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February 04, 2008

A Super Bowl for the ages stinks the next day

A Super Bowl for the ages stinks the next day

AFTER WATCHING THE BEST SUPER BOWL in the history of the NFL, I woke up early this morning and made the mistake of tuning in to WIP Sportstalk. I figured even the gang of cannibals that populates the morning show would find words of exaultation and historic moment.

Instead I heard the same old time religion. There are no winners, only chokers. Within seconds of tuning in I heard the antichrist, Angelo Cataldi, accuse Peyton Manning of being jealous of his brother Eli, who had just led the New York Giants to a gritty stunning victory over the undefeated three-time Super Bowl champion New England Patriots. "I think he was faking," Cataldi said of Peyton Manning's stadium box celebration. "He was not happy.".

Now if you watched that game and saw Peyton Manning jumping up and down with joy and excitement at ever completed pass his younger brother made down the stretch in the fourth quarter, you'd think Cataldi was full of shit.. And he is. And he smeared that shit on me and now I can't stand my own stink.. And that's after listening for two minutes.

Yes, I know it's his schtick. Yes, I know he's insincere. Yes, I know it's entertainment. But my stomach almost hurts because of a what shitty thing it was to say. Not about the Mannings in particular, but about anyone at that moment. It's like the guy at a wedding who whispers "I give it six months" through a bullhorn as the couple walks up the aisle.

Sir, at long last have you no decency. I hate the Giants as much as any Eagles fan but I was rooting for them all the way once the whistle blew and the Patriots scorched them for 40 yeards in the opening kickoff return. How could anyone have watched that game and not come away with goosebumps. I could imagine Cataldi doing the day after battle commentary when David slew Goliath. "The kid got lucky and that overfed Philistine is a stinking choke artist."

Phillies hall of famer Mike Schmidt once famously said that Philadelphia was the only city where an athlete could experience the thrill of victory and the agony of reading about it in the next day's paper. At least he didn't have to hear it the moment the radio alarm went off.

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