Wide right

I still don't know who I'm rooting for tomorrow, but over the past two weeks I've watched hours of interviews, hype and analyses, and I'm amply prepared for the game.


I enjoyed the Friday-before-Super Bowl tradition of listening to Wing Bowl - Joey Chestnut repeated as champ. I've always been more of a Kobayashi fan, but I must admit Joey's starting to win me over. And I was also rooting a bit for El Wingador, though the odds were stacked.


And the other day, the NFL Network played what was probably the first Super Bowl I sat down and watched every play - the 1991 Giants' nail biter over the Bills.


I was a late bloomer to football, and for some reason this Super Bowl was a quiet night in my house. I watched it all with my Dad, hooked on every play. For a Sox fan in a Yankee house, there aren't many opportunities to be rooting with your Dad during a major sporting event. When Scott Norwood missed his kick, there was a sort of joy that I haven't felt again until two weeks ago when I called my dad after Lawrence Tynes made his kick.

At times like these, I think maybe I should have just been sucked into the Empire for all this father-son stuff. Yeah, right. Dad and I can bond just fine busting each other's chops over the Red Sox and Yankees. (Until Mom or Christine tells me to knock it off.)


Back to baseball: Johan's got his deal. Tito's happy. I hope Johan doesn't strain his neck watching the balls fly out of Citizens Bank.