I need to make an apology. It seems that I've gone too far in the way of chafing the Gods in writing this column. Sorry.
Ever since the first edition of "It's Always Snowy in Hanover," the weather has taken a severe turn for the grim. We're buried alive under masses of snow, as if to prove that, yes, it really is always snowy here. On top of that, the sub-zero temperatures are transforming the quaint town of the College on the Hill into a gulag-esque prison camp in Siberia. A gulag-esque prison camp where people are nasty at pong, that is.
Anyway, because Sunday's low was actually colder than the temperature in Antarctica (seriously), I was content to hole up in my permanently warm room (heater is broken) and spend the day watching playoff football. I was not content, however, with the way the games turned out. And furthermore, the blue-collar Superbowl it produced.
I'll admit it. I'm a fan of glamorous things. I've got a penchant for Gucci loafers, Dom Perignon and "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" although I do not own a pair, have never tried it and have never seen it (okay, I own season one on DVD). Still, I can imagine what they're like and when it comes to sports, I'm a big market guy.
I'm a classic Yankees fan who will gladly pay eight bucks for a hot dog if it means we can buy every good prospect the Minnesota Twins produce when that player is entering his prime. I'm a supporter of the New York Giants even though I'm technically from New England, and I even pretend to like the Knicks when they're not sucking. I lap up the tears from small market teams when they're forced to watch their beloved free agents depart, leaving for greener pastures each off-season. I revel in the excesses of 160-foot JumboTrons and praise corrupt collegiate programs that pay their players behind closed doors. I detest all salary caps. My Cam Newton jersey is currently on backorder. I leave Boise State out of all my top-10 polls.
So you can imagine my dismay on Sunday as I witnessed two of the bigger market teams in the NFL (the Chicago Bears and the New York Jets) succumb to the small-town Green Bay Packers and the blue-collar Pittsburgh Steelers. It was like watching a Marxist revolution unfold before my very eyes two of the United States' greatest centers of power and culture haplessly dispatched by middle and industrial America. Those representing the bankers, presidential-hopeful politicians and out-of-work actors were shamefully disgraced by cheese-producing farmers and steel-mill workers. It was a blatant triumph of the proletariat masses over the once-dominant bourgeoisie.
I should clarify that my protest against a Green Bay-Pittsburgh Superbowl has nothing to do with the quality of the two teams or the caliber of their franchises. Indeed, the Packers and the Steelers aren't only two of the best teams in the NFL, they're among the most historically successful organizations in its history. In fact, their blue-collar culture is probably the reason why they're so good on the field. Their fans appreciate hard-nosed, hustling players who will do anything for the team. It's hard to imagine that quarterbacks Ben Roethlisberger or Aaron Rodgers would let an injury sideline them for the fourth quarter of the biggest game of the season, like Jay Cutler did. It's pretty easy to imagine, on the other hand, that Mark Sanchez would rather be shopping for a new pair of black denim True Religion jeans to wear to Cosmopolitan's launch party than playing football on a frozen tundra in the middle of January.
So I have to admit, it's not that these guys don't deserve it. It's more that they actually have earned it making a statement about a recipe for success in not only the NFL, but maybe sports as a whole and life in general. Bigger isn't necessarily always better. And money, despite however much every Jeter-worshipping Yankees fan wishes, can't buy success or happiness. So while it might be easier to attract a free agent to a big city with a lot of cash, the players who actually want to win tend to gravitate towards organizations that instill a culture of hard work and success at the cost of glamour. Sure, Aaron Rodgers might not want to live in Green Bay for eight months out of the year, but he really wants to hold the Lombardi Trophy over his head at least once. And frankly, all the power to him, because good things come to people who keep their head down and win. I also heard he was hooking up with Erin Andrews.
