I'd made brash predictions (which I actually believed, by the way) of a 37-17 Colts victory. The Saints 23rd ranked defense wouldn't even be able to put up a fight in the second half, yet there they stubbornly were, hanging on. A wide open dropped pass by Pierre Garcon didn't help, and neither did a riverboat gamble of an onsides kick that paid off with a touchdown jackpot for the Saints. Drew Brees threw, and dodged, and scrambled, and connected time after time after time on a Colts defense that looked like EVERYBODY IN THE SECONDARY had a bad ankle! You know something's going horribly wrong when a 2-point conversion is made by a guy literally standing on his head backward on the half-yard line with his outstretched arms cradling the ball over the goal line!
But it was my hero of athletics, my champion of the gridiron, and the Goliath of NFL quarterbacks, Peyton Manning that brought a tidal wave of nausea to my belly, and sent me reeling back in my chair with weak knees and surrender. A "pick six" to a Saints cornerback, who ironically went to college at Indiana University, was the dagger in the heart of the Colts. He's still gonna be my favorite player, as he DID let the city of Indianapolis taste the sweetness of Super Bowl glory in 2006, but he basically tossed the game into the hands of an awaiting opponent who had read his eyes, and attacked.
So I come full circle to my first point,.....WHY DO I CARE SO MUCH?!?! I have no vested interest, other than living in a bordering town to Indianapolis. If I knocked on the doors of their homes, any of the Colts would call the police about a trespasser. Why, then? If I knew, I'd type the answer. Right now, however, I just want to go somewhere quiet,......and puke.
