Wasif's World

As the last lights on Super Bowl XLV flicker and I wade through a pile of confetti coated in cheese, here are my final thoughts on a super game:

Things I Noticed
The field didn’t look quite right. I was told it was made up of chopped up tennis shoes and tires, but still thought the field had something to do with the conga line of players heading to the locker room in the 2nd quarter.

What kind of a Big Brother/Real World box suite was that? Ashton Kutcher, Condaleeza Rice, John Madden, Michael Douglas, Laura Bush . . . Some network’s hurting for ratings.

More people wanted the Packers to win than the Steelers and Big Ben is a huge part of that.

Monkey ads are funny.

All this beer and cheese, how do Wisconsinites do it regularly? (Pardon the pun.)

Ashton Kutcher looked like he was consciously trying to keep himself from “punking” GW Bushie who was sitting in front of him.

Pepsi Max went heavy with the violence in their ads. And contrary to what the trailer for “Just Go With It” thinks, crotch shots are out of vogue these days. Give it some time; I’m sure they’ll be back.

The Doritos ad where the dog breaks down the door was telegraphed the moment the ad started.

When Packers receiver Jordy Nelson drops a ball, always go back to him. He’ll do right by you the next time.

Good ads this year were the product placement spot for Bud Light, the Doritos reincarnation spot, the Volkswagon Darth Vader ad, and the Snickers ad with Richard Lewis and Roseanne Barr, though all of these would be hard-pressed to make the top 50 of all-time Super Bowl ads.

Justin Bieber is reaching the zenith of his popularity. He shall soon plummet back down to earth, most likely losing himself in drugs and dangerous street urchins, eventually being convicted of a hair-on-hair crime.

We made it 17 minutes after kickoff (real time, not game time) before people started bringing out their “squares.” It’s great when you go through the permutations in your head – “If the Packers just score another touchdown, then get a safety, and then agree with the Steelers to trade scores at halftime, I win!”

Things I Learned
Bart Starr, Text Favre, and Aaron Rodgers were all 27 when they won their first Super Bowls.

My numbers in the square pool could only be attained if the league started keeping score in fractions.

Kim Hill was the original female in Black Eyed Peas. She was replaced as a business decision by their manager, I’m told by her friend who sat next to me continually cursing Fergie during the game. She has also donated a kidney to her brother.

Fans will never learn that their greatest worry should not be the other team, but rather, hubris. I was part of an e-mailing that asked if anyone wanted to attend a movie screening after the game and one Steelers fan responded with, “I can’t go as I’ll be celebrating the Steelers 7th Super Bowl championship.” Oooof, bad form.

If Christina Aguilera sings and there’s a prediction on time, always take the “over.”

I have influence over who wins the Super Bowl. Another friend included me on a mass texting that said, “Fear the Beard.” [referring to Steelers defensive lineman Brett Keisel] Do not break this chain as it will curse the Steelers in the Super Bowl. Forward this to all your Steelers friends.”

In the words of Keyshawn Johnson, “c’mon, man!” I can’t be given such an ultimatum and expected to respect it. It’s like that red button with a sign on it that says, “Do Not Press.” To me, it’s opposite day and I am pressing that button.

I deleted the text and the Steelers lost. Yes, it may be a simple case of Ad Hoc, ergo Propter Hoc, but I challenge you to prove I didn’t have anything to do with the Steelers loss.

Snickers satisfies, but nothing satisfies as much as seeing Roseanne Barr get wrecked by a tree trunk. Thank you, Snickers.

Things I Question
The Black Eyed Peas as a Super Bowl Act? Had they really run out of all-time rock acts? The Super Bowl was in Texas. Where was ZZ Top?

My friend looked at me and said, “What songs do they sing besides this [‘I Gotta Feeling’]?” We remembered there was another song [“Let’s Get It Started”], but couldn’t remember its name.

“They’ll do those two and then covers, I guess,” was my response.

Sure enough, they went into “Sweet Child of Mine,” presenting Slash, then had Usher sing a song. Then the Peas did another cover. By that time, I couldn’t take the auto tuner effect and stopped listening.

All this was through the constant cursing of Fergie in the background. Her using Slash as a stripper pole was especially bashed.

Homeaway.com’s judgment. Their commercial was in the lab where families on vacation are studied in hotel rooms. The father sits on the bed quickly which catapults the baby into the window. When the 2-year-old in the room turns and asks, “Mommy, was that a real baby?” it’s probably not a good idea for a commercial.

A-Rod and Cameron Diaz?

And now let talk of how Big Ben is one of the all-time great quarterbacks (though he had never won so much as a Super Bowl MVP before) dissipate and talk of how the Packers are "primed for a repeat" commence.

For those of you who had shut it down weeks ago, just a little pick me up – pitchers and catchers report in less than two weeks. So transfer your mind from lockdown corners to locking down the hot corner. And please, no more cheese. Oh, God, what if the Brewers make it to the World Series this year?

Stevie Johnson won the game for the Buffalo Bills. That’s what Geoff Hangartner thought when he turned his back the moment the ball landed perfectly in Johnson’s hands and he rushed to quarterback Ryan Fitzpatrick to celebrate. “Perhaps a little dance, perhaps I’ll throw the signal caller on my back and gallop around for a little bit; maybe just a simple helmet bump,” the Bills center thought.

Fitzpatrick, by that time, had already gone from celebration to mourning, clutching his helmet in disbelief. The Harvard-educated quarterback knew the degree of the ball’s trajectory, the force with which he threw it, and the speed of the wide receiver all came together to make the perfect throw. He also knew the odds that such a perfect throw would be dropped were low, yet still feasible. And he knew the likelihood that what he was seeing was real and not a philosophical manifestation or existential occurrence.

Stevie Johnson was not so cerebral about it. He just knew that he had [bleeped] up. He did catch the ball perfectly on the bounce though, so he had that going for him. But that didn’t count and someone was to blame. Who would have thought that it was the Lord?

After the game, the wide receiver tweeted, "I PRAISE YOU 24/7!!!!!! AND THIS HOW YOU DO ME!!!!!" YOU EXPECT ME TO LEARN FROM THIS??? HOW???!!! ILL NEVER FORGET THIS!! EVER!!! THX THO"

Is God even on Twitter? Not that HE couldn’t figure it out, but HE may have deemed it as a waste of time. I mean, after all, if HE was spending time on the site, do you think HE would’ve finished the world in only six days? HE’s very into time management.

But that’s besides that point. One thing we do know is that God has a sense of humor. It’s why some men have hair on their backs, but not their heads. It’s why we still need orthodonture work done throughout our adulthood after getting a half dozen teeth pulled and wearing braces for two years during adolescence.

Have you ever lost your keys and looked in your coat pocket without finding them? Then you’re back to your coat pocket later in the day and the object reappears? That’s God. You can thank him for replacing your keys. Of course, you could also blame him for taking them in the first place.

Though an omniscient being, do you think God gets the sarcasm at the end? “Thx tho.” Or was Johnson being sincere? “Oh, yeah, thanks for those times you didn’t screw me. I wouldn’t want to see ungrateful. But for this particular time, you’re on my list, buddy.”

Players frequently thank the Lord when they win the game or make a great play. This would be the first time in recorded history where the “Big G” was publicly thrown under the Crosstown Heavenly Express Bus (the #8 for those with a heavenly bus schedule).

But what hand does God actually have in the game? There’s this old gem from a couple of years ago:

God was giving Yankees manager Joe Torre a tour of heaven. He showed him a little run-down, two-room house with a faded Yankees banner hanging from the front porch. God said, “This is your new home, Skip. Most people don’t get their own house up here.”

Joe looked at the house, then turned to see the house on the top of the hill; a huge two-story mansion with white marble columns and plush patios under each window. Boston Red Sox flags lined the sidewalks and windows and a huge Red Sox banner hung between the marble columns.

“God, with all due respect, let me ask you a question: How come I get this little house with a torn Yankees banner that proclaims our 26 World Series titles while Terry Francona gets a huge mansion with Red Sox banners and flags flying all over the place?”

God smiles for a moment then replies, “That’s not Terry’s house, that’s mine.”

And you can replace the Yankees with the Patriots or Duke Blue Devils, whatever you want. The truth is God doesn’t have a favorite. HE just has a sense of humor. HE loves that joke. HE loves when you tell it to make your team feel like they are chosen. HE also loves when your team screws up. It’s funny. Ever see those blooper reels on the lighter side of sports? God’s got them all (on Blueray, of course).

HE’s certainly not biased toward one team or another ... (although there is significant evidence to indicate HE’s not a fan of Cleveland). But scholars spend so much time focusing on the existence of God and his effect on games that they neglect his most significant nemesis, the Devil.

Remember, the Hades resident exists as much as he’d have you forgot about him. “The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.” That’s from “The Usual Suspects” and doesn’t give away the ending, though if you still haven’t seen it by now, I should ruin it for you just based on principle.

I find it strange that El Diablo doesn’t get more due. He’s behind lots of things. But winners praise God, who is probably amused by the attention, while the Devil is ignored. It would make just as much sense, if not more.

Take the 1990 NY Giants after the kick by Buffalo’s Scott Norwood’s sailed wide right sealing his team’s fate –- why don’t players get into the locker room after the game and say to the reporters, “Phew! The Bills played tough out there tonight, but we had Lucifer on our side. Thank the Devil. Super Bowl Champs, Baby!!!”

God, quite frankly, is not a sports fan. Do you know how trying that would be on HIM? “Have you ever seen a World Series baseball game on TV?” Of course, you haven’t, few people have. Sorry. Stupid question. Any sport will do, really.

If you had, you’d see all these people sitting in the stands, hands clasped deep in prayer. Most of them swear their butts off and are probably cheating on their spouses, so they’re not really very religious. During these times, God gets deluged with requests much like a city’s septic system does during commercials of a Super Bowl broadcast.

Philosophers have struggled over this for centuries, back when the first rock slipped through the first caveman’s hands or a sword fell out of a Gladiator’s hand just as the lion was about to pounce, or the sun got into a knight’s eyes enough to obscure the angle of the attacking knight’s lance.

The issue has haunted the likes of such great minds as Kirkegaard, Newton and Vegas bookmaker Joey “Muffintop” D’Angelo who theorized that God was a fan of Rollie Massimino’s animated coaching style and thus made a fortune on the 1985 NCAA Finals.

Nope, Lucifer just knew a good opportunity to screw a lot of bettors. “No. 8 seeds never win.” Heh heh. Yeah, we’ll see about that.

The Devil is the sports fan. He loves messing with things. God has better things to do. If God cared, do you think the Yankees would really have 27 championships? Would a team named the Blue Devils win so much? How would that look? (Actually, that’s exactly the kind of humor God goes for. He’s an ironic dude.)

Of course, there is the less-publicized theory that a couple of guys at Buffalo Wild Wings who weren’t ready to head home to their wives used their connections to the Rich Stadium grounds crew to keep the game going. But like I said, it’s only a theory.

What do I know anyway? Until now, I thought Newton spent all his time creating a delectable snack cookie made from figs.

They say there are no jobs out there and they are right, at least in relation to the number of applicants there are. But that doesn’t stop employers from some industries from holding job fairs to find young upstarts that may be able to fill a need and perhaps someday become an indispensable worker -- companies from the airline industry (N.Y. Jets), companies dealing with industrials (Pittsburgh Steelers), the banking industry (San Diego Chargers) and Big Oil (the Raiders).

For you see, this is no ordinary job fair. This is the NFL, and it holds combines and visits recruits during their "Pro Days" to witness college players eligible for the draft perform their job skills and strut their stuff in front of anyone and everyone that matters.

Typical job fairs just include interviews and the face-to-face time. Bright-eyed, green rookies hand over their resumes as introductions. Their reputations do not precede them. There’s no game film to study. “Can you break this down for us?”

“Well, my job was to rewind the videotape and bring it from the tape vault to the producer in the studio.”

Guys don’t huddle around the tape afterward mumbling about how you had trouble finding the rewind button, how you had it fast-forwarding for a brief moment.

But the NFL is not your typical employer. They try to recreate the environment under which you'll perform and observe you as you do your job.

Imagine having a Pro Day for your future bosses or a combine where you have to perform all your daily duties in random succession. They should have this for every profession. Gauging words typed per minute, measuring your speed in changing the jug for the water cooler, observing collating skills, etc.

Throw some cone drills in there because you never know when you may have to fax something only to find obstacles strewn along the path to the machine.

Hundreds of people with digital timepieces watching you make a sale on an imaginary client. After you hang up the phone, they all check their times and confer with one another in awe.

Did he really file all those folders so quickly? We gave him all M’s -- McDonald, McDougall, McManus, Macgyver -- no small task. And he didn’t miss one. Remarkable!

But how does he perform when the stakes are high? Like when the boss is in the building or the efficiency expert is taking notes or the Japanese client is in town. Then what will happen?

Sure, he’s got all the tools, but what’s his mental capacity? How was his home life? Are his parents still married? Does he love kids? What kind of representative will he be for the company? For as we all know, the entire community looks up to our bottling plant for moral guidance.

“So tell us, do you love accounting or are you just looking for a paycheck? Because we here at Suckum, Filth and Mange are only looking for people that live, breathe and sleep numbers.”

This is where things fall apart. All the interviews, the school transcripts, the physical tests (how many reps can he lift the carton filled with reams of copier paper?) might not amount to anything if your candidate can’t do the job on a work day. For all the hoops through which he must jump and measurables you toss his way, it still just amounts to guesswork.

He might be addicted to solitaire, a water cooler talker, an office nomad constantly wandering, looking for chatter, hooked on office pools, addicted to long smoke breaks, or he may not be able to drag himself from his beds when that alarm sounds.

You want someone who’s there 100 percent when the whistle blows in the morning, not a second-half performer who needs his lunch to spike his energy levels before he hunkers down in the trenches; someone who never “takes meetings off;” someone who stays just as fresh in overtime as he was during breakfast; you want a “powerpoint changer.”

On this, the week of the NFL Draft, 31 major players in the corporate world of the NFL (and the Detroit Lions) take the results of all the tests and all their notes and choose a new employee to replace some of the employees who have been doing the job for years.

Did having a guy drop back and throw a football without a defender in his face to an uncovered receiver help them get a good feeling of his future passer rating? Was his ability to squat a lot of weight on a bar indicative of his aptitude for rushing the quarterback? Does the size of his hands really translate into his knack for catching the ball in traffic? (You know what they say about a size of a man’s hands.)

The answers to these may not become immediately obvious, but one thing is for sure, if there ever was a skills test that included playing Free Cell while stuffing Pringles in my mouth and singing harmony to Fleetwood Mac’s “Silver Springs” in my boxer shorts, well, then I may have been drafted first overall. But alas, I ended up going the free agent route. (Which reminds me, could you please pass my resume along to anyone you know that needs someone with these talents? Thank you ... Oh, and I don’t do mornings.)

Let’s take a step back to look at the NFL in this the lead-up to the Super Bowl.

In a league where job security is as improbable as Heidi Montag making it a week without plastic surgery, Tom Cable and Norv Turner both will return next year to once again lead their respective teams to early offseasons. Congratulations, fellas!

Now, I’d like to address one of my fans, someone calling himself “swyner,” who wrote to me after my previous piece, “Your an idiot … This guy Brett is a superstar and the Vikings are the best team in football.”

Don’t you hate it when the “best team in football” gets beaten by those lesser teams? And I appreciate your observation, “swyner,” but you didn’t tell me what, of mine, is an idiot. You left out a few words. Did you mean to say “Your financial advisor is an idiot?” “Your parolee neighbor is an idiot?” Using the possessive “your” necessitates a conclusion to the noun phrase you’re attempting. Hey, I’m always here to help my readers.

Now on to pressing matters – Did anyone think Brett was not going to throw the ball to the other team? It’s what he does. Strong arm, tough player, not a great decision-maker. When you see the sun come up day after day, you kinda come to expect it.

That said, we should look at this objectively; Brett Favre is a Hall-of-Famer. He makes plays other quarterbacks not in the Hall of Fame can’t or couldn't. (He also makes plays quarterbacks who are in the Hall of Fame didn’t or wouldn’t. And that’s why we’re even having this discussion.) He’s still one of the greatest of all-time and the prefix “Hall-of-Famer” will never be withdrawn from his name.

As much as I joked about revoking his status due to blowing Super Bowl berths (now twice), he doesn’t deserve that ... though he has exactly as many rings as Brad Johnson does.

On the flip side, I heard someone refer to Philip Rivers as a “future Hall-of-Famer” the other day. Now that commentator should have his credentials rescinded.

Brett told Chris Mortensen, by the way, that it’s “highly unlikely” he’ll return next season. Uh, yeah, is there anyone buying that one?
*********************************************************************
We’re going to be deluged by “experts” making their game predictions this next week. Half (approximately) will say one thing, the other half will say another. So either way, a large percentage of them will be wrong. How about we stop calling them experts please?

If you went to a doctor, an expert in the medical profession, and he said you had a hernia; then you got a second opinion from a doctor that said you actually only had hiccups, you probably wouldn’t consider one of them an “expert” anymore.
*********************************************************************
Around this time, people take a moment to reflect upon recent Super Bowls and that will inevitably bring up the belief by some that Bill Belichick’s teams didn’t deserve to win because he “cheated.”

I love how the legend of this grows every day. It’s to the point where the story is that Belichick himself was on the sidelines of the other team’s closed practice with a camera. I think he even asked Andy Reid to have the players run through a play a second time just so he could shoot it from another angle.

The man is a genius, after all. He was so smart that he showed his team all these video tapes (that he took himself) and told his team not to beat the opponents too badly so no one would suspect their illegalities.

And that’s why Brady and his Bunch won each contest by only three points, including two with last-minute field goals. That was all part of Belichick’s master stroke. With the footage he had, including one shot through the keyhole of Donovan McNabb’s hotel room as the quarterback admired himself in the mirror, the Patriots could’ve won by 80 points easily, but that would’ve tipped people off to foul play.
*********************************************************************
I really don’t care who wins this year as I have no fish in the tank, so to speak, no spice in the soup, no gun in the locker room, no ... okay, you get the point. I just want to see a good, clean game. Last year’s contest, though exciting, was still marred by controversy.

After driving the length of the field, the Steelers left the Cardinals with very little time for Kurt Warner to do a little magic of his own. But that should not have meant the game was over.

Holmes, after making a great catch in the corner of the end zone, used the ball as a prop in an effort to celebrate. Excessive celebration, 15-yard penalty. (Another one of the rules that probably shouldn’t be a rule, but it is.) However, it wasn’t called. Whoa! Why make a rule if you’re not going to enforce it? That’s like saying, “Intentional grounding, but y’know what? We’re just gonna let it slide this once. First down and 10!”

It would’ve pushed the kickoff back 15 yards, presumably giving the Cardinals better field position with which to work.

Then, after a few plays, Warner fumbled the ball in what was clearly not a fumble. But since there was less than two minutes remaining, it was an automatic booth review. (I understood why they called it a fumble, so there would be something to review. If it wasn’t called a fumble, then there’d be nothing to review.) So let’s just go up to the --- huzzah what now? The Steelers are being given the ball?!

What part of automatic booth review do you not understand? Did the booth guys go home? Were they relieving themselves after four quarters of large Miller Genuine Drafts? Or were they just Steelers fans?

I’m not saying the Cardinals would’ve won, but with Kurt Warner and Larry Fitzgerald on their team, there’s no better finish I would’ve liked to see. And I’m still waiting for the league to pick up with that game. Perhaps they could play that last minute as the pre-game next Sunday.
*********************************************************************
My early prediction for Super Bowl XLIV, before I've pored through the myriad statistics and listened to the experts, is for either the Saints or the Colts to prevail. Though I wouldn’t put it past Belichick to find a way to somehow steal the crown from both teams. He is, after all, a diabolical supergenius who must have something up his sleeve.