I love football. I love the flow of a game, the sound of the quarterback barking plays over the roar of a crowd, tailgate parties, when the entire stadium is on its feet on third and short, crunching pads, crazy mascots, overpriced paraphernalia, the feeling you get on the brink of a win, and especially, the way a football game can bring two complete strangers, or an entire city, together.
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| Seriously, who likes these people? |
There's one thing that I don't like about football: Mannings.
I can't stand the Manning family. I hate them all. Peyton, Eli, Cooper, Archie -- even Olivia. It's completely inexplicable, but I hate everything about them: the accents, the records, the endorsements (
cut that meat, anyone?), the Chargers trade, the way Olivia and Archie refuse to cheer when their sons play each other -- just root for both offenses, how hard is that!? But most of all, I hate Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts.
All of this begs the question: With 53 seconds on the clock, the Colts losing to the Jets 13-14, why was I suddenly rooting for Indy? Because I, like every other football fan in America, knew what was going to happen next: Adam Vinatieri was going to kick a field goal. Perhaps the only thing that that could overcome my hatred of Peyton is my love of Adam.
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| XXXIX |
As a girl born and raised in New England, there's a million reasons to love number 4. Besides being the all-time leading Patriots scorer, the greatest clutch kicker in history and a guaranteed future Hall of Famer, there's the small matter of
this. And
this. Or maybe
this. And, oh yeah,
this too. Even Adam beating New England with that 52-yarder can't quell my affection for him.
Although each of these moments is its own reasons that Mr. Clutch deserves a place in my wolfpack, my favorite thing about him, and the reason I'm electing him today, isn't a play, but a speech to the crowd at the Patriots Victory Rally in 2002. (I was a senior in high school and wasn't allowed to drive down from New Hampshire -- but we did have quite a victory party on the Etna green the night of the game.) But if I, or you, had made it to Boston that day, here is what we would have witnessed.
"I got a little story," Vinatieri said. "In the beginning of the season we started off a little slow. Some of the reporters didn't think we had much of a chance, and we kind of adopted a little motto. And basically the reporters would say something, and if they didn't believe in us, we'd just say, 'Don't talk to me.' "
The laughter in the crowd turned to cheers. "And as the season went along, some of the people said, 'Yeah, they're doing a little bit better, but I don't think they got what it takes,' and all we said is ..."
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You never forget your first.
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Vinatieri pointed the microphone at the masses.
"Don't ... talk ... to ... me," they screamed.
"That's right," he said. "We kept going, we won more games, the Oakland Raiders came in to us and a lot of people didn't think we could win. But what?"
"Don't talk to me!" thousands roared as one.
"That's right," Vinatieri said. "We got to Pittsburgh, and we were 9 1/2-point underdogs. They were already printing Super Bowl tickets. And what did we say?"
"DON'T TALK TO ME!"
You could feel the force of the words. Vinatieri was screaming: "We go down to New Orleans, and ain't anybody give us a chance? Nobody! And what did we say to them?"
"DON'T TALK TO ME!!!"
"Hey," Vinatieri said. "We're world champions." The choir, thousands upon thousands strong, responded with the force of their approval at the words that still seem hard to believe.
New England's placekicking hero for the ages stopped yelling.
"Don't talk to me," he said. Adam Vinatieri is in my wolfpack. Don't talk to me.
xo
kate
