The Super Bowl
ended, and the new champions of physical prowess
were given the microphone. And they told us we were wrong.
Why, it was not the preseason training. The blood, sweat and tears shed during the long and arduous season wrought nothing. The playoffs? Hard work and pushing the body to exceed its physical limits were hardly even a factor.
According to that marvel of biology--that pinnacle of athleticism--the Super Bowl was won because God in Heaven above picked a favorite.
Pardon me, but didn't that kind of divine intervention go out with Rome?
The man did not say this in so many words. He thanked God for allowing him to win, attributed his success not to the energy and dedication he put into his job, but to faith. Which, if you take him at his word, means God chose him and his team... over what? The infidels on the other team that prayed during the halftime show? Don't know about you... but I smell a holy war brewing.
Can't you just see the advertising campaign as it might have been? "Who will God favor--the Baltimore Ravens or the New York Giants? Tune in Sunday to see who will win the good graces of our Holy Father, and who will be condemned to burn in Hell for all eternity as faithless bastards!"
These implied hostilities are not the most terrible aspect. What truly saddens me is that these men who have utilized their bodies to their fullest potential--who dance in the endzone and strut after an interception--can so pull the wool over their own eyes, and pass on all the credit, and tell us that it was not their doing. That just kills any heroism that might be found in their achievement; and our admiration should die along with it.