And now that I've put down a few hours sleep, a few last thoughts on the Great Big Football Game:
* The analysis has begun on just where the Seahawks' defensive performance ranks in the annals of great Super Bowl defensive performances, and I've come to a conclusion I never thought I'd come to.
It's more dominating than the Bears in '86.
The 46 Defense's throttling of New England in Supe XX has always been the gold standard for Super Bowl defensive shutdowns, and I still think the '85 Bears were the greatest defensive team in NFL history. But beating New England 46-10 and holding the Patriots to 123 total yards in Supe XX still leaves the 46 D second to what I saw last night.
The Bears, after all, only did it to Tony Eason and bunch of other guys whose names are lost to history. The Seahawks did it to perhaps the greatest quarterback of his generation and the most potent offense, statistically, in NFL history. Big difference.
* Speaking of which ... I haven't heard much this morning from the "Nobody in the NFL is allowed to play defense anymore" crowd. Wonder why.
* Peyton Manning will, of course, get the lion's share of blame for the Broncos being swept away, and he should. He's the quarterback, and it's the quarterback's due always to bear the weight of failure and be elevated to absurd heights by success.
But Manning didn't give up 43 points. He didn't miss a single tackle. His counterparts on defense, on the other hand, missed a ton. A turnstile would have been more resolute than the Broncos' D, which was far more atrocious than Manning, who was himself atrocious.
Something to think about.
* Has Vegas ever blown one this badly?
The Broncos, incredibly, were actually favored in this game. (And, no, I don't know why, considering virtually everyone, at least until Super Bowl week, agreed that the Seahawks and 49ers were clearly the two best teams in football, and the NFC was vastly superior this season to the AFC. But so be it).
Anyway ... the Seahawks won by 35. Thirty-five. That's a miss of galactic proportions, folks.
* And last but not least, as a child of the '60s, I watched this last night. And my soul died a little.
Bob Dylan, corporate shill. Who'd a thunk it?