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Recent posts by Dan Arkush
Sorry for not blogging yesterday. The goal this week was to post at least one substantial Super Bowl-oriented blog per day, but something happened Tuesday — I decided to take the day off from work.
After cranking away all day Monday on all things pro football — spending the last half of the day spinning on Mike Martz’s arrival in Chicago as the Bears’ new offensive coordinator while also keeping an eye on the mushrooming Super Bowl scene in South Florida via NFL Network and ESPN — I tried to bounce out of bed like I always do Tuesday morning. And there was no spring. None. I was dead weight. The only thing that was moving were my eyeballs — barely. Clearly, my body was sending me a message: Stay home. Take a break while the time is right, before things start heating up late in the week down in South Beach.
Determined to shut out anything football related, I went to an early-afternoon movie and watched Mel Gibson beat up all these very unlikable villains to a pulp in the movie “Edge of Darkness.” I had hoped a good mindless flick would clear my mind and get me feeling refreshed again. Instead, I walked out of the movie feeling edgy, like I wanted to pick a fight or something. And I was still feeling all worn out.
Alas, it wasn’t long before I was laid out on the living room couch, staring mindlessly at my TV screen watching this week’s first Super Bowl Media Day. Who knows, I said to myself. Maybe I’ll see PFW editor-in-chief Keith Schleiden among the throngs with his very red hair making him easily recognizable. But I saw nobody I knew — except in my dreams. I awakened from a deep slumber shortly before my wife arrived home from work.
But thankfully, I bounced back up out of bed this morning, ready and raring to get back in the gridiron groove. Sure enough, on Page 2 or 3 of this morning’s Chicago Tribune (I forget), there was the annual story on Sister Jean Kenny of the Chicago-area St. Francis Borgia parish making her Super Bowl prediction. There was a photo of Sister Jean holding the latest copy of Pro Football Weekly, which she praises every year as the ULTIMATE SOURCE ON PRO FOOTBALL.
The sister’s pick? Colts 32, Saints 21, which was very close to the score that I had predicted in our latest issue. Which brings me to the ultimate point of this particular blog. When it comes to predicting, PFW actually did as good a collective job as it ever had. For the entire season, our consensus staff selections heading into Sunday were a most-impressive 141-122-3 AGAINST THE SPREAD. I doubt there were too many consensus staff records that could match what we did this year. And because there have been many years when our collective prognosticating was laughably poor, I am not hesitating to toot our horn a little.
Just for fun, I took the predicted scores for this year’s Super Bowl of the 10 PFW editors that were featured in the HANDICAPPER’S CORNER of our latest issue. After doing the math, the final score averaged out to Colts 33.5, Saints 26. And after thinking about that score this morning more than a little before writing this blog, I actually think it could be very close to the actual final verdict.
I personally picked the Colts to win 31-20 in our Pre-Super Bowl Issue. And I remain fairly comfortable with that guess. I spelled out all the reasons I liked the Colts in PFW. What I didn’t say is that I just have this feeling that the Saints — a great story if there ever was one — are just happy to have made it this far. In comparison, the Colts have been there, done that. And I think that will be huge. I saw where Reggie Bush was seen carousing into the wee hours last night. How much you want to make a bet Peyton Manning was studying diagrams of the Saints’ defense?
In any event, all my body parts are moving again, my mind is on all things football (ALMOST all things) and in a perfect world I’ll be back at you with a much shorter blog later today.
One more thing: You can easily wait until the “Edge of Darkness” DVD comes out, unless you just can’t wait to see a snarling Mel Gibson punching out thugs and blowing them to bits while turning the streets of Boston into a sea of blood.