demands the Giants trade his Youngest Doofus Spawn to a more accommodating place . . . you know, such as sunny San Diego? Man, karma is a . . .

9. Other scattered thoughts from Week 12: Joey Harrington has a whole hell of a lot more class than Matt Millen and his bush-league Lions. How does that proven dope keep his job, anyway? . . . For all the hubbub surrounding his comments, Jim Mora Sr. was spot-on: Michael (Dirty Bird) Vick is a coach-killer . . . A buddy of mine who's a Cowboys fan to the point of raging insanity (he sucker-punched a sliding-glass door when Vinatieri flagged down Herschel) says Tony Romo's quarterbacking style reminds him of Jeff Garcia during his peak years in San Francisco. Um, lets hope T.O. doesn't find out about this comparison . . . Did you catch Marvin Harrison's little hissy fit against the Eagles? Looks like Ty Law's old punching bag is having a tough time coming to grips with being Reggie Wayne's caddy in Indy . . . Martin Gramatica in, Drunken Idiot Kicker out in Dallas. I still don't understand why the Tuna didn't ante up for Vinatieri . . . The six best teams at the moment: 1. San Diego (but Marty Schottenheimer, the Tom O'Brien of the NFL, will screw it up on the big stage.) 2. Baltimore (until McNair's inevitable injury) 3. Indy (Joseph Addai looks like an upgrade over Edgerrin James) 4. New England (and you know I'd bet on them to beat the three teams ahead of them when it matters) 5. Dallas (Romo has cured everything!) 6. Chicago (if only they had a better QB than Rex the Blunder Dog).

10. As for today's Completely Random Football Card:


Kevin Faulk broke Collins's team record for career receptions by a running back Sunday with his 262d, and I'm not going to tell you how old it made me feel to realize that my memories of Collins's rookie season are 25 freakin' years old. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go funnel some Metamucil with Dr. Z.