I love a good story.
A good story can include any number of things, but essentially it boils down to ideals that we aspire to. Perseverance. The overcoming of seemingly insurmountable obstacles.
There is a protagonist and antagonist. And the cast of characters that helps the hero prevail.
Balance. Redemption. Transformation. A moment of truth. A rise and a fall.
Yesterday’s Super Bowl was a very good story.
This story started in 2001. A perennial also-ran lost their star quarterback – and in came an untested 6th rounder from Michigan, wide-eyed and untested. The team rallied around him—a cast of equally unheralded players—and brought them to the playoffs. No one thought they would advance very far. They even beat the Pittsburgh Steelers, a truly insolent act that infuriated millions and gave me a three-week bout of acid reflux. They made it to the Super Bowl, where no one thought they should be… and certainly no one thought they would win against the most prolific offense in the history of the game. They were huge underdogs, scrappy upstarts. But they believed.
And they won. By three points.
Fast-forward seven years. That once plucky patchwork of overachievers is now the most feared team in football. They have since won two more Super Bowls, each by three points. And now they look better than they ever have: experts gush over their awesome talent. Records crumble in their tsunamic wake. Their stoic leader plays the part of eccentric genius, irascible and dressed like a hobo. The once wide-eyed QB is now mentioned as one of the greatest of all time. He has three rings, unanimous acclaim and a smoking hot girlfriend--more a King of the World than Leo DiCaprio ever was. His supporting cast has become more noteworthy, too. They are now the most prolific offense in the history of the game. Eighteen different teams have tried to take them down, and all have failed. David has become a proud and seasoned Goliath.
But there will always be another David.
Another wide-eyed quarterback, but his story is different. He is a prince in football’s royal family, and reputed savior of a once-proud franchise. The pressure is intense. Though he is talented, every one always compares him to his older brother. He looks more like a computer programmer than a professional quarterback. On the field, he can seem withdrawn and aloof. His team expects immediate results… but he is young, and he makes young mistakes. And critics mount with astonishing speed. They say he is a disappointment, and always will be… the runt of his family’s litter.
There is talk of benching him. There is talk of firing his coach, who has hitched his proverbial wagon to the QB’s star. They say he can’t lead, can’t live up to his family’s promise, can’t win.
No one believes. But he does… quietly. And quietly he brings his team with him, up and down, sometimes beaten and other times victorious – to the playoffs. No one thought they would advance very far.
And then something changed. He played consistently and well. Inspired. His teammates rallied around him. They made it to the Super Bowl, where no one thought they should be. And certainly no one thought they would win against the most prolific offense in the history of the game. Every one expects the once-unknown- now-legendary quarterback to win against this seemingly reluctant young challenger.
The Prince vs. The King. Uncommonly oedipal for a football game, don’t you think?
In the end, it came down to the two of them. The King did what he always does… he scored when it mattered. But what would the Prince do? Would he crumble, like he had so many times before? Would he once again disappoint, proving his critics were right all along?
Anyone who watched the game yesterday knows the how the story ended. Eli Manning, with his big brother watching from the stands, accomplished what no one thought he could. He came down the field against the odds—and with the weight of a whole town, his family name and the never-ending chorus of doubters as a backdrop—and he dropped Goliath with a well-placed (sling)shot to the left-hand corner of the end zone. During that drive, he converted on several key third-downs… including what is probably the most amazing play in the history of the Super Bowl.
Manning fought and escaped from what looked like a sure sack and launched the ball. David Tyree—a man who had caught just four passes all year—leaped in the air, fought off a future Hall of Famer and caught a ball with one hand and his helmet. And Tyree was just part of the story. As is the case with any hero, Manning didn’t do it alone—he couldn’t have. He had the help of a defense, including legendary Michael Strahan, that crushed the Greatest Offense there ever was. He had a scat back (Ahmad Bradshaw) that turned into a power back, ripping his own fumble right out of the hands of a Patriots defender. He had a receiver in Steve Smith who, having caused an interception earlier, redeemed himself over and over when it mattered. He had his star receiver (Plaxico Burress) catch just two passes—but one of them won the Super Bowl.
The Patriots won every one of their Super Bowls by three points. Last night they lost – by three points. They were once the spoiler—last night they were spoiled. Balance.
There was redemption—the down-and-out becoming the on-high exalted. There were seemingly insurmountable odds—12 points and an unblemished record. There were unheralded players becoming legends. A legendary player getting the one thing he always wanted. There was the kid transforming into the star—and grabbing the MVP trophy his big brother held the year before. There was a shocking ending, and a new beginning. There was a rise and a fall. There was Tom Petty.
What a game. What a story.
