Sunday hits

By Eric Wilbur

3 minutes to read

So, wait, the Colts are last in the NFL against the run, right?

Huh. OK.

The Patriots’ second-half game plan against the Colts, in which they refused to exploit Indy’s Achilles’ heel, was about as confusing as Bill Cowher realizing in the eighth game of the season that maybe margarine-fingers Santonio Holmes wasn’t the right guy to return balls. Sometimes, something is as obvious as the contrast between black and white. Getting cute with it does you no good.


So, the Colts win, backed by a most impressive evening from Peyton Manning, as well as an offensive approach from Josh McDaniel that probably had Tony Dungy asking why in the world the Patriots weren’t running the ball more at his maligned defense. I mean, Tom Brady had a great completion percentage. To guys wearing white. And as much as we can make excuses that, yeah, some of those four interceptions were tipped, the first two were bad decisions. Plain and simple.
And as Brady is tossing interceptions left and right, the Colts defense, which had already proven it couldn’t stop the run in the first half, had nothing running at them as the Pats aired it out. Stop me if you understand just what in the world kind of approach that was.
But I do love Patriot fans’ knee-jerk reaction to the loss. “Well, Tom Brady is 10-0 in domes.”
New conspiracy theory: The Pats blew the game to give them a better shot at beating the Colts indoors at the RCA Dome in the playoffs in January. After all, what’s a regular season win against your hated rivals when you can demean them at home and deny them a shot at the Super Bowl?
More tidbits after a frustrating night of football:

  • John Mellencamp and the pushy folks at Chevy will be judged one day, and their judgment shall come swiftly.
    The “Our Country” repetition has reached the ridiculous and unnecessary heights of “that catch that Coco made”. And look, we can argue forever about Chevy’s use of 9/11 and Katrina images in order to sell trucks, but there’s a bigger problem when the general public is more incensed from having to hear that song rather than questioning the content itself. Mellencamp could have used a picture of a dead cat wrapped in cowskin and I would care less as long as I don’t have to hear him wail on about what a great land we have.
  • It’s not as if Theo Epstein is gloating, what with a wasted year left on Matt Clement’s deal, but hints of retirement certainly do vindicate the Red Sox somewhat in choosing not to re-sign Pedro Martinez to a long-term deal.
  • Seahawks. Raiders. ESPN’s Monday Night Football crew. You know, for the first time all season, I’m pretty sure I’ll pass on that one.
  • Did Ben Roethlisberger have new gloves or something? I mean, what was Phil Simms fishing for there, a bid to be Isotoner’s new spokesperson?
  • My God. I never want to play darts with Mike Vanderjagt.
  • The Mets are showing some interest in Red Sox second baseman Mark Loretta, a free agent. Which, of course, means prepare ye the way for Julio Lugo in Boston. Psyched? Lugo’s inevitable signing is going meet with the most tepid response since Jose Offerman, another guy the Red Sox tried to sell off as a good investment even though everyone with a pulse realized it was a terrible. We might as well start making odds as to which team the Red Sox will paying to have Lugo play for in 2008.
  • Get it? Terrell Owens sleeps during meetings. Get it?
  • Unfortunately, the more Kansas City continues to win, the further away we get from another classic Herman Edwards meltdown.
  • Sammy Sosa wants to return to baseball in 2007. I know, but please contain your excitement. Sosa won’t be welcomed to any contender, but he could be a nice, affordable name gate attraction for a team like Tampa. If Barry Bonds leaves San Francisco, he’d be a perfect fit to replace him there, too.
  • The best part about last night was that the 1972 Dolphins were denied their incredibly lame champagne toast. The second-best part was my power inexplicably went out as soon as Cris Collinsworth opened his mouth about it.
    Update: Reader Kelly O’Connor writes in to point out that the 1972 champagne thing is apparently an urban legend.