Norman Einstein's
ISSUE 09 (02/10)
"Crowding Valhalla: Losing In the NFL Playoffs Ain't Easy"
by Cian O'Day
[Cian spends his days in photos and his nights advancing the cause of the Einsteins... well, most nights anyway. If you like the magazine, he would really like it if you joined our mailing list.]
The fifth is Glathsheim, and gold-bright there
Stands Valhall stretching wide;
And there does Othin each day choose
The men who have fallen in fight.
-Anon., Grimnismal
The Tourists
Of its four games, the National Football League's Wild Card Weekend featured three back-to-back rematches, contests played just a week prior on the regular season's final Sunday. That fact stood out as a kind of statistical aberration, itself born from a simple formula, namely, the NFL's seeding of the six playoff participants within each conference. Far from being a sign of scheduling apocalypse, the three rematches appeared as quaint convergence, like the return of Orion to the sky in winter. If the NFL schedule endeavors to match strength against strength throughout the season then half of the playoff-bound teams meeting in the final week is a worthy feat.
However, if the balance of the regular season endeavors to showcase a series of dramatic struggles, early returns were mixed on such success.
I traveled to central Jersey to visit my friend the Counselor and his girlfriend. Given that the New York Jets were due up in the first slate against the Cincinnati Bengals, the setting seemed fitting, more so than my Brooklyn neighborhood, at least. And just as I felt slightly out of place in the heart of suburban sprawl so did the Jets in Cincinnati, starting the game tepidly, unable to capitalize on an early fumble and unable to stop the Bengals' balanced attack.
I say "balanced attack," but the Bengals all season had been anything but stable. Quarterback Carson Palmer, in possession of one of the most impressive and well-rounded skill sets, could be brilliant in his methodical execution, like during the 45-10 route of the Chicago Bears in which he completed all but four passes, five of them going for touchdowns. Yet just as often he would appear barely in command of his offense. It's commonly said that Palmer has never been the same since the knee injury he suffered on the first play of his first playoff game in 2005.
I wouldn't know either way, really... what is certainly true, when Palmer and his receivers are in sync, pre- or post-injury, few defenses can halt them.
Credit: paul.mcrae@rogers.com (Flickr)
Early in this game, Palmer appeared dialed in. Back Cedric Benson gashed the Jets front seven like he had most of the other front sevens he faced when healthy on the season. Palmer's passes over the top whizzed confidently through the cold air. Soon Palmer found Laveranues Coles on a short out route for a score. The Bengals just might roll over the Jets, a team that, while boasting a great defense and a good running game, struggled when behind because of their inexperience at quarterback.
But the Bengals didn't roll. The Jets pass rush finally found gaps in the pass protection, often right up the middle, in Palmer's direct line of vision. They forced Palmer into errant throws and hurried decisions, the pass that once whizzed started to wobble. They sacked Palmer three times and hit him several others. A miscommunication between quarterback and receiver in part led to a Darrelle Revis interception, that and a whirling dervish spin by Revis to adjust to the ball in air. The Jets defense kept Palmer at bay until late in the game though they proved unable to halt Benson. Despite Benson's best efforts to put the Bengals on his back and rush them to victory, including a 47 yard dash to the endzone, simply slowing the passing attack would be enough for the Jets due to two unexpected developments. The first, rookie Mark Sanchez's fine and efficient performance in the passing game, zipping passes on critical third downs to the precise location, a practice that eluded him much of the season. And the second, Bengals' kicker Shayne Graham's abysmal performance, missing badly on two field goals, one to cut the Jets lead to four points near the end of the third quarter and another to cut the Jets lead down to seven near the end of the game. The second miss effectively ended the game and the Bengals' manic season.
The late game on the Saturday slate, another rematch, was remarkable in that, from the impartial viewer's standpoint, it was rather unremarkable. The game in Arlington, Texas, between the Philadelphia Eagles and the Dallas Cowboys played out much like the game the week prior. The Cowboys defense swarmed and overwhelmed Donovan McNabb and held the game in check until their quarterback Tony Romo and back Felix Jones took over the game. That moment came some time near the end of the second quarter in-between two costly turnovers, a fumble by back-up quarterback Michael Vick during a read-option play and a fumble by fullback Leonard Weaver after hauling in a dump-off pass from McNabb.
Romo and company pounced on the mistakes converting them into quick scores, perpetuating a cycle of dominance. The Eagles, capable of scoring quickly and scoring often, didn't approach the endzone after early in the second quarter until late in the fourth with the game long decided. The swagger with which McNabb waltzed into the game with was soon knocked out of him; indeed, when McNabb is at his cockiest he seems the most vulnerable. His physical gifts are still great enough that it's difficult for a defense to get him off his game of slant, screen, and go. But when rattled, like on opening Saturday, the remainder of the game is merely a foregone conclusion. The Cowboys behind an all-around effort on defense logged with apparent ease their first playoff win since the mid-90s, upending their reputation as chokers... The Eagles, however, did nothing to disprove their reputation as bleeders in a heavyweight fight.
Sunday's first game was the only original on the Wild Card slate: the Baltimore Ravens at the New England Patriots. And, quite unlike the Saturday contests, the game took practically no time to set its pace. On the first play Ravens back Ray Rice raced through the middle of the line, cutback to his left and scampered 83 yards for the score.
Rice is a little barrel rolling forward, low to the ground, threatening his advantage in leverage at the lower halves of bigger and stronger men. A dominant runner in college, Rice was supposed to be too slow, too small to excel in the NFL. Rice has excelled though, through a combination of good footwork and fearless forward locomotion. On his opening touchdown run, Rice was running out of gas near the goal line, Patriots safety Brandon Meriweather catching up. At the very last moment, Rice skipped forward, just eluding Meriweather's outstretched hands, preserving the score, an innate reflex of a natural.
Credit: Keith Allison (Flickr)
Rice's opening salvo was just that, an opening attack. The relentless Ravens defense on successive drives forced Patriots quarterback Tom Brady to fumble, to go three and out, and to throw two drive killing interceptions. A banged-up Patriots defensive front seven slowed Rice about as effectively as a gust of wind. Rice impressively banged through the line again and again, always chugging forward. By the end of the first quarter the Ravens led 24-0.
To the Patriots credit, they didn't fold even when faced with a huge deficit against an opponent tooled to hold even the closest of leads. A muffed Ravens punt was recovered and converted into a touchdown before the half. A typically Tom Brady dink-and-dunk drive brought the game within two scores late in the third quarter. But the Ravens ground machine of Rice, Willis McGahee, and Le'Ron McClain, especially behind center Matt Birk, guard Marshal Yanda, and tackle Michael Oher, had run too much time off the clock. On the dagger plunging drive, quarterback Joe Flacco, hardly required to do much more than handoff all game, converted a couple crucial third downs, with his arm and with his feet, setting up McGahee's three yard touchdown plunge and ending a game with few signs off life for a long time.
The Bengals, Eagles, and Patriots exited the playoffs like weekenders from Long Island driving out of the dense New York traffic on Sunday night.
51-45
Any attempt at objectivity on my part concerning the Packers-Cardinals Wild Card tilt is bound to fall flat. I am, if you missed the reference in Corban's article, a diehard Packers supporter. This fact does not blind me to my team's failings, which over the course of the regular seasons became fewer and fewer. But my partiality in a particular contest renders more agency to the players on my team. In simple terms, it's not that the Cardinals complete the pass; rather, the Packers defender allow the ball to be caught.
After an opening weekend of lop-sided scores at least the game itself did not fall flat. I will not venture to opine whether it was the best game of the season as others have suggested, but it was undeniably among the most exciting.
The Cardinals and the Packers despite so many aesthetic similarities - high-powered aerial games, opportunistic attacking defensive sets - present a contrast in team make-up, or did upon entering the game. The Cardinals surround old man quarterback Kurt Warner with young skill players just entering their primes: Larry Fitzgerald, Beanie Wells, Karlos Dansby, Dominique Rodgers-Cromartie. The Packers, on the other hand, rely on select veteran leadership - Charles Woodson, Donald Driver, Al Harris when healthy, Ahman Green on a comeback tour - to ease the burden on young quarterback Aaron Rodgers. These contrasting styles in identity would prove decisive in the game's exposition.
On the game's first play, Rodgers scrambled right and threw an off-balance wobbler down field into double coverage which was predictably tipped and picked. The Cardinals jumped on the opportunity, scoring quickly, easily: the mark of a talented veteran-led team. On the Packers next possession, receiver Driver lost the football when linebacker Dansby crashed in for the tackle. The steady and focused Warner quickly turned it into a second touchdown.
Credit: MichaelWalker (Flickr)
The Cardinals attacked slowed but did not stop. In most games, Warner's democratic distribution to his receivers and backs, itself leading to steady scoring, would deliver a killing blow some time in the third. And, indeed, shortly into the third quarter, the Cardinals held the advantage at 31-10.
But their opponent did not panic. Warner's veteran drive confidently brought his team out to a big lead. But the Packers remained patient and pounced on their moments: Woodson forcing a fumble, young tight end Jermichael Finley weaving through the open field to set-up a field goal, Greg Jennings breaking tackles to set-up his one-handed touchdown snare three plays later, a surprise onside kick recovered.
Even in my subjectivity, there is nothing to deny in Warner's incredible game. Without Anquan Boldin, Warner turned to his young receivers, Early Doucet and Steve Breaston, to carve apart the Packers defense. The returned blows of his opponent fell without fazing him. Of course it helps having a go-to receiver like Larry Fitzgerald to abuse coverage. My hate for Warner boiled over... but only so much so because of his ruthless efficiency made my beloved defensive secondary resemble a drunk marching band unsure of where to go on the field.
The Packers knotted the score at 38 in the fourth quarter. Warner responded methodically, taking back the lead, finding Breaston from 17 yards out for the score. Again, the Packers tied it, this time at 45. Again, Warner confidently led his team down the field to set up a game winning field goal with a few seconds left.
Neil Rackers. Thirty-four yards out. The snap and hold. Kick is up...
Wide left!
Overtime. Woodson calls it. Packers win the toss. My heart pounding in my head.
The first pass of overtime shot from Rodgers hand over the receivers and defensive backs tearing up turf down field, over the trailing cornerback, and, unfortunately, over too the outstretched hands of Jennings, a sure touchdown squandered. Two plays later, Rodgers was ripped down, the ball in his hand popping loose. The football dropped lazily to Rodgers' foot, California dude that he is, which appeared from the television camera angle to kick it like a hackeysack up into the waiting arms of Karlos Dansby who rumbled in for the game ending score.
My heart on the floor.
Awards Season
Intertwined with the first two weeks of the postseason is the league's award season. Award season is a reminder that the regular season has meaning beyond simply punching a playoff ticket. Fifty media members vote on all of the AP awards: Most Valuable Player, Offensive Player of the Year, Defensive Player of the Year, Comeback Player, Coach of the Year, Offensive Rookie of the Year, and Defensive Rookie of the Year. While not without occasional controversy, most of the awards are foregone conclusions.
Perhaps the biggest controversy of this year's awards season surrounded the selection of defensive player of the year. Ageless wonder Charles Woodson, the Packers do-everything defensive back won the prize handily despite an average showing in his team's loss in Arizona. Woodson in his late career with Green Bay has been born again as a gridiron freak. Large for his stated position at 6'1" and 200 pounds, Woodson also plays the position with a physicality that few of his peers do. It's not that Woodson's game is devoid of grace, rather grace is merely an occasional byproduct, not the guiding principle. To wit, Woodson's now-coordinator Dom Capers employs Woodson in a variety of roles throughout the course of game: blitzing linebacker, in-the-box safety, bump-and-run coverage corner, etc.
However, not everyone believes Woodson to be the best defender in the league this season. The adherents of Darrelle Revis counter that their man playing the same position as Woodson has played it better and played it more purely than Woodson, Woodson's crafty old man's game benefiting from the element of surprise afforded by his jackknife talents. On Revis's side are impressive numbers, the laundry list of top flight receivers - Randy Moss, Andre Johnson, Steve Smith, et al. - who experienced their worst games of the season lining up opposite Revis. Consider, too, Revis's fine performance in the Wild Card game on national television against a talented if slightly manic Bengals aerial attack, an effort that paved the way for the Jets gameplan of risk aversion and ball control.
While I do not know whether the AP was correct in handing the Defensive Player of the Year hardware to Woodson over Revis, I do know that both defensive backs are likely responsible for two or three of their teams' wins this season. That value is an old scout formula for the worth of a good quarterback. With so many moving parts making up a football team's machinery, it's difficult to single out one player for a singular performance. In the common analysis, the quarterback is the often placed, rightly or wrongly, in the driver's seat for every win and loss. Closer to the truth, however, is that a good quarterback is the engine for a couple wins a season. That both Woodson *and* Revis fueled a similar separation for their teams is a testament to their phenomenal seasons.
And yet, despite Woodson's and Revis's brilliant end runs on traditional football values, the regular season reaffirmed the worth of a great quarterback. No less than six quarterbacks put up MVP-type numbers: Peyton Manning, Drew Brees, Brett Favre, Phillip Rivers, Ben Roethlisberger, and Aaron Rodgers. This signal caller logjam managed to keep only the sixth 2,000 yard rusher in NFL history, the Tennessee Titans' Chris Johnson, completely off the final MVP tally.
Among these six outstanding quarterback seasons, only two candidates were ever seriously considered: Manning and Brees. In the end Manning ran away the AP vote. His passer rating was lower than five other quarterbacks mentioned above yet his election was an explicit acknowledgment that Manning has done more with less, leading a team stricken with injuries and an ineffective run game to the league's best regular season mark. Implicitly, Manning's record fourth MVP trophy sprung from a deep fear that we might take for granted one who could end up the best to ever play the game.
The reasons for that deep-seated fear are well-founded. Even with the stats and accolades Manning has piled up, Manning and greatness seem awkward, if obvious, bedfellows.
Yes, there's the fact that he's a nerd of epic proportions, a savant of sorts bred to exploit the Cover-Two defense. But Manning has countered that with an often hilarious public and marketing persona, one at once knowing, self deprecating, and warm, if a little annoying only by its omnipresence during game-day commercial breaks. There's the choker label, a holdover from his younger, petulant days, the thinly-veiled comments that put blame on his offensive line and kickers for past playoff losses, a epithet long irrelevant carried forward by smarting opponents and jaundiced critics. And, yes, there's the doughy body, a rare site in this age of Adonises. It's almost disorienting to witness of a man of Manning's prodigious mental and physical gifts look at times so awkward, hopping in the pocket as if on hot coals, heaving forward like a man losing his lunch while throwing a dart to receiver Reggie Wayne.
But I'll leave it to Zac who in his Super Bowl preview produced the most succinct expression of Manning's greatness and his continued ascension: Manning overwhelms the rest of the game with his process. There is no situation for which he is not prepared.
It is, quite simply, maniacal. If football was truly war, which it most certainly is not, Manning would be approaching Bridge Over the River Kwai territory. As it is, with the glum seriousness of an executioner, Manning plays a game for millions of Americans on Sundays providing an excuse to shirk off household duties and slug beers for a few hours.
Daggers, Pins, & Needles
Coaches and players like to pretend football is so hopelessly complex that no one outside a conspiratorial circle can possibly understands what transpires on the field. Commentators and fans like to pretend football is so ridiculously simple even a certifiable headcase would know what to do at the crucial moment.
The truth, as always, lies somewhere in-between.
Besides being a game of inches, football cliche dictates that every game comes down to a few plays. Such logic is a convenient way to block out the sometimes dizzying layers of action that transpire within a single drive or a single play. Games are certainly won and lost cumulatively. Yet there are moments when the will to fight is taken out of an opponent. In basketball, specifically college basketball, we talk of the dagger, a fitting metaphor for the ball plunging through the hoop. There are also dagger plunges in football, the metaphor isn't as potently visually but the dagger still induces the same effect.
In the first three games of the Division Round, the New Orleans Saints, Indianapolis Colts, and Minnesota Vikings dispatched their opponents by a combined score of 99 to 20. The Saints held the Cardinals to 14 while the both the Colts and Vikings held the Ravens and Cowboys, respectively, to a mere field goal. The Saints, Colts, and Vikings had been vying all season among each other to be the best in the NFL. The rift in talent between the best and the good proved severe. So severe, in fact, that a key play or two distills the essence of each outcome if not exactly its form.
Credit should go to the Cowboys defense - DeMarcus Ware, Jay Ratliff, and Anthony Spencer, in particular - which continued to harass Brett Favre even as Tony Romo and the Cowboys offense finally succumbed to the Vikings vaunted pass rush. At some point in the second quarter, its ensuing fallout witnessed through the rest of the game, the rush had so rattled Romo that the first man to challenge the passing pocket's integrity would bring Romo's eyes down from his receivers' routes thus killing the chance for any positive gain on the play. Once Vikings ends Jared Allen and Ray Edwards lined up Romo in their sites, they wasted little time in taking him down, four times between the two of them. Still, the Cowboys defense matched them notch for intense notch throughout much of the game, bottling up Adrian Peterson early and sacking Favre three times.
But Vikings defensive tackle Jimmie Kennedy delivered the dagger with twelve and a half minutes left in the fourth quarter.
Third down and four yards to go at midfield. At the snap, defensive tackle Kevin Williams jerks up, shuffles back two steps before planting and rocketing through the middle of the line. Romo scrambles to his left to escape Williams's bull rush. Kennedy is mirroring Romo at the line, sneaks to his right crouching behind the wall of engaged blockers until he explodes into Romo's clavicle, crushing him to the turf.
Credit should go to the Ravens' Ed Reed who intercepted Peyton Manning twice, and almost a third time, only to have neither of those picks truly count in the boxscore. During the return of the first Colts receiver Pierre Garcon stripped Reed of the ball after a tiptoeing then mad dash return of 38 yards. During the second Reed broke perfectly on a deep seam pass from Manning to Dallas Clark; unfortunately, fellow back Corey Ivy's break on Clark was a split second too early nullify the pick through pass interference. Producing and taking advantage of such plays, especially by Reed, a sharply-snapped whip of a man, are how the Ravens are constructed to win. It's often ugly on an aesthetic level. But reveling in such ugliness is how the Ravens demolished seemingly better teams year after year.
But Raheem Brock delivered the dagger with eleven minutes left in the fourth quarter.
Ray Rice takes a delayed handoff through a hole in the left side of the line. Behind a leveling block from tackle Jared Gaither, Rice cuts upfield, rumbling through a wall of safeties and linebackers 20 yards from scrimmage. Defensive back T.J. Rushing is spinning off from Rice like a satellite being sent into orbit when Brock hits Rice flush from the far side of the field, his helmet freeing the ball to bound this way and that on the Lucas Oil Stadium turf. Linebacker Clint Sessions scoops it up to gain possession for the Colts.
Credit should go to Kurt Warner for returning to the game after being knocked silly by the Saints. Despite putting up 14 points, the Cardinals rarely looked in the game. And despite okay numbers, Warner couldn't figure out the attacking Saints defense, nor could Warner's momentary replacement Matt Leinart.
But Reggie Bush delivered the dagger with seven minutes left in the third quarter.
Fielding the punt near the far sidelines, he swings almost lazily back to his right until planting and cutting up field. Three players miss on the spot. Bush hits the open field in full stride. Another lazy swing of his hips spins punter Ben Graham, his last obstacle to the endzone, out of play. Touchdown.
By contrast, the San Diego Chargers conducted a clinic in missed daggers against the upstart New York Jets. The Chargers outgained the Jets by 80 yards. Philip Rivers found his top targets Vincent Jackson and Antonio Gates repeatedly (15 reception for 204 yards between them). And their defense forced Mark Sanchez into several errant throws.
Still, the Jets rode a fourth quarter scoring surge set up by Chargers' mistakes to a 17-14 upset victory. Darrelle Revis made a breathtaking interception, undercutting Vincent Jackson from behind and snagging the ball with one hand while the two were falling to the ground. Revis's interception lead to no points for the Jets. But on the next drive safety Jim Leonhard stepped in front of a Rivers's pass intended for Antonio Gates, picking it off, and returning it 11 yards to the Chargers' 16. The Jets first touchdown soon followed.
Though Jackson and Gates had performed brilliantly on the afternoon - Gates, the bottom half of his body appearing to sprout from the ground like the trunk of mighty tree until he moves in surpisingly nimble steps, in particular had several nifty receptions, none niftier than his one handed snare of a Rivers's throwaway to set up San Diego's first touchdown - Rivers seemed to be forcing his passes to both late in the game. The Jets frustrated the Chargers' ground game from the early goings and were closing the throwing lanes late, before Rivers noticed, as the close nature of the contest set fans of both teams on pins and needles.
But much of the blame fell at the right foot of Nate Kaeding. The normally automatic kicker missed three field goals on the day, one in the first quarter, one at the end of the first half, and one to put the game within a score with over four minutes left in the fourth.
There are few moments in sport like watching a kicker fall apart. Kickers are already men apart, often left alone on the football field and in the locker room except during the celebration of a time expiring game winner. Teammates who might be alternately consoling or condemning of another's failures are loathe to say anything at all, or anything directly at least. Sports are rife with fragile egos but the pure athleticism of competition remains a buffer to harsh mental realities. For kickers, there are no such buffers, or at least none inherent in their line of work.
Perhaps worse still, Kaeding has seven months to ruminate on a few seconds of work gone so horrible awry.
Long Goodbyes
The day of the Conference Championships games I head into Manhattan and take in the games amidst the locals. No one expected the New York Jets to make it this far, except for the Jets themselves, a fact head coach Rex Ryan reminds the media at every possible turn. There is nothing quite like being in the middle of a city itself in the throws of sporting ecstasy. Such a feeling is only increased if the team is one you supported all along. But even without such a horse in the race, the simple joy can be contagious.
I make for my sporting standby in the city, Bleecker Street Bar on Crosby. The bar is far from full but every seat is spoken for. Due to an overindulgence in revelry I'm far from being in condition to stand for the next several hours. I move on. Saint Mark's Ale House is predictably packed to the rafters and full of screaming Greek geeks. Standings has run out of standing room. On Second Avenue just shy of Ninth Street, I spy Cheapshots, the kind of place that from the outside you can likely imagine what awful condition the urinals within are. Perfect. In searching for a suitable sports bar, one always must sacrifice at least one important attribute: cleanliness, thoughtful clientele, a seat at the bar, or good beer. For some reason, once HDTVs are thrown into the mix these four important facets of cannot all coexist.
I sit down in time to see the Jets' David Harris stall an Indianapolis Colts drive with a sack of Peyton Manning. I suddenly realize that I cannot recall a single sack on Manning this season. I remember several hits on Manning but never him on his back. Revelry gives way to reverie as the Jets storm to a lead, their rookie quarterback Mark Sanchez playing for long stretches like he has up to this point only in tantalizing snatches, I wonder if the Jets can pull of this feat. The big-game upset is perhaps one of the most universally revered triumphs in sports. I turn my attention to the healthy but not overstuffed crowd. Most are wearing oversized Jets jerseys. The tender flows up and down the bar, keeping pace with the Jets early surge.
But then the moment arrives. Slowly, not all at once. The Colts fumble but don't panic, their defense bends but doesn't break. Then suddenly the Colts are down the field, three big plays from Manning to his rookie receiver Austin Collie, the third for a touchdown. A long groan at the bar. Then it is halftime.
A long drive and missed field goal by the Jets out of the break elicits more groans but less lingering this time. The Jets run has been surprising and, despite coach Ryan's remarks, a bit improbable. I sense as the Colts take over the game that the Jets fans in the bar are bellying up to reality as much as they are another pint. The next Colts touchdown, a pretty corner fade from Manning to Pierre Garcon provokes not so much incredulous shouts as world-weary sighs. Manning and the Colts overwhelm. Sanchez and the Jets sputter. Dreams of upsets slip back into sleep.
I will admit to being a bit overserved by the time the Minnesota Vikings and New Orleans Saints began trading shots down the field so I have little but impressions of the major moments.
The game began prettily enough for these two high-powered offenses. But it became soon clear that the Saints defense had one overriding agenda: hit Brett Favre as much as possible. The Saints were willing to surrender points early, trusting that their offense might spot them at the back end of the game. The Saints had little compulsion about hitting Favre often and late and at the edge of what the rulebook proscribes. The stratagem proved a dicey one but indicated that the Saints refused to take their opponent lightly, a good sign for their chances if the game remained close.
Credit: puckster55pics (Flickr)
After early aerial heroics, the game dissolved into a comedy errors. I looked away from one Adrian Peterson fumble and couldn't remember how many he had thus far in the game, two or three? The Vikings defense looked stout but proved incapable of forcing turnovers. The Vikings offense still looked dangerous, but Favre started to look old and frustrated, emotions I have witnessed in him often and rarely noted as a good sign. He hobbled around the field, winced in pain, and slunk away to the sidelines when the fumbles kept coming.
The next day, the media and blogosphere howled bloody murder that Favre - the score tied, his team needing five yards to attempt a field, seconds left on the clock, a short swath of open field spread before him - chose to throw across his body into coverage instead of scramble ahead for the necessary yardage.
The pass was, of course, picked. And the Saints secured the win and Super Bowl berth in overtime.
But what warrior were these screaming voices expecting? Favre has always dictated the terms of his battles... even if it ends with a Viking funeral.
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