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New Orleans coach Sean Payton began the Superbowl quite conservatively. Keeping Drew Brees in shackles, Payton initially made some tepid efforts at establishing a ground game. As the game went on you could almost sense Payton’s confidence growing. If he was overwhelmed and a bit shell-shocked by the magnitude of the game in the first quarter, well, by the second the Saints coach seemed to grasp this was a game he could win. When he let Brees fire up his air game, the Saints improved by leaps and bounds. As expected, Dwight Feeney was the most important player on the field. When he was effective early in the game he mocked Jermon Bushrod’s attempt to control him. As his health began to unravel and his play deteriorated, a swagger began to infect the Saints offense. After Feeney’s second quarter sack, the Colts didn’t manage another takedown for the rest of the game (if Feeney had been healthy the whole game there may have been a different outcome - his absence allowed Drew Brees to outplay Peyton Manning). As for the head coaches, well, that was kind of like Mike Tyson against a stuffed toy. As Sean Payton worked through his nerves and found the verve and initiative to add punch to his game plan, Jim Caldwell looked forlorn and simply hoped his stud QB could pull one out. No answer, no brainstorm, nobody home in that confused, tubby body…

GRID IRON…the most tedious first half in Superbowl history was followed by maybe the best. The NFL is often conservative and rarely do we get jaw dropping moments of complete surprise - but the on-side kick to start the second half was the most astounding play I’ve ever seen. Completely unexpected, the entire game tilted after New Orleans recovered the kick and then marched down the field to score a touchdown…at times the game looked like a tribute to Steve Young with the emphasis on short, high percentage passes. Most of the game those who had the “under” (and I salute you) were calm and relaxed. From the time the games first two possessions generated a meagre three points those of us requiring 58 were pretty fatalistic…my favourite Superbowl remains the epic 2008 New York Giant upset of the New England Patriots…not my finest weekend. I spent three days imbibing vast quantities of Nyquil in an effort to get over a vicious cold. I feel more messed up today than if I had spent the weekend boozing - which will be the game plan, hopefully, for next Sunday and the Daytona 500…I thought The Who were very good. The gig would have been smoother if an audience was allowed to congregate around the stage instead of a collection of exploding lights. No, didn’t need to see Townshend’s gut every time he wind milled, but I thought the power and the importance of the band resonated throughout their sharp, well articulated set…is there such thing as a Nyquil hangover? Seriously, I’m feeling morose, reflective and close to launching into a 10 page treatise on why I still consider Earl Campbell the finest running back of all time (did I hear a hell yeah!)…