I am still in shock that the Patriots who managed to survive so many negative stories and stave off a few big upsets in the making this season haven't found a way to reverse the outcome of Super Bowl XLII. I am also in shock that I managed to walk the tightrope between implying that the Giants could actually win the game without harnessing the awesome power of this blog's jinx.

I can't remember the last time I actually called something before hand and had it come to pass. It may never have happened, I just don't feel like going back and looking through my posts to find it, on the off chance that I was ever right. I get the feeling that I was right in picking Dallas to beat Indianapolis in Dallas last year the week before Thanksgiving. And I think I picked the Bears to win against Seattle and New Orleans last year in the playoffs. But since then, it's been a bad, bad, bad run.

Unfortunately, I think that the NFL will be forced to find a way to have this game replayed until the Patriots can find a way to win. If not, then so many of our most respected sports journalists will continue to look even more foolish than they ordinarily do. For instance, Bill Simmons compared these Giants to the 1985 Pats. The podcast is still up on his site at ESPN, in case you don't believe me. If Roger Goodell and the league office allow this to stand, it might bring down the sports media as we know it.

Meanwhile, I got an email on Saturday from the guy I go to for my Red Sox info. He was out in Arizona for the game. And he had his picture taken with Jim McMahon. It seems very funny in retrospect, to have him out there with the QB whose team devastated, humiliated and set the Patriots back ten years with the savage beating the Bears inflicted that day. And all the while, Simmons is out there comparing the Pats opponent to the Pats of yesteryear. Although, I have to say Tom Coughlin is a lot like the evolutionary Ray Berry in the sense that he's kind of a tool.

This retrospect on what it felt like to see the undefeated Patriots fall apart in Arizona has to be my favorite Simmons column of all time now. One thing I'm not entirely sure of, as I talk about this loss with my friends who root for the Patriots, is whose fingerprints are on this spectacularly offensive offensive collapse. It's easy to blame McDaniel, but didn't Belichick promote him because he was an unknown and could serve as a strawman enabling Belichick to have even more control over the team? It seems like the arrogant game plan that seemed to be governed by the premise that all the Pats had to do was show up would bear this out, but then I might just be blinded by my hatred for Belichick.

It wouldn't be a normal day for Sedition in Red Sox Nation if Jay Mariotti hadn't found his own way to taint what should otherwise be as nearly perfect as a moment can be in sports fandom. The notion that the Patriots should be further punished for the report that came out of Saturday's Boston Herald claiming that the Pats cheated by videotaping the Rams pregame walkthrough before the 2002 Super Bowl is absurd. If they did cheat, it was dirty, shameless and beat. But it's also fairly unprofessional to punish a team now for what they did six years ago.

Professional sports aren't the real world. In a sense, it's not that different from punishing baseball players who took performance enhancers that were banned by other sports but not banned by baseball at the time the players took them. The NFL came down hard on the Patriots when they were caught red handed this year. If it happens again, they ought to come down harder on them. But if six years intervene between that incident and when the story came out, then it's St. Louis' tough luck. Maybe they should have had a guy make sure the stadium was empty if they didn't want people checking out their walkthrough.

The one good thing about this whole episode is that it reminded all of us that Arlen Specter is still alive and kicking in the US Senate. But as for this silly little story, I have a pretty solid record for disliking and ripping the Patriots, their coach and their owner. That said, I have no empathy or sympathy for Kurt Warner and the 2001 Rams. They had every chance to beat a team that was markedly inferior on paper. Knowing the Dick Vermeil/Mike Martz offense, I'm sure they had practiced other plays enough over the season that they could have made adjustments.

The real story is that those Rams didn't treat the game as seriously as they ought to have. They came in as a big favorite, having beaten the Pats on the road earlier in the year and playing in a dome against an outdoor team. They were the greatest show on turf and they failed to show up. It's not Roger Goodell's problem. Nor is it the problem of Congress. Taping other teams' signals isn't right, but neither is a retroactive investigation that really can't culminate in an appropriate or effective punishment.

In general, I try to avoid commenting on specific political candidates in this space, mostly because I realize that none of you give a damn what I think about a particular candidate. But I think we need to throw a tool of note award in Mitt Romney's direction. Romeny's campaign came out today and claimed that John McCain and Mike Huckabee made some sort of illicit "backroom" deal to deny Romney the delegates from W Va. To me, it seemed like more than a little sour grapes from Romney. Or perhaps a sense of frustration because he didn't think of it first, if in fact anything untoward was done.

In case you care, in the interest of equal time, Sedition in Red Sox Nation is forced into an anti-McCain stance because he is supported by Curt Schilling. Mike Huckabee is out because he reminds me of the Homer Stokes character from O Brother Where Art Thou. Fred Thompson is out because he was in Die Hard 2. And Rudy was out because he has a bad comb-over, although I defy anyone to show me a good comb-over, and he did a terrible cameo in Anger Management. Kind of funny, isn't it, the thought process through which we here approach the democratic process.

Against all reason, the NFL has yet to put an end to the charade that is the 2007 regular season. Even after today's action which saw the New England Patriots win the single most impressive football game in recorded human history, the show apparently must go on. When you get right down to it, you know that if you can beat the Jets in the Meadowlands, you can beat any team anywhere at any time.

There are some misguided naysayers who might offer an alternative explanation for today's event. People might dare whisper that the Jets made the playoffs on the strength of a weak schedule and some lucky breaks. They might wonder whether those factors might have had enough of an impact to negate the dreadful play on words that makes up the nickname of the young Jets head coach. But who among them would dare show their face in the wake of that amazing win?

After all, there is no possible alternative but to assume that today's dominance was due solely to the excellence of the New England Patriots. Who could dare think that the Jets inability to rush the passer and even more pathetic secondary play could have been the result of a bad football team as opposed to an outstanding opponent?

I think the one moment that best encapsulates the state of the New York Jets this season came when the crowd cheered after Chad Pennington was hurt. Not only did it show the Jets fans as total dbags, but it showed that this team can't be all that good if Kellen Clemens is the savior waiting in the wings.

In his brief career, Kellen Clemens had thrown two passes prior to this season and managed exactly zero completions. To his credit, he did lead the league in TD passes this preseason. Maybe I'm too optimistic, but that just impresses the hell out of me. Isn't that why we remember Joe Montana all these years after he retired? For leading the league in TD passes in preseason after preseason?

Outside of New York, no one cares who accumulated what meaningless stats in which slate of meaningless games. If Kellen Clemens is the QB of the future and the future is now, then the 2007 season is already over for the New York Jets. If that is the case, then the blowout the Patriots laid on them this afternoon isn't as impressive as people seem to think.

As impressive as Randy Moss' day was, perhaps it might be wise to wait for him to play a team with a serviceable secondary before we pack his bags for Honolulu and the Pro Bowl. For instance, on his long TD catch can we fairly say that he beat triple coverage? Might we instead say that three Jets took up some space but didn't earn their game checks even though they must have enjoyed their front row seat for the play?

Of course, it is somewhat unfair for me to be so critical of the Jets secondary today. After all, the front seven would have been hard pressed to do less to help their defensive backs. They made the Patriots offensive line look like supermen with their lackluster pass rush. They almost got near Brady once. I think I remember that.

In all fairness, I am just a bit bitter because Brady's performance probably cost me the game in fantasy football. Of course the Kansas City Chiefs horrendous offense dragging Larry Johnson down as though they were a 10 man albatross and LJ were the Ancient Mariner had a fair bit to do with it. And Tony Romo (my QB) hurt more than he helped with his treasonous penchant for throwing to Jason Witten (my esteemed opponent's TE) instead of Terrell Owens (my WR) poured salt into the wound.

It hurts losing this game (which isn't technically over, but I need a huge second half out of Romo and TO and a near miraculous effort from Vernon Davis against Anquan Boldin) to have a chance. It hurts doubly because I'm losing to Mr. Bean's stunt double and a guy who played Eddie Kennison. I guess I'm just not as smart as I think I am, or a victim of bad luck.

But before I wrap this post up, I have a couple of other things to say about a couple of things. First, on the Auburn-South Florida game. I have to congratulate Auburn coach Tommy Tubberville for his amazing ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. After South Florida tied the game with about 45 seconds to go, and Auburn holding onto two timeouts, Coach Tubberville elected to play for the tie and overtime rather than risk a turnover playing for the win.

Even if Auburn had turned it over, South Florida was out of timeouts. Their kicker had just tied the game, but he'd also missed four kicks that day. But giving them an equal chance to win the game by eating the ball and going to overtime couldn't have been good for Auburn's confidence. I assume this knowing that South Florida went on to upset Auburn. The moral of the story - only a tool plays for a tie.

The only thing that keeps Tubberville from becoming a tool of note is that he wasn't the biggest tool in the stadium. I saw a guy rooting for South Florida while wearing a wrestling singlet, only this and nothing more. It got me thinking, is there ever an acceptable time to wear a wrestling singlet. And the answer is no.

It is never appropriate to wear a singlet. Not as a costume for Halloween. Not while watching a football game. Not in the privacy of one's own home. Not even while engaged in that least cool and most homoerotic of sports, Greco-Roman wrestling is it appropriate to wear a singlet. A man should never wear scanty, skin-tight garments. It's not a good look.

If you wear a singlet in public you ought to be arrested. Doubly so if you wear it to an event that isn't a wrestling competition. If you aren't arrested, then maybe you ought to do the rest of us a favor and refrain from passing your genes to the next generation. The only thing that keeps him from being the tool of note is that an odd combination of laziness and horror at the choice of attire prevents me from searching for a photo of that tool.

Among the other things that are bothering me from this weekend is the new Nike ad campaign. In particular, the commercial featuring Shawne Merriman and Stephen Jackson is antagonizing me. I don't know if you recognized the song when you heard it, but it is the Promontory Theme from the cinematic triumph, Last of the Mohicans. It's the song playing while Chingachkook, Uncas and Nathaniel chase down Magua and his warriors at the climax of the film.

If I were a better person, I'd admit that I'm just a bitter person who resents Shawne Merriman's new, edgy style of play. But I'm not, so I can say spiteful things. For instance, I'd have less of a problem with this if a needle injecting some illicit concoction of performance enhancing chemicals were photoshopped into the ad somewhere reminding us of Merriman's four game suspension last season. Or maybe it would bother me less if someone could prove that Chingachkook's triumph over Magua had been aided by some sort of banned substance.

But even more than the Patriots winning, the Bears losing and the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad use of that song from that scene, another event is bothering me. I don't know if you saw it, I didn't. I had to be told by a Patriots fan who wanted to rile me for failing to show the new look Pats the proper respect. Last night, while I was occupied watching real sports, NASCAR and Dale Jr. crossed a line I couldn't believe they would dare cross.

In his seemingly futile chase for the Chase for the Cup, Dale Jr. dared adorn the hood of his car with the image of Elvis Presley. The universe punished him for his insolence, and he didn't win the race. In fact, Little E didn't even finish the race. If winning mattered to him, and I'd bet it doesn't based on the frequency with which he wins, this truly would be a blow.

It is not fair to blame Dale Jr. for this without criticizing the corporate entity that controls Elvis' legacy. Shame on the functionaries at Elvis Presley Enterprises for whoring his image out to be painted on the hood of a race car. Do they not earn enough money profiteering from his life's work? If I thought I had the discipline not to violate it, I would call for a boycott on Elvis just as I did against John Cougar Mellencamp. But I won't be that sort of hypocrite.

I promised earlier this week that I would go into greater detail on exactly why I think the Bears would be ill-served in trading Lance Briggs for Donovan McNabb as very, very, very vague rumors have proposed. You will have to bear with me, as it is currently just short of 10PM on the East Coast, it's Memorial Day and I am slightly intoxicated and working my way to full-on drunk. So there won't be any links because I am not very motivated to be a responsible blogger.

Donovan McNabb is not the answer to the Bears problems. I don't think that the team would be any better served with him under center than they were/are with Rex Grossman. I am not saying that Rex is a more talented pure passer than McNabb, or a better quarterback. I just don't think McNabb can win a Super Bowl, so to pick up a high profile, expensive, aging player would hurt a team on the brink like the Bears more than it will help.

Yes, McNabb is a Chicago native, but that seems to be the sole virtue he would bring to the table in this equation. The pressure on him to push himself and the team over the threshold will be astronomical. Anything less than a Super Bowl championship would probably close the window for the player and the team.

This is a very difficult situation for a Caucasian blogger to express any negative sentiments about Donovan McNabb. Thanks to Rush Limbaugh's comments, McNabb is essentially untouchable. Since Limbaugh was so wrong, so far behind the times and so out of his element, it has made it nearly impossible to offer any kind of analysis of McNabb's game that does not take on any taint of racism.

The real problem, in my way of thinking, when evaluating McNabb is that no one stops to ask the question what if McNabb were the quarterback of my team? No matter what you might think of him battling through the broken leg and throwing 5 TDs against the Cardinals some years back or tbat famous episode where he scrambled for 15 seconds and cost the Cowboys a playoff spot, one must consider at least one unpleasant fact.

At the end of the day, there is the denouement to the thirty ninth Super Bowl. Donovan McNabb was vomiting and too ill, apparently, to lead the Philadephia Eagles on a drive that could have tied or won the game. If that doesn't alarm the football fans who venture into this space, I wonder what will.

Donovan McNabb is supposed to be a world class athlete. I might be wrong, but I find myself remembering moments of extreme stress which find athletes prevailing against the odds. Montana's game winning drive against the Bengals, Havlichek steals it or Bird's steal and pass to DJ to win Game 5 against the Pistons leap to mind. Then one must consider the varied late game heroics of Michael Jordan.

If one takes the time to do all that thinking, one should realize that there is one common denominator. Never, in any of the instances I have mentioned, has the hero been so wracked by intestinal difficulty that he could not call a play in the huddle. And yet there was more than a minute left on the clock when the Eagles got the ball for the last time in that game against the Patriots, but he couldn't mount any kind of drive. But Donovan McNabb couldn't manage to bring his team to overtime, let alone a win.

Not only did McNabb fail to accomplish that goal, but he failed to do it in any of the three years prior to that when the Eagles made it to the NFC title game, but never reached the Promised Land. When one considers the fact that the Eagles had the best player on the field in that game against the Patriots in Terrell Owens, the ball and time enough to accomplish what they, as a team had presumably been contracted to do, one has to wonder exactly why they lost. And McNabb vomiting and being too ill to call plays in the huddle has to be at the top of the list.

Perhaps I am too much of a pessimist, but I subscribe to the theory on aging first propounded by Marsellus Wallace in Pulp Fiction. People age like wine only in so far as they deteriorate and turn into vinegar. The overwhelming majority of athletes fall apart as they get older. The only sport where that seems no longer to apply is baseball, where players can pitch into their 40s. Somehow, if Clemens had to dodge 300 pound lineman, 250 pound linebackers and 200 pound defensive backs each time he threw a pitch, I don't think he'd be back at age 44. But that's just me.

So with his age, his injury history and his lack of performance in big games taken into consideration, I'd rather the Bears played Grossman for another year. Even if the team has to scramble to replace him in the next offseason, he's younger, cheaper and less likely to get hurt than McNabb (I am not overlooking the fact that Grossman has for all intents and purposes played about a season and a half in his 3 seasons to date). The team had a nice run in spite of him killing them in key moments last season. And when you get right down to it, I don't think McNabb is a champion.

On an unrelated note, I turned off the Sox game when it was 2-0, right after the Lowell double that plated the second run. It was too depressing to watch and Die Hard 3 was on one of the Encore channels. So I don't know how it has turned out, and I am afraid to look at the score. There has been so very little for me to be happy about in the baseball season to date that it's really taking a lot away from my favorite holiday weekend pastime (a bender that would kill 4 lesser men).

But tonight, Remy and Orsillo had a bald loser who appears in ads for the new state insurance coverage system. It was inordinately amusing to me, even though I hate the Remdawg. I don't know how many picked up on it, and I'd try to YouTube it if I were more motivated and maybe a bit less buzzed. But Remy had no time for the loser. I can't say I blame him, because the guest of honor was a tool. Absolute tool lacking even the credentials to become a tool of note on this site.

And watching Remy pretend like he gave a damn and wanted to ask the bald dude who called himself an actor despite only appearing in two commercials for the state health insurance program some questions made it slightly less painful to see the Red Sox take yet another early lead. The Remdawg had his hands in his pockets, he only half-looked at Baldie when he and Orsillo were doing the interview. Remy may have even rolled his eyes once or twice. It was probably his finest hour as a Red Sox broadcaster, very nearly reaching the point where he said: "Look, douche, you're a bald waste of space and you have no business appearing in the booth during the damn baseball game." If only he had more balls to tool on the guest for more than an impending marriage that will last a mere six months.