Picking this Super Bowl winner is mission impossible
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Joe Namath is the only human who ever really knew who was going to win the Super Bowl prior to its given Sunday, and any other humans who think they really knew the result of any given Super Bowl have confused knowledge with mere suspicion.
Namath knew, according to the comparative literature from the week prior to Jan. 12, 1969, what the rest of the world never even suspected -- that the New York Jets would beat the Baltimore Colts. And though no one suspects that we'll get through the week directly in front of us without plenty of people remembering Joe Namath, few will credit his singular prescience from that long ago winter in Miami with creating the monolithic prognostication monster that begins breathing fire again today.
The more than 3,000 media people bumping around Indianapolis this week should know better, but the overwhelming majority of them will at some point between now and kickoff either formally predict a winner or convince themselves internally they know which team that is.
They are, of course, pretenders, and here is the worst of it -- Super Bowl XLVI between the New York Giants and the New England Patriots is the hardest Super Bowl to call ever.
Ever.
The betting line is Patriots minus 3, which translates from the wise-guy dictionary as, "We dunno." Three points is what Vegas generally subtracts from the home team when the guys who establish the line have no idea.
So, for this neutral-site game, the Giants get three for no reason whatsoever. They dunno.
Nobody knows.
Part of that stems from the conference championship games last Sunday, which were anticipated to illustrate the flame-treated strengths of the survivors but instead served up a double helping of goat's head soup.
The Baltimore Ravens dropped a fourth-quarter touchdown pass and hooked a last-minute field goal to avoid beating the Patriots, and the San Francisco 49ers muffed one punt and fumbled another to help the Giants set up a winning field goal in overtime.
Worse still, the combined margin of victory in both games, 6 points, was the lowest in the championship games ever.
Ever.
So, both championship games were won by three points, the three times the Patriots took the Lombardi Trophy they won by three points, and the last time the Giants got the same trophy they won by three points against the Patriots.
Maybe the line should be 3.
I'm nowhere near ready to pretend I know who will win, but there are a couple of things about this game I really do know.
I know that so far, and it is not even Monday, three different official kickoff times already have been presented for the record: 6:20, 6:29 and 6:30 Eastern Standard Time.
I know that between now and next Sunday evening, at least three other times will come from either official or quasi-official sources.
I know that one of those times will not be noon, and I know that it's very likely the kickoff will come at a time later than any previously listed kickoff time.
I know that sometime this week, some kind of animal is going to pretend to know who is going to win the Super Bowl, and that it is nearly unavoidable that said animal will have some kind of track record at this very discipline.
(Wait, it has happened already. NBCSports.com is reporting that a camel named Princess at a New Jersey zoo picked the Giants (homer) to win and has reportedly called five of the past six Super Bowl results correctly.)
I know that it takes exactly eight years for the National Football League to get over a wardrobe malfunction in the halftime show because this will be eighth show since Janet Jackson's exposure, over which Park Avenue nearly had a stroke and brought in Paul McCartney to re-establish wholesomeness. Or something.
But now it's "Bring on Madonna," still just 20 years removed from her coffee-table book, "Sex," featuring poses as conceptually far from a halftime show as can be imagined.
I know that way too much of this week will be spent speculating on the Sunday condition of Rob Gronkowski's ankle because the influential Patriots tight end has been missing practice with a Roethlisberger-esque high-ankle sprain.
At least we will not have to speculate on whether head coach Bill Belichick should more prudently save him for this spring's OTAs.
And, finally, I know that on the hysterical media day Tuesday a journalist from a developing country will ask Patriots nose tackle Vince Wilfork what he ate to make him the approximate size of a water buffalo.
You just hope that does not make Vince think he is a water buffalo who knows who will win the Super Bowl.
First Published January 29, 2012 12:00 am
