his
wasn’t the usual David vs. Goliath. There were no dynasties on the line.
The spread in Las Vegas never reached double-digits. The best part of the
game wasn’t the gaudy halftime show, or the much-anticipated
commercials. Those who remembered there was actually a game to be played,
were not disappointed. The Super Bowl does involve a football game, right?
The St. Louis Rams’ 23-16
victory over the Tennessee Titans in Super Bowl XXXIV provided enough
enjoyment all by itself. Steve McNair’s phenomenal scramble in the 4th
quarter was better than the halftime lips syncing. I preferred Kurt Warner’s
pocket discipline to Christopher Reeve’s virtual walk. The cat herding
commercial, albeit funny, didn’t hold a candle to Isaac Bruce’s catch
and subsequent jukefest on the game-winning score. Mike Jones’ tackle to
preserve the Rams’ triumph contained more drama than all the DOT COM ads
put together. (By the way, Jeff Fisher’s trendy vest bested Kurt Warner’s
wife’s Phyllis Diller outfit. What’s up with that?)
Granted, the first 30 minutes of
this Super game didn’t leave you on the edge of your couch. The Rams’
success in the "red zone" was limited to three field goals. From
an objective fan’s viewpoint, a 9-0 halftime score, however mundane, was
better than 21-0. Despite their deficit, the Titans saved us from the
halftime reprisal of the movie, The Birdcage, by crawling back from a 16-0
hole. In past contests, teams trailing by a country mile never had a
chance because the other team was too dominant to relinquish comfortable
leads. Does anybody believe the Atlanta Falcons had a chance last year? Of
course not.
In Super Bowls past, the
commercials and halftime extravaganzas were all we had. Not this time.
When the Titans tied the score at 16, thoughts of overtime began to ensue.
Fans who reminisced about the Bud Bowl commercials of yesteryear were now
ruminating about last-second heroics. The Kurt Warner to Isaac Bruce
dagger that pierced the Titan fans’ hearts was exciting because we were
wondering when those two would hook up for something special. When it
finally did happen, we were looking for flags, not dirt bikers chasing
cheetahs.
When Tennessee strong safety
Blaine Bishop went down with a neck injury in the third quarter, we
listened to the eulogizing by Al and Boomer, and wondered how both teams
would respond after a near tragedy. We didn’t hope for a timeout to see
another million-dollar commercial. Instead, we expressed concern for
Bishop.
When the fourth quarter wound
down, my brothers and I talked strategy, the pros and cons of prevent
defense. We pondered why the Titans attempted that two-point conversion in
the first half. We marveled at the athletic genius of McNair doing his
Randall Cunningham impression.
Given the arguable mediocrity and
parity of the NFL, some fans appeared disappointed that there wasn’t a
real powerhouse in this year’s Super Bowl. We loved to hate a Dallas, or
cheer against the 49ers. This year, it didn’t matter. The game contained
drama, and went down to the wire. After Titans’ wide receiver Kevin
Dyson came up just short of the end zone as time expired, we breathed a
collective sigh, and said "good game."
That’s what the Super Bowl is
supposed to be.
