Seahawks 29, Patriots 13

A Super Bowl for connoisseurs of defensive football. I’m not one. I understand what’s happening when a DB breaks up a pass or a lineman beats his blocker and troubles the QB. But os and xs, zonal coverage, disguised coverage … I know these things exist, but I can’t perceive them – not in real time.

I like Kenneth Walker’s running. Dude calmly glides toward his blockers, awaits the defenders’ removal, scoots past them. Elegant. Not unlike slow-roll penalty taking (in soccer).

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My Facebook friends signal their politics by praising or condemning Bad Bunny’s halftime show.

What a stupid time to be alive.

I’ve not previously listened to Bad Bunny.

The sugarcane is good décor. The dancing is uncouth.

So are the lyrics. I learn them only by reading them online. (I can’t understand them sung; I have trouble with Puerto Rican Spanish.)

The apagón song stands out because I know what it’s like to endure frequent apagones (power outages). One extended passage in that song is reminiscent of, if not quite ideologically aligned with, The Vagina Monologues. Is it included in this Super Bowl performance? I’m not sure. I can’t make out enough words, and I’m distracted by utility-pole dancers.

Abel is dedicated in church; Samuel’s exactitude; weather; football; “E-learning”; ICE vs. Minnesotans

We dedicated Abel to the Lord this morning. Samuel and Daniel remained in the adults’ church service. Upon its conclusion, Samuel ran up to the pastor and scolded him for mentioning Duolingo, which is not discussed in the Bible. (The pastor, in his sermon on Acts 2, had joked about Duolingo’s provision of the ability to speak “in tongues.”)

I approve of Samuel’s zeal for the truth.

Yesterday I said “shoes” when I meant “boots,” and Samuel flew off the handle.

“I misspoke,” I acknowledged.

He was not appeased. “You and Mom say too many wrong things.”

“Do you think you speak better than your parents?” I asked him.

He does think so.

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Across the nation it’s cold and blustery. Today I watched the Broncos and Pats fail to advance the ball in a Mile High snowstorm. The Pats survived, 10–7. (I’m not keen on any of the league’s semifinalists. The Broncos, Pats, Rams, and Seahawks all have terrible uniforms. Their uniforms were better in the early 1990s.)

It was cold enough on Friday that Samuel was kept home. He attended an “E-learning” session with his teacher and four other students who logged in. Daniel viewed the lesson, too, and greatly enjoyed it. He and Samuel fought on camera. Samuel must do “E-learning” again tomorrow. Karin has urged me to send Daniel to the basement to watch TV.

It has been cold in Minnesota, too, and much sadder. ICE agents murdered another civilian yesterday; at least, the videos sure make it look like murder. As awful as each attack has been, a certain implication is worse: that it could happen to anyone. (To any ordinary person, that is; those who live in gated communities probably are safe.) Even non-protestors have been attacked, people simply traveling from A to B.

If the perpetrators intend to terrify, then what they’re doing in Minnesota is terrorism. And maybe even if they don’t intend it.

Nick Saban

Heavy snow, frigid temperatures this three-day weekend. Church was canceled. We stayed indoors and watched crime shows, animal rescue shows, soccer, and the NFL playoffs. We finished the absorbing serial killer tale Dahaad which we’d been viewing since November (we’re always nibbling on a half-dozen shows at once). Episodes would begin with a written disclaimer in Hindi which Samuel would cheekily “read” aloud – rattling off gibberish, of course. I have no idea what prompted our four-year-old to engage in such culturally insensitive tomfoolery; maybe the impulse is innate.

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Bill Belichick, Pete Carroll, and Nick Saban all ended long coaching tenures within a day of each other. Belichick and the Patriots “parted ways.” Carroll was demoted by the Seahawks. Saban retired from Alabama.

I attend less and less to football. I’ve long loathed the collegiate variety. But Saban is worth a moment’s reflection.

This tweet has been making the rounds.

Since Nick Saban arrived in 2007, Alabama’s enrollment has increased from 25,000 students to 40,000 students.

That’s a 60% jump compared to a 10% national average.

But the *type* of student matters much more.

Alabama went from the majority of its student body consisting of in-state students to the majority now being from out-of-state.

This is important because those students pay 3x more in annual tuition – $32,000 vs. $11,000 – and it means Alabama increased its annual revenue by hundreds of millions under Nick Saban.

Alabama paid him $130 million over 16 seasons, but you could argue he was worth more than $1 billion.

“Nick Saban is the best investment this university has ever made,” said Alabama Chancellor Robert Witt.

Amazing.

But even if it’s to be admired – or envied – it’s not to be celebrated. Bama has become the megachurch that doesn’t bring in the unchurched so much as steal sheep. The really perverse thing is that this is what every name-brand collegiate sports program tries to do.

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“Every player who signed with the Tide and played four years under Saban won a national championship.”

I guess every four-year Bama student got to see the Tide win a championship, too.

Amazing.

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Saban cared about more than winning. This also has been making the rounds:

It was overtime of the 2017–18 national title game. Alabama trailed Georgia by three. That’s when Tua Tagovailoa, the true freshman thrown into the game to save the day, was sacked on first down for a 16-yard loss, only to then whip a perfect, 41-yard touchdown to win it all.

Amid the celebration, Tagovailoa ran into his coach, the forever-demanding Nick Saban, expecting, well, some kind of reaction other than what he got. After all, this was one of the most legendary passes in Alabama history. Maybe a hug and a “Great play, Tua.”

“He pulled me to the side [and said], ‘What were you thinking taking a sack?’”

That’s perfectionism, you might say, and whether this way of coaching is good or bad depends on whether perfectionism is good or bad.

You’d be wrong. I saw that game. Of course the guy should have been scolded for taking that sack. Of course Denzel Washington should have been scolded, or worse, for flying an airplane drunk, even if he managed to land the plane and save the passengers. That’s not perfectionism; it’s basic education.

Some coaches are just middle managers. Others are educators. Saban appears to have been the latter. So maybe he did belong in a school, after all.

What kind of school? College? High school? An independent hothouse for the football-gifted? That’s a question for another time.

Acknowledgment:

I’ve linked to quotes from a variety of sources, but I didn’t gather them myself; they were compiled by Kendall Baker, in a Yahoo! digital “newsletter.” Thank you, sir.

See also:

“Bill Belichick Finally Succumbed to the NFL’s Mean – and Defying It So Long Is What Made Him a Legend.”

“No Country for Old Coaches.”

Meanwhile, a slightly younger coach is still in the NFL freezing his mustache off.

A dud

If most Super Bowls were like tonight’s, I wouldn’t make it an annual priority to watch the game.

Patriots 13, Rams 3.

This was the Patriots’ sixth victory in a Super Bowl.

It also featured their largest winning margin in a Super Bowl. It was their “blowout” victory, so to speak.

Their defense played lights-out. Then again, the Rams’ once-great offense had been pretty well contained by several teams late in the season. (And let’s admit it: hardly anyone who watches football really knows how defending works; I certainly don’t.)

It was a good game to watch with Karin’s dad’s family (hardly football purists). They talked all the first half about the newest Pokémon and superhero movies, then complained because at halftime Maroon 5 didn’t play what they wished to hear.

A past blast; a chill spill

Anticipating next month’s Super Bowl, I watched the title game of the NFL’s 1985/’86 season (Super Bowl XX). Despite its violence, it was a tedious contest. It felt like a walkthrough for the Bears. They led the Patriots 23–3 by halftime and 44–3 by the end of the third quarter. In the fourth quarter, they brought in their reserves, one of whom forced a safety. The final score was 46–10.

Four Super Bowls later, the 49ers beat the Broncos, 56–10. I’ve also viewed sections of that historic snoozer. I think the Bears were more dominant in their Super Bowl victory.

Moreover, they had some real freaks: Gault, the speedster; Perry, the giant; a relentless defensive line; an intelligent, hard-hitting defensive backfield; McMahon, with his cannonlike arm and fiery temper; and Payton, the running back who, more than anyone else on the field, liked to hit. Back then, tacklers were allowed to strike with their heads; downfield blockers routinely aimed below the knee; and, of course, there were fewer protections for receivers and quarterbacks. The punishment meted out to Steve Grogan, the Patriots’ backup quarterback, shocked my modern sensibility. (Grogan actually played well, I thought.)

One thing I know about the ’85/’86 Bears is, those guys went on to live in a world of pain.

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I myself am in a world of pain this evening. Walking home from work, I took a longish route to avoid the worst ice patches, but just a few yards from my building, I fell and badly sprained my ankle. It crunched like when a bicycle changes gears.

I lay on the ice for a good ten minutes. Some other tenants stood around the parking lot and ignored me. Finally, a nice, chubby guy came out of his apartment, helped me off the ground, and walked me into my building.

I called Karin and she left her work and took me to get x-rayed. No fractures – just a sprain. But I can’t walk. One of my old pastors lent me a pair of crutches.

Super Bowl LI; la Sur Oscura; la sub-20

Every couple of years, it’s said we’ve just witnessed the greatest Super Bowl in all of history. During my own short life, I’ve heard this said of Super Bowls XXV, XXXII, XXXIV, XXXVI, XLII, XLIII, and XLIX … and now, Super Bowl LI.

Certainly, last night’s was a great Super Bowl. But the best ever? I think not.

The first quarter, the teams spun their wheels.

The next two quarters were entertaining – but not compelling. Though we were treated to the occasional brilliant play, it seemed obvious that the Falcons would win, that it was unnecessary to really pay attention.

The contest finally became interesting when the Patriots whittled the deficit to 16. Then their comeback was tremendous – indeed, too one-sided. The Falcons hardly resisted.

The outcome was narrow and, on the whole, the foes were well-matched; but they didn’t exactly “trade punches” throughout the game. It was more like they attempted one bazooka shot apiece.

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Earlier that afternoon, some people who did trade punches – literally – were the members of the Sur Oscura, Barcelona’s famous fan group, during the season’s first home game (against Macará). Due to the violence, the game was suspended by the referee.

The episode is being depicted by the foreign and domestic presses as a shameful one for Ecuadorian soccer. And I agree. It’s one thing when different teams’ supporters fight. When the conflict is within the fan base … well, it’s disgraceful.

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In the last phase of our sub-20 championship, we Ecuadorians have played to a draw against Brazil, scoring two late penalties; we’ve lost on a foggy night, 4 goals to 2, against Venezuela; and we’ve defeated the Argentinians, 3 to 0. (Clearly, these results have no correlation to how we perform at the senior level.) We’ve yet to play against Colombia and Uruguay. Our objective is to finish no worse than fourth, qualifying for this age group’s World Cup.