Alright, before I get any awards for most pretentious blogger (Too late, you say?), let’s talk football. Or better yet, commercials and football movies. I did see the game, which I found pretty compelling the whole way through with the exception of Chris Collinsworth’s commentary (Was he always such a numbskull?), but there are far too many better-qualified football fans. And I’m barely a fan. Ever since the Jets left Shea Stadium in Queens to play in New Jersey, I haven’t really cared.

The best commercials were, without a doubt, the careerbuilder.com monkey business series. (You can see them all at ifilm) I loved this guy with the bad haircut as he braved the complete mortification of having to work with actual monkeys. Budweiser did a good job overall, but failed miserably with it’s cock-blocking comic effort, “Cuckatoo to the Rescue,” in which an annoying bird walked the bar to shoo guys away from the hot girl. Pepsi did well with its P. Diddy and Ladies’ Man spots, the latter featuring a hilarious cameo from Carson of Queer Eye fame. By the way, I haven’t met the person who isn’t creeped out by Quizno’s infant spokeschild? Yuk. Overall, an okay bunch of commercials featuring way too many that aren’t brand-spanking-new.

Football movies: Saw Friday Night Lights over the weekend. Very good football movie with all the emphasis on football. But as good as the football is—and it really is quite good, less exaggerated than Any Given Sunday’s, but still derivative—the movie suffers from wanting to make the same point every five seconds, which is this: Man, they are insane about high school football in Texas. And yet, this movie is equally insane about high-school football in Texas. Character and plot are an afterthought to the rigors of game-after-game-after-game regular season and postseason football. Still, I found the action to be pretty gripping. My guess, however, is that it will age terribly since the movie bets all its money on the intimacy one can attain with new camera angles that allow the audience a player’s-eye-view of the game and the pain. Next year and the year after that, new, better camera shots will be available. While character will still fetch a high price. Translation: I would much sooner rewatch North Dallas Forty.

FNL is also the second Peter berg-directed movie I’ve seen and enjoyed this year—the other being The Rundown, as good a dumb movie as I’ve seen recently. And I’ve seen a lot.

One of the fun things that happen when you root, pine, and pray for a championship underdog is that all sorts of people try to scam you. For example, the Galley Father-in-Law, who is as awesome as the day is long, called the other night looking to make a Super Bowl wager. He’s a long-suffering Jets fan and has no love of the Patriots, but thought he could put one over on me. As we all know, that’s not hard: He succeeded. We’ve bet dinner on the game and I’m not even getting any points.

Enter the esteemed Soxblog, who know wants to wager a New England clambake against a weekend of indentured servitude. Will I be suckered again?

The short answer is, No. Do I believe in the Eagles? Yes. Do I think they have a good chance to win? You bet. Am I about to prance around Soxblog’s Song of the South-style manor in a Jaws jersey and be his manservant. Fuggedaboudit.

I would like to know, however, what cockle of Soxblog’s dark heart pushes him to tempt a poor, downtrodden Philly fan in his time of need. Aren’t Boston’s dozen or so NBA championships enough? How about the recent Super Bowl victories? Or the new Beantown World Series trophy? Why, amidst this embarrassment of riches must he taunt a simple South Jersey boy?

The only explanation I can think of is that as a youngun’, some bullying Yankee fan goaded the Soxblog into wagering his prized Yaz rookie card on the ’86 World Series. Scarred by that ill treatment, the victim now becomes the perp. It happens. I saw it on Law & Order: SVU.

So I say to Soxblog: No thanks. You keep your clams. I’ll keep what’s left of my dignity. And with luck, some special teams magic, and an early pass-rush, hopefully the Eagles can make a miracle happen.

Galley Friend P.C. passes on this Boston Globe piece suggesting that the Eagles really may be the Red Sox.

…start a revolution. That is the newest bumper sticker found on my neighbors’ car, which is already plastered with other stickers such as:

“Dump Dubya”

“Hail to the Thief”

“Vote Bush: Sieg Heil!”

“John Ashcroft: The Best Attorney General the NRA Can Buy”

“Question Technology!”

“Boycott Kraft”

Boycott Kraft? I prefer Hellmann’s myself but isn’t this a little extreme? As the presidential election neared, the sticker count reached an all-time high. There was barely enough space for “Keep Alaska Wild.” And when Bush won, I feared the neighbors’ pickup would simply explode. What would they do next? Two stickers subsequently appeared. One involved voter fraud in Ohio. The other one said “Stop Bitching, Start a Revolution (zendik.org).” So what is zendik.org? From what I have seen of the site, it is some sort of commune founded by the late Wulf Zendik and his wife Arol. Brave readers can learn more about the Zendik farm, the Zendik philosophy, even Zendik sexuality. (I found myself both intrigued and disturbed.)

But I am still left wondering how my neighbors plan on starting their revolution.

Update from JVL, 2:47 p.m.: On the zendik site I found this passage: “We are very much Protoneutronic–one sex cannot function healthfully without the other. And the key word here is healthfully.” Umm, isn’t that homophobia? What would your neighbors say, Vic?

Or has Ashcroft already infiltrated the revolution?

A commenter on the Jaxadelphia thread has an impressive breakdown of what the Eagles can expect from the Pats on offense. Absolutely worth reading. Final verdict: The Pats are very, very good and normally have a great start in the first 15 plays. But if you can stay with them early, take advantage of their tendency to slouch in the second quarter, and blitz Brady in 3rd and long situations, they’re mortal.

Just asking: Didn’t we hear all this dynasty talk a few years ago when the Rams were about to cement their claim to being one of the all-time great teams? Anyone remember how that turned out?

Power Line has a response to the Minneapolis Star Tribune‘s latest attack on them. It’s unbelievably devastating. It will be difficult for the Star Tribune not to issue some sort of response. If they cannot offer new facts to counter Power Line, I don’t see how they can let the Camille Gage column stand without a retraction and an apology.

Of course, just because I can’t see it doesn’t mean they can’t do it.

If you, like me, were batty for the amazing show Wonderfalls, you can now buy the aborted first season on DVD. Having seen the entire season by the graces of someone close to the production, I can promise you that it’s a very satisfying experience. The 13 episodes have an arc and a satisfying conclusion and it plays like the greatest maxi-series ever broadcast on television (apologies to the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice).

But if you find yourself wondering what would have come next, now you know.

Captain’s Quarters has been on top of the Eason Jordan story all week and he now has both Jordan’s response and a response of his own.

I haven’t followed this as closely as I should have. (Frankly, if a journalist doesn’t have sleep apnea, I find it difficult to care about what he says. Duvs.) But Jordan’s response here seems nearly nonsensical and certainly well short of being adequate.