4th and Forever: Beyonce, Blackouts and Super Bowl

You know that feeling when you’ve overdone it at the all-you-can-eat buffet and it dawns on you that you actually can eat too much? Well okay, maybe that’s just me. But by about 6.00pm on Sunday that’s how I felt. Overstretched, overstuffed and over exposed. That’s what happens after being force-fed two weeks of ESPN saturation Super Bowl carpet bombing coverage including a brutal 10 hours of preview shows alone on Sunday. For the love of God, just play the game! How many inane questions can be asked on media day? 5147 with media credentials; stick figures with pencils on the stadium floor. “On a scale of 1 to 10 how ticklish are you?” How much more Ray “I’m too blessed to be stressed” Lewis could we possibly take? The lying to police? A trick of the devil. The vanishing white suit? A trick of the devil. Deer antler velvet spray? A trick of the devil. It’s all a confidence game. The grifter bears witness, his face smeared bible black and cloaked in self-righteous piety, while God takes a well-earned snooze.

Each year, the focus on the Super Bowl becomes less about the game and more about the pregame and halftime entertainment, the commercials, of course, (was it just me or did the noisily-extended Go Daddy smooch between model and nerd make anyone else a tad squeamish?), and the babbling collection of talking heads who seem increasingly intent on outdoing one another with inane analysis. Was it always so? To a degree, I suppose. Although now, ESPN seems more in love with itself as an entertainment medium than the sport it purports to cover, and the NFL Network looms as an Orwellian mouthpiece for the NFL, intent on shaping our thoughts to its own end. The Super Bowl has evolved into a media event interrupted by an inconvenient game; its purpose is to feed the voracious appetite of our linked and socially savvy communications web. I have read more post game commentary about Alicia Keys (a perfectly average rendition of the national anthem by a perfectly ordinary talent), Beyonce’s strutting, hip-thrusting, flash-and-dash, and the 34 minute blackout (the only 34 minutes during the past 2 weeks when Ray Lewis wasn’t in front of a camera), than I have about the game. By the way, any debate about whether Beyonce was or was not lip-syncing misses the point. She was simply sensational in a fiercely defiant, foot-stomping, Xtreme hair-tossing sort of way which officially signaled the demise of Dad Rock and cemented Girl Power in the national consciousness.  As for the blackout? Well, I for one, was delighted that it quieted Phil Simms whose analysis seemed stale and offered zero insight. His waffling on the non-call on 4^th and goal on the 49ers final drive summed up his neutered opinions. I had no rooting interest in the outcome of the game one way or another, but let’s be honest, Mr. Smith should probably send a nice gift to Mr. Crabtree this morning since he certainly interfered with him last night. Call it as it is, Phil, don’t hide behind the tired old offering that the referees “aren’t going to call a penalty at that point in the game”.

However, let’s be clear, the non-call wasn’t the reason the 49ers lost. From the very beginning the 49ers seemed out of sorts. On the game’s first offensive play they suffered the indignity of being penalized for an illegal formation. Somehow, having 2 weeks to prepare and then failing to line up correctly seemed perversely profligate. It was particularly galling since the penalty wiped out a 20 yard gain on first down. It was a cruel reminder of the Patriots taking a safety on the game’s first play in last year’s Super Bowl. There is simply no escape from the consequences of lack of preparation and ineptitude. San Francisco was too often undone by a failure of execution. One can point to the 49ers failure to convert crucial plays (2 for 9 on 3^rd downs), or the 2 turnovers on consecutive drives in the second quarter (one a costly fumble by LeMichael James at the Baltimore 25 with the Ravens ahead 7-3; the other, a wildly overthrown heave by Kaepernick to no one in particular which was easily picked off by Ed Reed), or some questionable late game play-calling (of which more later), rather than a controversial non-call as the reasons for their loss. Of course, one should also not overlook the continued postseason brilliance of game MVP, Joe Flacco, who passed for 22 of 33, 287 yards, and 3 TDs, and directed the offense with poise and purpose. In contrast to San Francisco, Baltimore seemed to make every critical 3^rd down, going 9 for 16; indeed, Flacco threw for 2 TDs on 3^rd downs including a 56 yarder to Jones on 3^rd and 10. Flacco’s 11 TD passes in the postseason (combined with zero interceptions) tied a NFL record and most certainly earned him a very hefty pay increase.

Ironically, for 2 such vaunted defenses, it was the respective offenses which were center stage all game. While San Francisco largely shut down the Ravens’ running tandem of Rice and Pierce, they simply had no answer to Baltimore’s ability to exploit the middle of the park, and to stretch the perimeter defense with their wide receiver speed. The tight ends, Pitta and Dickson, along with the estimable Boldin, made critical play after critical play against the safeties, particularly Whitner who was routinely spun around like a top, undressed and exposed. Boldin, who just seems to catch everything thrown his way, simply toyed with the hapless Culliver, who when he wasn’t getting beaten was being penalized. On the outside, Smith and Jones gave the 49ers defense fits, consistently outflanking the safeties and cornerbacks with their speed. On his 56 yard TD catch, Jones ran past the 49er defense, fell down, got up, and still managed to outsprint the thoroughly discombobulated defense. The Patriots had shown the frailty of this San Francisco defense when scoring 28 unanswered points in a losing effort; the lesson wasn’t lost on Jim Caldwell, Baltimore’s offensive coordinator, or Mr. Flacco.

After a strangely inept first half the 49er offense also found the key to the Raven defense. Some will speculate that the blackout shifted momentum, but that argument seems to me to be errant nonsense. Momentum does not exist in a vacuum; it comes and goes but players and plays dictate the shifts and alter the course of the game. Kaepernick, shuffling off his earlier uncertainties, ran and passed the 49ers into contention, and ably demonstrated why Jim Harbaugh had such faith in him. He is blessed with vision, a strong arm, and a sprinter’s speed. He was ably abetted by Frank Gore who gained 110 yards on 19 carries, a 5.8 yard average per attempt. As I alluded to earlier, the only mystery was why at the end Gore was ignored. In the second half, Gore ran 8 times for 81 yards; on those 8 plays he gained 5 or more yards 5 times (6 yards for a TD; 5 yards; 21 yards; 8 yards; and 33 yards). With the 49ers trailing 34-28, the aging Baltimore defense, absent the great Haloti Ngata in the middle, seemed finally spent; it was running on fumes, plowed under and out-muscled by Gore and the resurgent San Francisco offensive line. As the Ravens’ defenders strained to recall former days and fading glories, it seemed that all that remained to stay intact was their pride. At that moment, some lines from Baltimore native, Edgar Allen Poe, whose poem, The Raven, gave Baltimore its name, seemed strangely appropriate:

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before”.

The last of Gore’s 8 second half carries was for 33 yards to the Baltimore 7 yard line, with over 2 minutes remaining on the clock; he never touched the ball again. As mother used to say: ”Before you look a gift horse in the mouth, be sure to check which end of the horse you’re facing”. For the life of me, I can never understand why coaches insist on out-smarting themselves, but someone should have shouted in Harbaugh’s ear: “Don’t ignore Gore”! Obviously, no one did, or if they did, the words were lost on him. On 1^st down and 7, Kaepernick handed off to LeMichael James for 2 yards; on 2^nd, 3^rd, and 4^th downs he threw incomplete to Crabtree. Improbably, the Ravens had successfully defended every unforgiving inch of that small space, hurling themselves from one side to the other, defying their aching bodies as if propelled by latent memories. Nevermore!

And so it is done. Next year is filled with possibilities; it always is before it begins. Much will be different, no doubt; out with the old, in with the new. But the rhythms of the fall will remain unchanged, and a new season will be upon us soon enough. Can’t wait!