February 3, 2009


Dan Daly of the DC Times said: “Super Bowl commercials became something to look forward to, it’s because the game often wasn’t.”

His point was that because the NFL expanded to 32 teams, the talent supply became thinner. Fewer teams are being referred to as a dynasty. Instead of the games often being one-sided, league-created parity has reintroduced more competitive games.

Just think, if the Cards hadn’t played in, arguably, the worst division in league history, they might not have reached the playoffs.

With all the movement by coaches AND players, MY GIANTS second consecutive appearance in the post-season is remarkable.

THEESMANN– that’s how his name was originally pronounced before the Notre Dame PR guys got hold of it and changed the pronunciation to TH-EYES-MANN to rhyme with Heisman..

SANTONIO HOLMES- BARRET ROBINS– We heard a great deal about Santonio Holmes and his battle with drug abuse and how that sobriety allowed him to become the MVP in this year’s Super Bowl. For every feel-good story like the Holmes story, we don’t hear stories about players (I didn’t say retired because Robins still hasn’t pulled the plug) like Barret Robins. Gwen Knapp of the SF Chronicle wrote a very thought provoking story about Robins AND his family. Here is a sample: “This time, Barret Robbins says, he didn’t check into a country club. A probation violation last spring landed him in a locked-down, substance-abuse treatment facility in Houston, where he sleeps in a dormitory room filled with bunk beds and as many as 19 other men wrestling with drug addiction and mental illness. His day starts at 5 a.m. and ends with lights out at 10 p.m.. Usually, he says, he is so drained by all the group meetings and heavy emotional lifting that he falls asleep by 8:30, his 350-pound body stretched over a narrow, twin sized-bed mattress. “I can’t complain about a single bed,” Robbins said by phone the other day, “not when you consider where I’ve been.

“Six years ago, on another Super Bowl weekend, he began a saga that took him from the center of the Raiders’ offensive line to the Betty Ford Center and a diagnosis of mental illness. He disappeared from the Raiders’ team hotel in San Diego, made a road trip to Tijuana and layered an intoxicated stupor over a bipolar haze. His soaring career would never recover. His absence from the Super Bowl turned his name into a cheap trivia-quiz answer rather than a staple on the Pro Bowl roster. Even then, though, the toll for his illness and attendant addictions came to chump change. He still hadn’t acquired the two bullets currently lodged in his torso, from the guns of Miami Beach police officers. He hadn’t spent a total of nearly 22 months in jail, most of it awaiting trial on charges of battery against the officers who shot him, wondering whether he would be sentenced to 30 years in prison. He hadn’t lived in a halfway house or gone through multiple rehabs in Florida and Texas, low-rent versions of Betty Ford that he came to see as too pampering.

For the entire article you can go to:






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