Even a massive controversy clusterfuck early in the season, where the Patriots organisation and their obnoxious, paranoid head coach Bill Belichick were hauled over the coals, fined megabucks and docked a bunch of player draft picks for being caught videotaping opposing teams' signals in order to crack their play calls, failed to dissuade the Patriot missiles from their undefeated, nay undefeatable course. Though it did bear out the rest of the country's suspicion that the Pats were a bunch of cheating fucks. Who were closing in on only the second unbeaten NFL season in the forty-plus years of the Superbowl era.
Before 19-0 there was 17-0; please welcome in the clubhouse leader, the 1972 Miami Dolphins. No, they didn't have Dan Marino or Ray Finkle playing for them. But they did have a bunch of guys who are still bloody proud of their achievement and to this day crack a bottle of champagne when their undefeated record is declared safe for another year, i.e. when the last remaining undefeated team in each developing season finally falls over and loses one. 19-0 was a bit beyond the '72 'Phins, largely because there weren't enough regular season games then to win 19 of them in a season. But they won the lot, including that year's Superbowl. Ironically the '07 'Phins were so fucking appalling they came within one win of going through the entire season without a single win, but that's another story altogether.
Embarrassment in the jersey wasn't the only reason the 2007 NFL season didn't look particularly good for the '72 Dolphins. Them Pats, racking up forty points a game and obliterating anyone daft enough to turn up to play them, meant their champagne days might not only be severely delayed this year, but Cancelled for Evermore. What that bunch of whiny Kiwi popsters have to do with it I have no idea but run with me on this one OK? Not that the '72 side seemed too concerned, at least judging by their unofficial spokesledger, running back Mercury Morris. Morris was evidently the prototype for today's flashy, mouthy running backs and wide receivers back in the day and patently hasn't mellowed with age, which is tops for any US sportswriters in need of a regular season quote ref. the Pats' chances of superceding the 'Phins undefeated record. "Let me tell you something. We're here. We've been in this house since '72," Morris declared, staring straight down the barrel of the camera, one angry old black man flipping the metaphorical bird at the massed forces of Patriot Nation. "Don't call me when you're in the neighbourhood. Call me when you're on my block."
After the AFC Championship Game, having seen off the surprisingly feisty threat of the injury-depleted San Diego Chickens (sorry, Chargers), the 18-0 Patriots were practically climbing over Mercury Morris' hedge with a crowbar to jimmy the window open.
So it was much to the annoyance of the US sports media that another team was scheduled to actually play against them on the Sunday evening of Superbowl XLIII. What a waste of reporting resources, having to cover yet another team of cannon fodder - the six-loss New York Football Giants from the recently-busted-arse NFC conference, who'd snuck into the playoffs through the back door while everyone was away at the Pats' 'Undefeated in '07' promo launch party. A bit like the Pittsburgh Steelers a few years back, they qualified as a 'wild card' (one of two best second-placed teams in their division) and even though they were outsiders in every one of their playoff games, they managed to beat the Seahawks in Seattle, the Cowboys in Dallas and even Brett Favre's Packers in the snow of Green Bay, Wisconsin in the NFC title game, in a series of increasingly implausible upsets.
Still, they were fucked, hey. Brady, Belichick, Randy Moss, Patriot Nation, 'not far to go for 19 and 0', all that schtick. When flashy, mouthy Giants wideout Plaxico Burress (no, I don't know what the fuck's in the water over there either) dared suggest the Giants might actually win the game (and threw a predicted score of 23-17 into the ravenous media scrum), Golden Boy Brady shot back with 'You think we're only scorin' 17?' He'd spent half the week in a fake medical boot as part of yet another paranoid Belichick plan to send the Giants and the media off the scent with a massive media clusterfuck over an apparently imaginary 'high ankle sprain', and the other half of the week shagging the arse off Brazilian clotheshorse Gisele Bundchen. Dallas Cowboys QB Tony Romo got torn a new one by the media for spending his weekend off (prior to their eventual loss to the G-men in the divisional playoff) with GF Jessica Simpson - inspiring this bit of gold from Onion Sports - but you can guarantee no such tearing-of-novel-orifices would take place for the Golden Boy should disaster befall him.
Gis' a go after youse Golden Boy... nah fuck it I'm not stirring yours
Not that anyone gave that half a fucking chance, in either the self-perpetuating bullshit factory that is the US sports-media complex or within Patriot Nation itself. The Patriots, made 17-point favourites by the Las Vegas bookies, were so unconcerned about the Giant threat in the days before the game that they set about trademarking the phrase '19-0'. Yes, trademarking the fucker. You know what that means, kids.
The score of freshly completed Superbowl XLIII, for those playing at home: Giants 17, Patriots 14. By fuck we love a karma smackdown here at the World of Bollocks.
The last word has to go to Mercury Morris. Because if it didn't, he'd take it anyway. Interviewed after the game, he took the moral high ground. "What this means once again is that on any given Sunday, any team can beat any other team," he declared, repeating a tried-and-true cliche of Amurikan Futebawl. With a sadronic twist. "Except for the '72 Dolphins, of course..."
And with that, the '72 Dolphins had their nice quiet neighbourhood to themselves, once again.
The Doctor is OUT.
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