Question:

From where does blood-thirsty sports passion derive?

One's upbringing--as in, where someone grew up or their parent's influence;

Or,

Style of play--as in, finding some aspects of one's own personality in his/her favorite team, admiring a set of tactics, etc.

The Bears Lost the Super Bowl Because the Colts Scored More Points...Or Something

I can’t refuse to comment on the Super Bowl, though I realize it has received way too much hype as it is (Love Smith is black?!). To me, it was an incredibly simple game to analyze:

The Bears’ defense did better than most people expected—they held the Colts to 22 points, which is honorable a) because it was against the best offense in the league/one of the best of all time and b) because their offense couldn’t hold the ball.

The Bears’ offense should be able to score 23, 24 points, it’s just three touchdowns and a field goal, and Devon Hester gave them a head start! But they simply couldn’t muster the points, even gifting the Colts a free 7.

I maintain that the biggest problem the Bears offense had was NOT Rex!! His interceptions/botched snaps happen every game, and they still win. I don’t like to ride Rex—after all, when he’s pressured and/or when first- and second-down run plays leave him with third and long and the whole world knows he’s passing it’s not completely his fault (I’d place it on the o-line and offensive coordinator Ron Turner)—but surely the responsibility for the loss falls on the offense.

No, no, the problem was Cedric Benson’s god-forsaken knee.

By taking our most important running back (I say most important because against the small Colts’ defense Benson’s size and power would have caused havoc, though Thomas Jones had a great game) the gods of sport effectively chopped off a leg of the Bears’ offense. As a result, the Bears couldn't run or hold onto the ball, which meant Peyton Manning had plenty of time to continue those dump off passes and slowly slowly slowly drive his team like a stake into Chicago's heart.

So that’s that: a game that started energetically and slowly deteriorated into a mostly boring Super Bowl, one that certainly was within reach for the Bears.

As many a dummy sportscaster would say, “The Bears just didn’t get it done.”

Or, my favorite: “Well, the Bears really needed some more points.”

Honey, the World's on ' Roids!

There I was, walking past Gelman and turning down 22^nd when I overheard a couple arguing rather passionately.

“I mean, they’re supposed to be role models," said one.

“Well then what else was going to bring the fans back?"

“Oh, I don’t know,” the first one said. “How about amazing half time shows with high speed car chases and huge explosions! Or scandalous dancers wearing nothing but skin?”

I was confused.

But I continued walking, heading for the gym and watching cars go by, only to notice suddenly that something was drastically wrong. All the cars were huge! I mean they all rolled on 24’s.

A car flew by and I couldn’t help but gawk at its bumper sticker that looked bigger than those ads dragged through skies by prop-planes.

It read: “Save the whales.” Ironic, I thought.

I kept walking, but stopped in front of the gym.

Had I shrunk? Or, no, it couldn’t be, but, yes, the gym had transformed. It had grown so large that the trees surrounding looked like martini umbrellas and I was hardly a pebble! I strained my neck looking upwards and gasped.

I walked into the doorway whose top not even Yao Ming could have reached, standing on Shaq’s shoulders, with a six foot stick.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Things are rough these days,” said Andre the Giant. “This is the only way we can compete with those guys at the downtown clubs.”

I walked up to the courts and had my darkest fears realized. They were monsters! No, I thought as I looked closer, they were Mon-stars, from Space Jam. The tall blue one pulled up across the court and sunk it nothing but net. He saw me gaping in disbelief and came over.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Moron Mountain needed to attract more customers, remember?”

I nodded.

“But we had lost to the Tune Squad. But we, we refused to succumb!” He smiled stupidly, and continued, “so I tortured Bill Murray until he told me how they won: the secret stuff. Remember? I snuck into the locker room and stole it.”

I just stared at him. “Ooook,” I said. “So what?”

“Well, what you don’t know is that they got cocky and challenged us to a rematch. We killed them, what with the secret stuff on our side, and took them back with us. They’ve been there for years now.”

He laughed a terrible, cackling laugh. “Why do you think Cartoon Network had to come up with all those terrible new shows?”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I screamed until I opened my eyes. I looked around at my normal size futon and my normal size pajama pants. I turned my head towards the T.V.

Aha! I had fallen asleep watching ESPN again, and strained my eyes to see Stuart Scott: “It’s all over now folks,” he said with a grimace. “The baseball season has been cancelled due to lack of eligible player—but hey, at least this steroid policy has fixed the problem…BOO YA!”