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Let me sing a little Evita Peron at ya, “There’s nothing more I can think of to say to you…” I’ve made my feelings clear concerning this afternoons gridiron throwdown and I am in no way backing off of my prediction of a mismatch. The Hines Wards injury saga gives the tiniest of pauses, obviously the Steelers would like him healthy, but I took the 6-1 odds on the Steelers a few weeks back based on my admiration for their depth and work ethic…my god, they’re playing the Arizona Cardinals. I feel like I’m in an alternative universe where y’all have gone crazy! The Pittsburgh Steelers had the toughest schedule in the NFL this year. They went 12-4 and then dispatched the second best team in football, the Baltimore Ravens, en route to a meeting with a team that was below .500 outside their division, the weakest in football. Give the points, give the damn points!…I don’t hedge. I’ve loaded up on “under” props on Cardinal players, including Warner and Fitzgerald. I expect the Steelers to stifle their offense and when I’m right, I expect to prosper…at this point I realize the Superbowl is all about humiliation. Either Arizona’s or mine…it’s just not the Superbowl unless I hear from The Beat Poet. He is giving the points though he did remind me of my membership in a most exclusive club years back; The ‘Zona boys, a degenerate collection of inveterate gamblers and committed boozehounds. Allot has changed since then, umm, like, umm, I don’t cheer for the Cardinals anymore?…Kurt Warner’s going to resemble Madonna at a Knicks post game party; bruised and horizontal…free agent Warner has, according to ESPN, quietly let the Cardinals know he’d like 18 million for the next two seasons…I’m delighted to hear the Tampa Bay Buccaneers will be in hot pursuit of Steeler back-up Byron Leftwich. The humbled pivot has a world of talent and now, the attitude to properly mine it…I am fatigued. Me and my pal Jagger took it upon ourselves to get out of bed at 4am to watch the final of the Australian Open. Not a choice I regret after being riveted by a stunning spectacle. Rafael Nadal delivered a performance for the ages in besting Roger Federer in a battle sure to enhance the legend of these competitors. My buddy Jagger was looking all glassy and empty by the time the match ended around 8am…lets provide an alternative view of the Shane Mosley-Antonio Margarito scrap, culled from world ranked fighter Paul Williams. He believes the Miguel Cotto fight emphatically revealed how not to fight Antonio. If you back up, Antonio gains momentum and courage. The key is to stop him in his tracks, a formula most accessible for fighter with wicked hand speed. Williams, who holds a controversial decision win over Margarito and agitated aggressively for a rematch, states the word was out on how to beat Margarito and Mosley simply executed a well thought out fight plan. Also, he believes a propensity to absorb punishment has effectively ended Margaritos stay at the top…someday my pet theory on the fight will be proven correct. I know this in my heart and the Feb 10^th hearing in California, where the preposterousness of the allegations of glove rigging against Margarito will be exposed, will leave me where I started, asking how did Shane suddenly become so cut, so fast and aggressive, after years of steady decline? Once a cheater… I don’t want to flog a dead horse (well, unless it’s Mats Seldom) but let me speak to the UFC phenomenon one last time. I had a crystal clear stream on my computer last night, set for the big GST versus Blow Job fight. I had cold beers, some grub, a quiet room; all the ingredients to enjoy what I was told would be a special night. After watching a couple of undercard bouts, I caved and simply went to bed. I find the UFC to be absolute drivel and I do not in anyway buy the theory that these are elite level fighters. If you can fight, truly f i g h t, you box, because that, my hombres, is where all the money is. If you can’t hack boxing, because you can’t punch, or cannot take a punch, a common affliction of UFC scrubs, then you pimp yourself out in this low rent parade. Put me down with Bob Arum and the Bobcat, I can’t watch UFC and am at a loss to understand its interest beyond the knobs that watch wrestling…