Loss is painful; class is forever

In all the years I've considered sports the realm of jocks and the groupies that follow them, last night was a much different story.

You felt the pain in their voices. You felt sorry for Teddy Bruschi and Junior Seau. You thought that with just a little more oomph, the Patriots could have done it and made it 19-0.

You never heard regret or self-pity for getting that far to the Super Bowl. Nowhere did you see "why me" or "our defense wasn't good enough" or "I'm gonna sign with another free agent." There was not a shred of hubris or cocky overconfidence amongst the bunch. Tom Brady could have been a primadonna and blamed everyone; he didn't. His candor and "yes, we lost the Super Bowl and the perfect season, but hey, we made it this far and we're proud to do it for our fans" is a stark contrast to players who mail it in, take dumb penalties, moon the crowd, talk trash, and then when contract time comes around demand salaries in the nine figure range. Never mind that Brady's amour is a supermodel and demands payment in Euros; Brady might have had a bad night strategically, but he skyrocketed to professor emeritus of the class department.

Randy Moss, he of the mooning the crowd while a Viking, would be expected to throw a hissy fit. He too was subdued, humbled, and willing to give credit to the Giants where it was due. Will he come back? I don't know.

On the other side, it was surprising that Bill Belichick left the way he did. Giants coach Tom Coughlin, had he been on the other side of the ledger, would not have done what Belichick did; the only good thing that happened was that for a brief moment, the two coaches congratulated one another.

While still not primadonna-ish, the coach's sudden and brusque departure left me wondering what was going through his mind. Unlike his players, I swear Belichick was pouting for not winning the match.

The Patriots played cleanly, lost admirably, and will return next year with their head held high. They proved loss can be painful, but class is forever.

Better to be an * than an a**

I don't know about many of you, but I'll be glad the football season is over.

Perfect is indeed the enemy of good. Yes, you can have straight A's from first grade to college, graduate with a summa cum laude, ascend from the ranks to the CEO, and then end up dead at your desk from overwork. You can be a child actor pulling in millions to billions of dollars, and then at 21, end up in the streets, partially nude, babbling incoherently, or at worst, be dead from a shotgun wound or drug overdose. You can meet your soul mate from first grade, marry after college, have two boys and two girls, and then end up dying from cancer at the ripe old age of 40.

Perfection above common sense kills. I will never be perfect. In fact, I was a straight B student, and nothing dastardly happened to me. I'm not married, and my world is not falling apart. The promoters, the hangers-on, and the Simon Cowells of the world thrive on perfection. They want to make sure their product has no flaws, no dings, and no skeletons hiding in their closets.

The Patriots may or may not have a perfect season by the end of the night. If they win at 19-0, it won't bother me. If the Giants win, making the Pat's season 18-1, it won't bother me. Both are excellent teams, no matter how much the New York Post asterisk-tsk-tsks the situation.

That's because after tonight, all that talk and hype building up over the past six months will be gone. The dopey stories about intermayoral bets, stock markets, inane commercials, premature claims to winning, scandals, and speculation will be lanced out like a giant boil, draining its poison into the sink, and salve of "no football" antibiotic smeared generously on the wound, covered by a six-month bandage.

UPDATE AT 10:08PM: The Giants won the Super Bowl, 17-14.