Keep the Change

1/31/2012

Life can either be accepted or changed. If it is not accepted, it must be changed. If it cannot be changed, then it must be accepted.”
Unknown.

Just how much of a “rematch” is Super Bowl XLVI anyway? Of the 106 players on the rosters for Super Bowl XLII, just 23 remain on Giants and Patriots rosters today. A real “rematch” happens when the all same players who bled and spat on one another in a titanic struggle meet again within the memory span of an oft-concussed brain. Like when Alabama met LSU for the national championship a couple of weeks ago and produced the unforgettable viral video of a redneck ‘bama fan placing his privates on the head of a passed-out Tiger supporter in the French Quarter after the game. (Look it up.)

Pretty much all that remains of the Giant and Pats from the last go-round are the “one-percenters.” One-percenters are uber-rich people who pay no taxes and get their feet washed for free by the unemployed. In the case of our Super-combatants, they include the team owners. The Giant-owning Mara family’s history traces back to Neandertal times when Ug Mara invented the game when he killed a baby boar and delighted the local cave dwellers by kicking its carcass through a fork in a tree. Patriot owner Robert Kraft is no newcomer to old money either. He gets a dime every time you or I eat a salad.

Of course there are some one percenters on the player rosters back as well. They are called quarterbacks. We start with Tom Brady. Seriously, what did this dude do to be born so lucky. He goes through supermodels like Gatorade and is so good looking angels masturbate to his GQ covers. He has a wind chime he made out of spare Superbowl rings. Of course he’s still on the team. As is Eli Manning, son and brother of one-percenters Archie and Peyton. Incest is rampant in one-percenter clans.

You know who’s not a one-percenter or a Giant anymore? David Tyree. Today Tyree lives in the basement of a burned-out tenement in Brooklyn sniffing the glue he used to make that unbelievable catch on his head in the last go-round. Incidentally, that was the last catch he ever made in the big-boy league. How’s that for gratitude?

I was surprised the one-percenters didn’t do away with U.S. players altogether and outsource the NFL to India. However, during the research for this article, I uncovered a top secret feasibility study and found out that the idea was scrapped when they learned most of those guys are 5′7″ and skinny and you’d never be able to fit “Venkatanarasimharajuvaripeta” on the back of a jersey. So we’re safe for now.

I worry about all this change. Nothing is around long enough to get attached to it any more. Did you see where two of the most iconic brands of our lifetime, Hostess and Kodak, went bankrupt within the last month? What the hell happened? Sad as I am to see them dive into the dumpster I’m not going to sugarcoat it. The are both victims of a phenomenon documented in Harvard Business Review called “da stupid.”

In Kodak’s case, someone forgot to circulate the memo about the coming “digital revolution” and how it will usher in an era in which frisky couples no longer have to blush when they go to the drug store to pick up their pictures. As for Hostess, their doom was preordained when they set about mass marketing artificial icing-covered snack cakes made of styrofoam filled with preservatives derived from unpronounceable chemicals. People were bound to catch on eventually. (I might have saved the company had I revealed to them that back in my college days I discovered that a box of Suzy Q’s washed down with a half-gallon of root beer will cure the munchies. But I kept my cure, their potentially game-saving brand extension, to myself.)

Yet I digress. This column is about football and by now you no doubt are wondering if it is leading to a prediction (or perhaps anywhere at all). So you won’t have to watch, here’s what’s going to happen:

Patriot cyborg tight end Rob Gronkowski, while making a sideline catch, crashes into Giant Coach Tom Coughlin breaking the plaster cast on his face that preserves his perpetually perturbed look and reveals he is actually a perpetually perturbed Catholic nun. During the game, NFL Commissioner and Head Ginger Kid Roger Goodell will hand down a $7 million fine against Patriot Coach Bill Belichick because the stains on his hoodie constitute an unsanctioned endorsement of Taco Bell. To prevent a rumored plot by halftime entertainer Madonna to reprise Janet Jackson’s infamous “wardrobe malfunction” by flashing the part “down there,” she is replaced on the screen by a screeching stick figure. No one notices.

And, oh, the Patriots win 31-27 on a last-second hail Mary by Tom Brady who also wins his bet with Eli Manning and gets to bed the entire Giant cheerleading squad. Eli remains a virgin.

One more thing, if you like these teams you better take a picture, they won’t be together long. Just don’t shoot it with with your old Instamatic. No one processes Kodachrome anymore.

The peerless Paul Simon, “Kodachrome.”

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