You, of course, recall the breast that was the unrivalled sensation of the XXXVIII halftime three years ago. It popped out with all the spontaneity of Shamu’s entrance at SeaWorld and spawned record numbers of apologies, caused CBS to be slapped with a half-million-dollar fine and put the phrase “wardrobe malfunction” in the mouth of every working comic in America. From the subsequent national hysteria, one could only conclude that this episode, dubbed “Nipplegate,” threatened the very foundations of Western civilization. (It apparently did not, however, threaten the careers of Ms. Jackson and her accomplice, Justin Timberlake; I am told by reliable sources that both are still working.)
Actually, I never saw Ms. Jackson’s naked breast. With my unerring sense of timing, I ducked out for a slice of pizza just before the exposure. And in subsequent TV replays, the breast was gauzed out, much the way they used to do with mob witnesses at congressional hearings. Of course, I’m sure it’s eternally available on the Internet. But I’m far too uptight to go surfing for sexual content, fearful that one sleazy slip of a search will go down on my permanent record, perhaps costing me a Supreme Court appointment someday.
Kidding aside, I have been thinking about that breast brouhaha because of what I saw—once again on CBS—during the AFC championship game. It was an ad for the soon-to-be-released movie “Hannibal Rising,” a “Silence of the Lambs” prequel about America’s favorite cannibal. The film is rated R for “strong, grisly, violent content,” which should come as no surprise to anyone. What surprised me, though, was that I—and all the boys and girls enjoying America’s greatest sports passion, the NFL—got to watch a rather grisly tease. We not only saw Hannibal’s blood-streaked visage; we watched him enjoying a discreet lick.
When did America become inured to such vile representations of psychotic violence? (On the same NFL broadcast, there was also a promo boasting of a savage killing on “CSI:NY.”) When did serial killers become as much a staple of the network football landscape as beer, SUVs and Madden 2007? The NFL purports to present family entertainment. Yet, while Jackson’s breast-baring provoked a reaction befitting a terrorist attack, nobody says ‘boo’ about exposing our kids to such slick and gleeful monstrosity.
When it comes to good taste, the Super Bowl has not always been above reproach. But most of its sins, whether in ads or halftime extravaganzas, have been of the frat-house variety. Now I know it’s unlikely that the young cannibal will spring for CBS’s $80,000-a-second price tag for commercial time during Super Bowl XLI. Still, it would be nice to believe that the network might spare us regardless. Given my choice, I’d rather see Sunday’s halftime headliner, Prince, at his erotic peak than catch another glimpse of bloody Hannibal. And I can’t believe I’m the only sportswriter/fan/parent/American who feels that way.
Of course, a football game will be played on Sunday, too—and if recent Super Bowls are any indication, a pretty good one. The NFL’s current era of parity may have marked the end of the juggernaut, like the great Pittsburgh, Dallas and San Francisco championship teams of yesteryear. But it has produced far more competitive Super Bowls. Through the first XXXIII games, only four were decided by a margin of less than a touchdown. But four of the last seven Super Bowls have been thrillers, with all three New England Patriots victories coming by the margin of a field goal.
If the NFL’s millennial trend has been toward competitive, this season’s direction has been decidedly—at least until the conference championship games—toward the underdog. Still, I, just like virtually every other tout, am stubbornly bucking that trend by picking the Indianapolis Colts to defeat the Chicago Bears. In doing so, I am sticking with a more established trend, the clear-cut superiority of the American Football Conference. The AFC champion has won five of the last six Super Bowls and the conference dominated this season’s series—with a 40-24 record—against its rival NFC.
The Bears, with Thomas Jones and Cedric Benson carrying the ball, have a decent enough ground attack to exploit an Indy defense that ranked last in the NFL during the regular season, allowing almost 30 more rushing yards per game than any other team. However, that porous defense no longer appears to exist in the post-season. The Colts have already stuffed two offenses, K.C.’s and New England’s, that ran the ball more effectively than Chicago. And Chicago quarterback Rex Grossman is far less capable of exploiting a defense stacked against the run than the Pats’ Tom Brady or even K.C.’s Trent Green.
Chicago’s defense is tough and opportunistic, but not as formidable as it was before Tommie Harris and Mike Brown went down with season-ending injuries. And Indy’s offense is much more than just Peyton Manning, which is a whole lot given that Manning might be more than enough all by himself. Indy has steeled itself by beating two teams, Baltimore Ravens and New England, that were superior to the Bears’ post-season victims, the Seattle Seahawks and the New Orleans Saints, or indeed any team the Bears beat all season. There’s no reason to believe that the Colts will be derailed now.
Still, I am always surprised by how many folks take the trouble to send e-mails denouncing my predictions. It’s not that I mind hearing how the Bears are going to stomp the Colts and make me look really stupid. Trust me: that would not be a first. It’s simply that I don’t understand why Bears supporters don’t relish the Indy chorus coming from so-called “experts.” It has helped prop up the betting line at a hefty touchdown. For Chicago backers, that’s an overlay—bettor parlance for opportunity of a lifetime. So don’t waste your time telling me what kind of fool I am. Vegas beckons!
My Pick: Colts 31 Bears 17
