Posts Tagged ‘Super Bowl’

Bill Belichick is one busy dude.  It’s the week of the biggest sporting event of the year and he’s got balls to discuss, asses to kick, and emotions to try to overcome.  Alright, so that last one was definitely a lie.  But he’s definitely got the other two parts of that statement.

So what does a control-freak like Billy B. find himself doing the week before the Super Bowl?  How does a guy with an impeccable organizational structure and planning keep himself right on schedule? By planning everything out during his daily schedule to a T.  That’s how.

Utilizing our top-secret sources, hidden deep within the Patriots organization, we were able to obtain a screenshot of Bill Belichick’s calendar for today’s Super Bowl related activities.

(*Author’s note: as always, I apologize for the crappy formatting, but if you click on the image, all will be revealed.)

Belichick

FIN

Over the last few days we’ve all become certifiable experts on PSI, ball inflation, and have found ourselves inundated with #deflategate and all the insanity the comes with an extra long week of NFL Super Bowl hype.  Yesterday, Tom Brady addressed the media and went into excruciating detail about the minutiae of how he picks out his footballs for use in the games.

He denied any and all allegations of tampering with the pigskin.  Tom Brady, according to Tom Brady, always has and always will play fair.  But you can bet that as soon as Tom stepped off that podium and headed back to his supermodel wife his phone was exploding with text messages.

Fortunately for you, we’ve partnered up with everyone’s favorite perv-hackers – you know, the ones who have made every celebrity cower in fear as they feverishly attempted to delete their sext messages from “The Cloud”— and managed to get just a snippet of some of the texts that were sent to Tom Brady last night.


A confused former Tour de France champion weighed in with his opinion on the matter.

Lance


Tom’s favorite Red-Zone Target wanted to extend his heartfelt support.

Gronk


New England Running back, and most ironically named human on earth, LeGarrette Blount reached out to offer his thoughts.

Blount


Tom’s long-time adversary fired off a quick, parody-song-laden text.

Peyton


Tom was even getting accidental texts last night!

Sherman


Tom received nothing but support from his long-time coach.

Belichik


A mystery texter weighed in with thoughts on a possible replacement, should Brady get suspended.

Tebow


Even the Dallas Cowboys had players reaching out to Brady.

Demarco


Even the defensive players from the Patriots were showing their support for their QB.

Vince


None other than the ‘Ole Gunslinger made a textual appearance on Brady’s phone.

Brett

FIN

The Super Bowl is almost here.  And you know what that means: lots and lots of gripping talk about the legalization and sociopolitical ramifications of Marijuana in Colorado and Washington State.  And football, too.  So if you’re a Seahawks or a Broncos fan, wipe the Doritos Tacos Locos stains from your fingers, stop Googling “What does XLVIII =?” and get to your printer and crank out the official Super Bowl 47 Drinking Game.

Take One Drink:
-  Anytime you hear the word “Omaha.”  (*Author’s note: I’m just kidding.  I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.)
-  If Peyton Manning gets hit so hard you think that his medically-MacGyver’d neck might just start spinning on its axis like he’s starring in an off-Broadway production of The Exorcist.
-  If you wake up mid-second quarter and realize that you had been rocked to sleep in the sweet, sweet, monotone- python-death-embrace of one Joseph Francis Buck.
-  When you find yourself trying to figure out exactly what race Bruno Mars is.
(*Author’s note: BONUS DRINK if you settle on “alien race.”)
-  When you and everyone around you smart-phone Googles Who the hell is Renee Fleming? as soon as the PA annoucners says, “And now, with the singing of our national anthem, Renee Fleming!”
-  If the lifeless corpse known as Troy Aikman begins to show signs of reanimation and you feel certain that you’re witnessing the start to the zombie apocalypse on live TV.
-  Whenever Fox cuts to a fan in the stands that dropped $6 Grand just to get stage 4 advanced frostbite in his testes.
–  If you find yourself contemplating cyberbullying Erin Andrews.
–  If any Fox sports personality claims that a cold weather Super Bowl was a bad idea.
-  If any Fox sports personality claims that “This is the way football was meant to be played.”
-  If you watch Michael Strahan’s teeth, engaged in their unending tug-of-war, as they tectonically shift farther and farther apart and you realize that there should definitely be a Nicolas Cage movie where he somehow is involved in stopping the theft of/stealing Strahan’s tusks to be sold as aphrodisiacs on the black market in Hong Kong.
 
Take Two Drinks:
 -  **CUTAWAY TO THE INTERIOR OF A NEW YORK PIZZA JOINT/DELI ALERT**
When the announcers drop a stunning, top-secret, bombshell on the nation: Russell Wilson was drafted in the 3rd round!  OMG!?!?  He WAS?!?!?!?  Better devote some time to it.
(*Author’s note: BONUS DRINK if they show a graphic with all the players taken over him.)
(*Secondary Author’s note: do a shot if Troy Aiman raps the Eminem lyrics, “Russell Wilson, fallin’ way back. . .”)
-  Anytime you hear the words “Legacy” when the announcers are talking about Peyton Manning.
When you realize that Marshawn Lynch looks like the token black swashbuckler from any of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.
When they show Wes Welker’s brutally painful drop from the Patriots V.S. Giants Super Bowl.
-  When Fox comes back from a billion dollar commercial break to the sounds of Frank Sinatra or Jay-Z and Alicia Keys.
(*Author’s note: side drinking game: before the game officially starts, each person declares that they’re either #TeamSinatra or #TeamHova and then whichever song plays first wins and the other group must chug half a beer. Your welcome, America.)

-  If Peyton Manning takes off his helmet, and you become concerned that his forehead may have been involved in a pre-game car accident.
 –  If Peyton Manning removes his helmet and the blotchy crimson square that is located directly in the middle of his fivehead brings new meaning to the term “Red Zone.”
-  If You find yourself wondering if Peyton Manning is, in fact, wearing a helmet that he bought for a child from the MetLife Stadium gift shop before the game.
(*Author’s note: seriously. Can he loosen up his helmet a little bit? I’m worried that he’s going to get concussed just putting his helmet on.)

 
Take Three Drinks
 –  **UNNECESSARY PIECE DESIGNED TO SHOW US THAT RICHARD SHERMAN ISN’T A “THUG” BUT IS, IN FACT, HIGHLY INTELLIGENT ALERT**
(*Author’s note: BONUS DRINK if you don’t buy that “Hey, he’s smart, so that means that he is utterly incapable of being an arrogant prick” backlash that immediately swept the country like a hyperbole wildfire of counter-opinion.)

(*Secondary Author’s note: As you can tell, I’ll be drinking right along with you.)
-  When Fox gives us a shot of the sidelines and we catch a live glimpse at the epic, perfectly unkempt, stubble-off that has been occurring all year between Eric Decker and Wes Welker.
-  Each time Bruno Mars airhumps the brisk New Jersey night air so erotically that Prince gets embarrassed.
**PEYTON MANNING’S LACKLUSTER POST-SEASON W/L RECORD GRAPHIC ALERT**
 –  If Richard Sherman talks so much that the fog from his hot breath in the cold February air creates its own winter storm front that sweeps across the country.  (*Author’s note: Winter Storm Adderall sounds about right for the name.)
-  If Anyone around you refers to Joe Buck as “Young Buck.”
(*Author’s note: *BONUS DRINK* if someone fires off any terrible Buck puns that sound like you’re dropping an F-Bomb i.e. “Go Buck yourself, Joe.”)

-  If the Seahawks’ secondary puts the PEDal to the metal, making the Broncos look PEDestrian, and the walloPED player finds himself galloPED over like a sick child wishing he was going to visit the PEDiatrician.  (*Author’s note: see what I did there?  If you do, take another drink.)

Chug it. . .Chug it. . .Chug it. . .
If “I really only watch for the commercials” guy takes his ironically mustachioed face off his microbrew IPA, takes a puff on his vapor cigarette before sticking it back into his corduroy pants, and then asks you to keep it down so he can watch this Volkswagen commercial. 
If you catch on fire from staring at Joe Buck’s hair for more than 11 consecutive seconds.
-  If either a Broncos fan or a Seahawks fan brings brownies to your Super Bowl party and you hesitate before taking a bite.
-  If either a Broncos fan or a Seahawks fan brings brownies to your Super Bowl party and you dive right in, hoping they’ll kick in just in time for the third quarter.
-  If you realize the irony of Bruno Mars doing a Pepsi sponsored halftime commercial, even though he’s clearly a coke guy.

FIN

Sure, the Super Bowl was fun and all. But what was the highlight of the night? What breathlessly beautiful, majestic display of sport will forever live on in the collective hearts and minds of the American public? Will it be our deer friend Ray Lewis playing for his legacy until the final horn of the game? Will it be Joseph Vincent Elite Dragon Flacco finally stepping out from the shadow of his almost-same-named counterpart of the silver screen, Shane Falco?

Well, those were nice, too. But how about a washed-up former hot dog eating champion renting himself out to what appears to be a frat keggar and then crushing an entire pizza in under a minute? Enjoy.

This footage started making the internet rounds shortly after the big game. The actual details behind the incident are a little fuzzy. But, yes, that is former competitive eating sensation Takeru Kobayashi. It appears he was rented out for the evening for some $3,250.

What does $3,250 get you?

– A new unofficial world record.
– A chance to tauntingly call Kobayashi “Bro” from the wings.
– A brief moment of internet stardom that immediately goes haywire as people start realizing that there is one girl at your entire party and that you had the cash for a $3,250 guest of honor but that you charged $5 a cup at your keg?

I love how, in the beginning of the video, everyone’s hyper-crunk to watch Kobayashi smash the whole pizza. But, as he gets going the crowd falls mostly silent. (*Author’s note: except for the negative Bro-caller from off camera. I bet that the one girl I saw wasn’t there with him. Just call it a hunch.)

So why did the aforementioned crunkness vanish so quickly to whence it came? Here are my best guesses:

1. It’s probably pretty nasty watching a dude smash a full pizza in 60 seconds. I’ve watched many an eating contest in my day and they’re somehow less glamorous than you’d think. And no one thinks they’re glamorous. Don’t believe me? Pause-face Joey Chestnut at next year’s 4th of July hot dog eating contest. He looks like he’s in almost as much pain as our deerly beloved Ray Lewis was when he was trying to sing along to Alicia Keys’ National Anthem.

2. They were silently hopeful that he was going to turn into Michelangelo, the Ninja Turtle, midway through eating.

3. “Dude, that was totally the last pepperoni pizza, bro. So not cool!”

4. They realized, with a burgeoning terror, ringing in the depths of their tremulous souls like a vile gong-blast, that they may have just opened the Pandora’s box of competitive eating, giving Kobayashi the confidence to rise from the ashes of obscurity like a miniature Japanese Phoenix and once again challenge American eaters with relentless fervor. What have you done, bros? What have you done, all-dude-party? Nooooooooooooooo!

5. They were all too busy getting their Screen Actor’s Guild cards for the ensuing Domino’s Pizza commercial spinoff that will inevitably happen.

FIN

The Super Bowl is almost here.  Which, for most of America, is pretty much a huge national party.  There will be feasting.  There will be cheering.  And there will be beering.  So what do you need to spice up your Super Bowl party?  How about Burnpoetry’s official Super Bowl XLVII Drinking Game?  Get to a printer, get to the liquor store, and get ready.

Take One Drink:

–  Every time someone makes a devastatingly hilarious “Super-Baugh” reference.

–  Any time someone makes the hysterically witty “Har-Bowl” crack.

–  Any time you hear the words “Sibling Rivalry.”

–  Any time you see a closeup of Ray Lewis sobbing like a tween during an un-asked slow dance at the school formal.
(*Author’s note: bonus drink if he does so while “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith is somehow playing in the background)

I could stay awake, just to hear you breathing. . .

I could stay awake, just to hear you breathing. . .

–  If you find yourself mesmerized by the freshest, most chic accessory in the game today: Jim Harbaugh’s marker necklace.

–  Anytime CBS mentions Hurricane Katrina.  They will, too.  If history is any indicator of things to come, make sure you have at least 4 beers devoted to this one challenge alone.

–  **CLOSEUP OF CAJUN FOOD ALERT**

–  Anytime CBS cuts to the booth and you realize that Phil Simms and Jim Nantz might be the two whitest dudes in America.  Seriously.  They make Brent Musburger look like B-Rabbit from 8 Mile.

–  When Jennifer Hudson comes out and destroys “God Bless America”, leaving it in a flaming pile of scorched, musically-awesome, rubble.

–  When someone inevitably makes a lip-synching joke during her performance.

–  If someone makes a Weight Watchers joke while she’s singing.
(*Author’s note: if you’re watching the game with me, just take two drinks and get them out of the way.)

–  Someone mentions Colin Kaepernick’s tattoos.

–  Someone brings up the “Is Joe Flacco an Elite Quarterback” topic that, at this point, is more tired than a narcoleptic watching C-Span after chugging Nyquil.

–  **TORREY SMITH”S BROTHER, NAME-DROP ALERT**

Take Two Drinks:

–  When Vernon Davis makes a catch and someone joyously shouts out “VD!” thereby becoming the first person to ever shout that out with glee.

–  If the announcers mention Joe Flacco’s height.

–  When the announcers show that Joe Flacco has been killing it this postseason, compare his stats to some of the all-time great post-season runs, and he comes out on top.

–  When the announcers mention how he beat both Tom Brady and Peyton Manning.  On the road.

–  When you realize that you’re still not really convinced that you’d want Flacco on your team over any of the other QB’s he’s beaten this year.  Welcome to Eli Manning territory, Flacco.

–  If someone you’re watching the game with claims they “only watch for the commercials.”

–  If someone you’re watching the game claims they’re “only here for Beyonce.”
(*Author’s note: 5 bonus drinks if that person is you.  Pervert.)

–  Anytime you hear the term “pistol offense.”
(*Author’s note: Please designate a driver.)

–  **SUPER-SKANKY GODADDY.COM COMMERCIAL ALERT**

–  The announcers refer to the Aldon Smith/Justin Smith duo as “The Smith Brothers” and a non-football fan watching the game asks, “Are they really brothers?”

–  If Kaepernick keeps the ball on a zone-read, doesn’t look like he’s running that fast, but suddenly is doing 22 MPH down the sidelines for a big gainer.

–  If Anquan Boldin goes over the middle for a nice catch and the announcers fall over themselves talking about his willingness to go over the middle.

Take Three Drinks:

–  Anytime you hear New Orleans-style jazz music, like we’ve stumbled into the credits of Treme.

–  If Flacco throws a cannon-armed deep ball that makes you think he’s worthy of this fake Wikipedia nickname I discovered before they took it down:

–  If Joseph Vincent “Elite Dragon” Flacco throws a pick that is neither elite nor dragon-esque.

–  If Kaepernick hits Randy Moss on a pass.
(*Author’s note: bonus 3 drinks if Moss proceeds to act like he’s mooning the crowd and/or runs over a parking attendant after the game.)

–  If they show any of this interview for your enjoyment:

–  If Jay-Z steps onto the stage with Beyonce during halftime and shuts the whole Super Bowl down for an ill rap break.

–  If you can hear me getting hyper-crunk and screaming, “Awwwwwww, yeaaaaahhhhh.”  Like a crappy hype-man when Jay-Z steps onto the stage.

–  When Beyonce gyrates all over the stage and you realize you might, in fact, not be ready for that jelly.

–  If you try to decipher the Roman Numerals of Super Bowl XLVII and just end up Googling it.

–  Anytime anyone mentions Ray Lewis’ impending retirement/”riding off into the sunset”/emotional leadership/last hurrah.

–  Anytime the the broadcast team mentions the fact that Ray Lewis may or may not be hopped up on more deer antlers than a game of Big Buck Hunter.

–  If, during the course of the game you suddenly realize that Jim Harbaugh’s most famous relative isn’t actually John Harbaugh.  It’s Screech from Saved by the Bell!

Chug It. . .Chug It. . .:

–  If Jim Harbaugh throws his marker necklace into a crowd and a confused New Orleans-ian (*Author’s note: Oreleansite?  Orleanser?  Orlander?) flashes him out of habit.

–  When you realize that you’ve been forever mentally scarred by your 2 month stint as a dishwasher/un-licensed cook/cigarette-and-energy-drink Gofer for a place called Da Cajun Shak and that any images of Cajun food and/or life make you scathingly bitter and furious about all things Louisianan.  Oh, is that just me?  Damn. . .I better get a 30 pack.

–  Anytime they show the 49ers’ top secret, game-changing weapon on the sidelines: this guy.

FIN

That’s it.  You hear that echoing, hollow, fading-like-a-once-struck-gong noise?  That’s the NFL season.  It’s almost gone.

That’s it.  You hear that sonorous, building, timpani-drum-roll that’ll soon be going for thunderous broke?  That’s the Super Bowl.  It’s coming soon.

There’s two teams left standing.  Two coaches from one family with one singular professional goal: winning the big one.  The Game.  But we have two weeks to hype up the super bowl.  Two agonizing, snail on a cold morning’s paced weeks.  So let’s look back at what got us to this point.  Let’s take a look at the championship weekend that was.

San Francisco 49ers V.S. Atlanta Falcons

The 49ers came into this game scorchingly hot.  With Colin Kaepernick setting an NFL record for rushing yards by a quarterback in the previous playoff game against the Green Bay Packers, a fearsome defense with an elite front seven, and a coach who seems to be pushing all the right buttons they were the favorites in this game despite being the road team with a worse regular season record.  The Falcons had pulled off a miraculous comeback in the previous week’s matchup with the Seattle Seahawks but still didn’t seem to engender any confidence, despite being the home team and despite having an offensive air attack loaded with weapons.

After surging out to a quick 17-0 lead, Matt Ryan and Julio Jones had already decimated the 49ers’ secondary.  It was so quick, so bereft of difficulty that I found myself shouting things at the T.V. like, “Who the hell’s covering Julio Jones?  Lennay Kekua?”  and “You had to pick today to deliver your best playoff game, ever, Matty Ice?  You just F-ing had to?!?!”  and “Asgl;shdgflsjkdhlkshgkhdghdgh!”  (*Author’s note: don’t ask me how I spoke a semi-colon.  Just don’t.)  The 49ers were not only on their heels, they were running like they had on heels.

But the 49ers never panicked.  They never screamed semi-colon gibberish or made terrible Lennay Kekua jokes.  They just kept grinding.  They kept running the ball in a pistol offense zone read that reminded me of the first time I saw Kaepernick play in what was one of the best football games I’ve ever seen (*Author’s note: a post that somehow got discovered and became a mini-sensation on a Nevada Wolfpack message board). Little by little.  Play by play.  The 49ers started coming back.

Vernon Davis, long since dormant, suddenly erupted with his biggest game since last postseason.  In his final 6 regular season games, Davis had 6 catches for 61 yards.  Against the Falcons, VD was getting passed like it was spring break in Cancun.  He had 5 catches for 106 yards.  Suddenly the entire state of California was happy to have VD.  49ers fans rejoiced in the glorious return of their old pal, VD.  Should I stop calling him that?

As the 49ers remained composed, they began to wear down the Falcons.  They held the Falcons scoreless in the second half and, thanks to a few costly turnovers by the cold and clammy hands of “Matty Ice” they were able to seize the lead once and for all with 8:23 left in the 4th quarter.  I was ecstatic.

So where was the turning point in the game?  What crucially vital part of the 49ers organization finally roared to life and carried the rest of team with it during its undeniable, primal surge towards victory?  Two words: this guy.

That’s right, people.  Look who’s baaaaaaaacccccckkkkkkkk!!!!!!

The 49ers have one thing that no opponent can counter, no scouting report can cover, and no hours of endless grainy-eyed film study could ever prepare you for.  They have this guy on their side.  He’s a good luck charm and I won’t even entertain the fact that he could possibly be anything else.  Here’s another shot of his majestic, flowing mane of mullet.  Drink it in.  And chase it on down with that delightful ‘stache.

The more of Him that they accidentally showed on the sidelines, the better the 49ers played.  It was scientifically provable.  Hard data.  Kind of.  I’ve detailed this youthful Keith Stone impersonator before on my blog, and even posited a few theories on who he may be or why he’s there, but regardless of the reasoning behind it, the 49ers need to keep him on camera as much as possible.  Hell, make him an assistant coach.  Get him his own red marker and let him hang it on his shirt collar like he’s Harbaugh’s own, mullet-mustachioed personal attendant.  Whenever, however, just get him a promotion and get him some camera time.

New England Patriots V.S. Baltimore Ravens

I admit, in recent years, my hard-line hatred of the Patriots has softened.  Once a nay-sayer zealot of all things Brady and Belichick, since they haven’t been constantly winning, I have grown to admire their ruthless efficiency.  Their consistent innovations and constant reinvention have begun to fascinate me.  However, I am not what I would call a Patriots “fan.”

The Baltimore Ravens are another matter entirely.  For reasons that are too long to explain I’ve grown weary of Ray Lewis’ constant pandering.  His incessant need to whip out a soapbox and catapult onto it to make overly bold, broad-brushingly weird proclamations has gotten tiresome.

(*Author’s note: First off, I apologize about the weird, semi-porno-sounding music that the person added.  Second off, this moment was pretty much the nail in the “oh, man, he’s such a powerful speaker, bro!” coffin for me.  He’s talking here about all the “evil” that will run rampant in the streets if the NFL Lockout occurs.  You live in Baltimore, Ray.  Pretty sure that is going to happen anyway.  Ridiculous.)

The reputation that the Ravens garnered in the early 2000’s, which was well deserved, of a dominant, smash-mouth defense hasn’t gone away even though the Ravens have continued to slip down the rankings in their defensive statistics as their key defenders have grown older.

I did, however, feel that I would rather face Joe Flacco than Tom Brady (*Author’s note: recent statistics be damned.  I don’t care if Flacco has been more clutch than Brady recently, or that his cannon-arm has been hitting its target more often than not this postseason.) in a potential Superbowl so I found myself uneasily rooting halfheartedly for the Ravens, knowing full well that I was potentially selling my soul to the absurdly-obnoxious-hyperbole-ridden-cliche-mania that a Harbaugh V. Harbaugh and Ray Lewis’ last hurrah Superbowl would be.

The Pats jumped out to an early lead and I felt that my own rooting interest might matter little.  Tom Brady was something like 2,000,000,000 and 0 when he had a lead at home and the Patriots held a 13-7 halftime lead.  But in the second half, the Ravens stormed back.  They scored 21 unanswered points behind a balanced offensive attack and an inspired defensive effort.

They had now won 2 straight games against heavily favored, home opponents.  They had just beaten Peyton Manning and Tom Brady in back-to-back weeks and Joe Flacco was looking to send a very clear, very loud F- you to all his haters.  I suddenly wasn’t sure if I wanted to play the Ravens after all.

(*Author’s note: check out this quick bio of Flacco from Wikipedia.  Now, that is a nickname.  Gotta love Wikipedia.)

Best fake-nickname ever?

Best fake-nickname ever?

After the game the cameras followed around Ray Lewis like he was a Lohan, post sentencing.  CBS treated us to an extended closeup of his man-crack as he fell to the turf in a melodramatic explosion of tears.  Enjoy this visual.  CBS sure did.

Ray Lewis' Butt Crack

So now we’re set.  It is Harbaugh V. Harbaugh.  It is an insane, dynamo of a young quarterback (Kaepernick) V.S. a much-maligned, signal caller who is trying to shed the stigma that has (unfairly?) been placed upon him for falling short in the past.  It is Ray Lewis’ final curtain call and the bedlam that will follow him, win or lose.  Hang in there, football fans.  It’s time to turn the over-hype alert to a code orange.

(*Final Author’s note: Are there any good nicknames out there for Colin Kaepernick?  I’m leaning towards calling Kaepernicus.  Nicolaus Copernicus was the guy who developed the theory that our universe was actually centered around the sun.  I figure, Kaepernicus is about to revolutionize the 49ers offense from stagnant, stale and outdated, to something revolutionary and new.  A little academic?  Someone give me something else, if you’ve got it.)

FIN

The Super Bowl is finally here.  After weeks of slow-roasting hype, the game has finally arrived.  As the game gets ready for kickoff I find there are several pertinent questions demanding to be answered, some intriguing storylines to be explored and, most importantly, some shit to be talked.  Whether you’re a New York Giants fan, a member of Tom Brady’s bunch, or just someone who really loves skanky Godaddy commercials exploiting women who can only be described as once-proud, sit back and let’s light up a Bowl (of Super).

Important Questions:

- What is Eli Manning so confused about?

Eli Manning started out this season by declaring himself to be an “elite” quarterback.  He was promptly eviscerated by the media for making such a bold claim.  However, after throwing for 4,900 yards and having something like — as the philosophers known as the Ying Yang Brothers would say — fiftyleven surefire interceptions get dropped, Eli has silenced his critics.  Kind of.

Now, with the Eli critics quieted to a dull, oceanic roar it is finally “Peyton’s brother”s turn to step out of the shadows and into the light.  And, from the looks of things,his eyes are still adjusting.  Eli is squinting.  He’s beady-eyed.

I can’t figure out if he’s perennially confused, has had his head replaced by a muppet face, operated via remote by a crack-team of Jim Henson puppeteers, or whether he was that kid on the Manning family’s block that looked directly at a solar eclipse with a pair of high-powered binoculars.

Maybe he is as confused as he looks.  Maybe he can’t figure out why, even during a week when he’s poised to pass his famous brothers’ Super Bowl win total, everyone seems to be talking about his brother’s surgically repaired neck.  There’s been more neck-talk this past week than at a hangman’s convention in the Middle Ages.

Eli Manning is the Emilio Estevez of the NFL.  Less talented than his brother, less talked about, but with a legitimate chance to get the last laugh.  Now, if only he could find some damn sunglasses, he’d be just fine.

-  Will America Break Up With Kelly Clarkson?

We know a few things in the year 2012.  One is that the “Hardest Working Man” in showbiz title now actually belongs to the Kardashian family attorney and the other is that we’re at the peak of the angry, scorned-lover-songstress movement.  (*Author’s note: Adele currently wears the crown.  But since she’s busy smoking more cigs than a character in a Stieg Larsson novel and is a Brit, we’re getting the silver medalist in scorn-pop.)

Kelly Clarkson, who has apparently been getting dumped since 2005 has only taken a break from her rocky, tumultuous, cliche-ridden love life to sing about how angry/scorned/weirdly revitalized she is by the entire process.

But what will she do without the requisite anguish that she needs to create? Can she even sing without being f-ed over by some dude? I’m not sure. And after the trainwreck that was X-tina Aguilera botching the National Anthem last year, can the Super Bowl really afford to hand over the keys to an ill-prepared, un-recently-heartbroken Clarkson?

I see no other logical solution than what I’m about to suggest. As a nation, we can’t have Clarkson standing in front of the microphone at the 50 and suddenly wondering, “Wait…what’s my motivation?”

She’s forced our hand, here, and we’ve got no other choice: moments before she steps out to rip through the Star Spangled Banner, we have to deport Kelly Clarkson. The United States has to dump Kelly Clarkson to bring out the best in her.

Nick Cannon?!?! Really?!?!

The Super Bowl pre-game show has devolved into a psuedo-celebrity Red Carpet event. No one is clinging to their last deflating-life-raft of fame with a more rigor mortis-ly tight grip than Nick Cannon. (*Author’s note: Cannon is like a tween playing video games before bedtime, desperately pleading with those in charge to give him “Just another 15 minutes…plllleeeeeassse?!?!”)

He has been chosen by the NBC powers that be to host the “Red Carpet” event that kicks off some of the festivities. Thank goodness we get the delicious Super Bowl chaser to wash the Cannon out of our mouths.

Intriguing Storylines

- Tom Brady VS The Giants’ Defensive Line (And Insane Expectations)

The Giants’ pass rush is fierce and fast. But, as dangerous as that speed is rushing off the edge, not even Apollo himself could outrun the echoes of a legacy uncemented. Tom Brady doesn’t need another Super Bowl win. He has 3. But he didn’t need to marry a super-duper-model. He didn’t need to grow out his hair, causing women across the nation to swoon like 8th grade girls watching Taylor Lautner play for the “skins” team in a pickup game of basketball. He doesn’t need to routinely play with a massive wellspring of passion for a game he’s routinely dominated for nearly a decade.

Will his legacy really be incomplete without another Super Bowl? Probably not. But, lest we forget, this is a guy whose legend looms Vince-Wilforkianly large in the minds of current NFL pundits and fans.

If Brady loses the big one again, he’ll still be on top of the mountain. But if he should win? He’ll have his face carved on the side of it.

Gronk’s Ank

The 6’6″ inch Rob Gronkowski has established himself as, with all due respect to Jimmy Graham, the best tight end in the game today.  After spraining his ankle in his last game against the Ravens, the logical question is how crunk will Gronk be able to get?  (*Author’s note: here’s a quick side question.  If you’re Rob Gronkowski, with the chance to potentially make or break a Superbowl for you team but you have an ankle that’s killing you, what wouldn’t you do to get on the field?  You have to think that, as one of the Patriots’ only legitimate offensive weapons, Bill Belichick will call Gronkowski into a side office somewhere in the bowels of Lucas Oil Stadium and will sit him down at a desk and lay out a syringe full of racing-horse steroids, a mirror with a Tony Montana-sized pile of blow on it, and a handgun.  He’ll give him the option, “One, two, or all three?”  Yes, I may just have portrayed Bill Belichick as Satan incarnate.  No, I don’t respect him less as a coach, even if he is.)

A New Prince Could be Crowned

I’ll have my eye on Amukamara, a former Nebraska Cornhusker, even though he isn’t usually a vital part of the game.  He has a Kid and Play worthy flat-top and a solid game.  (*Author’s note: and here’s the main reason why I wanted to bring this up. . .) If Amukamara wins, it will cap off what has been a great year for Princes.

Amukamara got paid, Harry got laid, Simba got re-released, and “The Artist Formerly Known As” allegedly hated on Glee‘s attempt to cover one of his songs, which moves him up another notch in my book.

And, Finally, a Random Burnpoetry Prop Bet:

- Madonna attempts to cougar-pounce on Rob Gronkowski, mauling him with her botulismic face: 4-1

FIN