Why does fortune seem to favor the Giants and Patriots so much more than other teams? Belichick is considered a great coach, but coaching doesn't cause a short field goal to sail far off course, or an experienced receiver to drop a pass, nor does it prevent officials from reviewing a questionable call. The old-fashioned Tom Coughlin is berated by many fans and writers, but he has won a Super Bowl and now has a chance at a second. His acumen is not responsible for the circus catch against a facemask that led to his first championship or the Hail Mary last week against the Packers or the special team takeaways versus the 49ers. In my youth in Brooklyn we used to say of those on whom luck appeared to shine: "He's got the ass." Then again, I probably shouldn't comment on sports at all these days. I thought the G-Men would win six games at most. Once a fanatic who watched any event, I now restrict myself to Sunday Night Football, the latter half of the Stanley Cup and NBA finals - if they're competitive, the second half of the NCAA Basketball Championship - if it's close, and the golf majors. Last night I didn't tune in until there were two minutes left in the first half. I prefer trying to sell books, including working the web toward that end. Outside of the Super Bowl, when the food at parties is too good to pass up, I won't watch teams I hate like the Steelers and Pats. And now the Giants will again be playing New England. If it were any other team and they lost, I wouldn't care, as I've seen them win three championships since '86 and always enjoy seeing a first-time winner. Hopefully, they will be able to prevent Belichick from hoisting another Super Bowl trophy. I feel sorry for Lee Evans and Billy Cundiff of the Ravens, even though they are teammates of Ray Lewis, and Kyle Williams of the 49ers. I know they make a lot more money than most of us, but it has to hurt to fail so woefully in front of millions around the world. And who knows if they will ever get as close to the Super Bowl again in their playing careers. The NFL is a brutal profession where the end is always imminent, except for its protected species, the quarterback.
In yesterday's blog I said that Mrs. Paterno had passed away. She is alive and well, and I thank my buddy Bags for the correction. I apologize.
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