Wow. Just, wow.

What a wild finish to an epic see-saw battle where the outcome was always in doubt.

I have not been pleased with the NFL for a while now, and hadn’t watched a game for a few years.  The league’s agenda conformity of late has pretty much guaranteed I will never be a fan again. So normally I wouldn’t have watched the Superbowl. If it wasn’t for an invitation from friends this year, I probably wouldn’t have.

So because of my NFL boycott, I knew nothing about Seattle running back Marshawn Lynch. But based on what I saw last night, he runs a lot like how I described John Riggins and Natrone Means in my last post. He’s a bigger, stronger Bronko Nagurski.

Which brings us to the play that will be talked about for years to come, that Seattle’s offensive coordinator may never live down: You’ve got a back who can gain at least three yards a play regardless of how a defense is stacked against him. Certainly you just hammer the line with him until he punches it in, right? No, as it turns out you call a pass play and your talented young quarterback throws his only interception, a hockey-style brawl breaks out on the field, and the repeat championship is ripped from your grasp in the final seconds.

I submit that the pass play was not the most stupid play call ever. I don’t know what the most stupid of all time is; but I know which one takes the cake that I’ve seen.

You are head coach Denny Green. Your team has gone 15-1 in the regular season, easily marching to the NFC championship despite some horrible officiating in the playoffs. Your key defensive player, John Randle, is hurt and won’t be able to anchor the defense in the game, but you’ve kept that a secret. You’ve got homefield advantage and the crowd noise in the Metrodome is a potential extra player. Up to this point your boys have blown out everybody except your one (close) loss to the Buccaneers around mid-season. But your defense is especially porous in this game (you’ve lost five starters to injuries), and you’ve botched a few drives by throwing deep down the field incomplete instead of just getting first downs. Now you’re tied at 27-27 with 49 seconds left to play. It’s first down in the Red Zone and you’ve got the most prolific offense to ever play the game. The formidable weapons your red-hot quarterback has at his disposal are Chris Carter, Randy Moss, Jake Reed, a healthy Robert Smith in the backfield and an offensive line like the Great Wall of China. You can put the game away by a score–all your mistakes and the uncharacteristic flubs by your players will be forgotten. What do you do?

You have your QB kneel on the ball to end regulation. At least that’s what Green chose to do.

You could have put the game out of reach with a chip shot field goal in your last drive, with a kicker who has been perfect all season. That’s right–he has not missed a single FG or PAT all year. Guess when he decides to miss a kick? The other team’s kicker doesn’t miss in overtime, and they advance to the Superbowl.

That missed kick is the only thing people remember about the game, saving the coach from scrutiny when it should have never come down to the kick in the first place.

Back to Seattle-New England. So far as stupid calls go, I wouldn’t even put it in the top ten. In fact, it may not even be a stupid call. Had the right guy come down with the ball, it would be considered a stroke of genius. The same people bitching about the call now would be trash-talking about how the Patriots were punked by the potential threat of Lynch, giving up the pass while focusing on the run. Oh, how brilliant a strategy! Oh, how clever!

People will also probably forget that the only reason Seattle got to the red zone in the first place was the ridiculous bobbled bounce-off-the-knee reception. It even reminded the commentators of the helmet catch a few years ago that ruined New England’s perfect season. New England fans were sure that the jinx was still in effect.

But Lady Luck was a fickle, two-timing slut last night.

The Washington Redskins first Superbowl appearance was in VII. Under head coach George Allen, with a team roster infamously called “the Over-the-Hill Gang,” they were dominated by the undefeated Miami Dolphins.

Ten years later the head coach was Joe Gibbs, but the scenario was similar. The team had to defeat the Dallas Cowboys in the NFC Championship, just like 1972, and they had to face the Miami Dolphins in the Superbowl. Not only did the AFC dominate the big game (the NFC had only won twice in the 1970s), but there was the psychological disadvantage of playing a team that had beat them the last time they met in the championship. This is a difficult disadvantage to overcome (Dallas had failed in their rematch with Pittsburgh; Cincinnati would fail in their rematch with San Francisco; and more recently New England would choke twice against New York).

Psychology is a huge factor in team sports, and not to be underestimated. It can be a little like morale in a military unit. That’s probably worth a post of its own, so I’ll move on.

The game Didn’t go well for Joe Gibbs. By the Fourth Quarter the Redskins were down 17-13 when a pass from QB Joe Theismann was deflected into the air by a Dolphin defender. An interception at that point might have crushed team morale–we’ve seen disastrous plays crush morale many times, and one of those I’ll talk about in this post. But Theismann himself kept the pop-up from being grabbed by Miami.

It would become obvious in retrospect, that was the turning point in the game. Why? Because Gibbs was forced to adjust his tactical doctrine. The Miami defense was shutting down his passing game. He was lucky Theismann was able to break up that play, but he needed to use a different weapon if he was going to change the momentum of the game, and avoid the sort of catastrophe his team had so narrowly escaped.

Fortunately, he had another weapon. The weapon was named John Riggins.

Riggins was a veteran, in what would normally be the twilight of his career for a running back. In days of yore he probably would have been called a fullback. He ran like a tank–not record breaking fast, but he routinely went through defenders like an 18 pound ball though bowling pins. Not many ball carriers have his kind of power. Natrone Means and Adrian Peterson are two rare backs who did (Peterson having the speed, too). Behind a formidable offensive line called “the Hogs” or “Riggo’s Rangers,” Riggins set the scoreboards on fire during the playoffs of that strike-shortened season.

Theismann began to call “the Diesel’s” number play after play, and #44 romped down the field, putting Washington in the lead to stay. It was like watching a bulldozer plowing Volkswagens. Riggins was voted MVP for the game, and the Redskins finally won the Lombardi Trophy.

Behind Theismann and a still-strong Riggins, Gibbs generalled the Redskins through an impressive season and back to the Superbowl the following year where they faced the outclassed Raiders. Up to this point in Superbowl history, no defending champion had ever lost.

Early in this game, though, Theismann failed to convert on third down, and the punting unit went in. The Raiders blocked the punt and went in for a go-ahead touchdown.

The Washington Redskins fell completely apart. The psychological damage was instant and visible on faces and in body language. After that it didn’t matter which team was better. The Redskins were doomed, and played like it. They only managed one touchdown the whole game (by Riggins, who rarely got the ball, since Theismann went all-pass, trying to catch up), and were crushed 38-9.

It was ugly.

Upsets are nothing new. It’s always been true in the NFL that on any given day the worst team in the league might beat the best. And that day the superior team was so psychologically destroyed after the blocked punt that even a high school roster would have given them a pasting.

How could a team of champions, so full of talent and confidence, crumble so thoroughly because of one play? There are so many variables, perhaps the best we could ever manage are wild guesses.

The next time Gibbs brought his team to the Superbowl, it was against the Denver Broncos and their cannon-armed QB John Elway. It looked like Gibbs would be a victim of another hopeless shellacking when, on the very first play from scrimmage, Elway threw a long strike that went all the way. The Redskins sputtered on offense (predictably, after a devastating play like that), and the First Quarter ended with Denver leading 10-0.

But something was different this time. At some point since that embarrassing loss to the Raiders, Joe Gibbs had taught his team to overcome adversity. Or, as we put it in the Airborne, “Suck it up and drive on.”

The Redskin defense didn’t allow Denver to score another point. Meanwhile, they lit up the scoreboard in a record-setting Second Quarter in what turned out to be a convincing blowout victory.

I’ve decided that the greatest teams are not those who win championships; but those that can rebound off stunning setbacks to win championships. It’s fighters like Joe Louis and Evander Holyfield or the glass-jawed Tommy Hearns who get knocked into queer street, but push themselves off the canvas and fight through the fog of pain and shock and fear to hammer the other guy until he goes down…they are the champions most worthy of admiration.

One of the most tragic teams in history were the Buffalo Bills under Marv Levy (that should also be a future post of its own, perhaps). They attempted to use this sort of psychological devastation (Raiders blocking the punt; Elway’s long bomb; etc.) on Dallas in their first Superbowl showdown, blocking a punt deep in Cowboy territory and sending Thurmon Thomas in for the first score on the next play. But Dallas never lost confidence, turning the tables in an ugly one-sided game forcing a storm of turnovers. Then in the rematch the following year, after leading 13-6 at the half, the Bills succumbed to emotional collapse themselves when that same Thurmon Thomas (so rock-solid dependable on a normal day) fumbled deep in his own territory. The Cowboys took it in for the score and never looked back. The Bills didn’t score again and lost 30-13.

You could argue that Chuck Noll, Vince Lombardi or Bill Walsh were the greatest head coaches in NFL history, and numbers would back you up. But to me the most inspiring were guys like Tom Landry and Joe Gibbs. Especially Joe Gibbs, who not only redeemed himself, but taught his players to do the same.