The Night Before

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Tomorrow's a big day.  It's a day upon which most of America rallies around a common theme.  It is the day of the biggest event of the most popular sport in this country.  The final game of a tournament that played out over 20 weeks during which time some 30 teams were eliminated; left by the side of the proverbial road.  Tomorrow, the last two left standing will take the field to determine who will wear the crown of Champions of the National Football League.

For two cities, Kansas City and Tampa, it'll be a day of great pride.  Sure, the players will be on the field, taking and giving hits, grinding through any injuries.  But fans also share the ride.  All who tomorrow will wear the jerseys, hats, shirts, fly the banners and cheer - and suffer - through every moment, it will be a day like no other.

I am a Chiefs fan.  Have been since they moved to KC from Dallas in 1963.  I reveled in the wins, groaned through the losses, and suffered every one of the 50 years between Super Bowl IV and last year.  This year, our team is playing for a second straight championship, a feat only accomplished by a team, whose former quarterback now plays for another team, a championship team.  Nobody has been to more, or won more Super Bowls than Tom Brady.  He has rightfully earned every single superlative sent his way.  There is also the added spice that the games between that old codger and the shiny new superhero, Patrick Mahomes have been classic contests.  There is an enormous mutual respect the exists between the two, which only adds to their individual desire to win.

It's hard to describe my feelings on the eve of this historic contest.  Part of me, after assessing the massive weight of offensive weaponry at the Chiefs' disposal, and the growing toughness of their defense believes that they will win.  Decisively.  But there's another part that eyes with concern the patchwork offensive line that is tasked with keeping young Mahomes upright.  Across the line will be what is reputed to be the most dangerous front seven in the NFL.  This part of me acknowledges that there's no way to predict what might happen in the trenches tomorrow.

I'm not all bound up in worry like last year, because as I wrote the other day, the Chiefs were expected to be here, and a lot of people firmly believe that it will be they who hoist the coveted Lombardi Trophy by this time tomorrow night.  But, as they say, any team can beat any other team on any given Sunday.

We will be in church in the morning, but home in time for the start of the game at 1:40 pm, Hawai'i time.  I have to work tomorrow evening, which means timing my commute carefully so as to miss as little of the game as possible.  Since the game is also being carried on the radio, this will not present too much of a problem.  There is anticipation, to be sure.  But another part of me realizes that time for old people passes all to quickly, and before I am aware, the three to four hours will have passed, and I will be face-to-face with the result, for good or ill.

And the next day, Monday, will be just another day.

Super Bowl Sunday has morphed into an unofficial holiday.  It has been a day of gathering, celebrating, eating, like Thanksgiving without the turkey, or Christmas without the presents.  A lot of folks feel that the day after Super Bowl Sunday should be a holiday, if for no other reason, time off to heal the inevitable hangovers.

But COVID's long, dark arms have shrouded this day as well.  Across the country, politicians are begging people to refrain from large gatherings, to keep at bay the spectre of a super-spreader event.  It remains how compliant people will be, but for many, the restrictions that have been the daily life of this Pandemic are beginning to wear thin.

What will happen tomorrow?  Answer?  Just about anything.  But if anybody is interested in my prediction...

The game will be tight in the first half.  But halfway into the third quarter, the Chiefs will find their stride.  The Buccaneers, forced into a passing game, will become the targets of a defense, the leader of which loves the blitz.  Tom Brady, for all his amazing skill and success, does not do well under pressure.  By the fourth quarter, the Chiefs, like Seabiscuit against War Admiral, will pull away.  The final tally, 45-24.

Anything else could happen, so we'll see.  It is necessary to note that I have no bets tendered on this game.  The only thing at risk are my emotions, which still wear the scars of previous Chiefs championship games the outcomes of which could only have been scripted by Stephen King.  But we have Mahomes, and as long as #15 stands tall, there will always be hope.  Perhaps, even confidence.

24 hours from now, we will all know.  One city will be wildly celebrating, the other, proud, but still defiant, will be grinding their teeth.  I hope Chiefs Nation will be doing the former.  Certainly, after last year, and being the consensus favorites all season long, anything less than victory will be seen thorugh the dark lens of massive disappointment.  But that's the nature of things.

In another light, this is one day during which nothing else will matter.  America will take a day off from normal.  

God knows, we've earned it.