Chuck Klosterman once wrote that the reason soccer was so popular among suburban parents was because the sport allows their coddled, overfed children to run around for two hours without anyone having any idea whether they were playing well or not.
There was no potential for embarrassment, no striking out with the bases loaded, no missing the game-winning jump shot. Parents don't need to worry about their children being humiliated in front of everyone.
That's how I felt going into tonight's Buzzsaw matchup in Carolina. I wanted them to win, but, mostly, I didn't want to see my beloved team smeared across the field for all to see. I've been watching them too long, through all the devastation, the endless succession of seasons that meant nothing by the middle of October. I didn't want to watch them abased on national television. I just wanted them to come out alive, not in the corner of the field, crying, blubbering, wetting themselves.
Well, turns out, watching tonight's game was like seeing your kid suddenly grow wings and shoot fireballs out of his nose. I, like everybody else (including, it seems, the Buzzsaw players themselves), am utterly flabbergasted by what just happened. I can't explain it either. But I am not going to question it. I am just going to glide along, still a little worried about them, but more confident than ever that, you know, what, this kid might turn out all right after all.
The Buzzsaw That Is The Arizona Cardinals are playing in the NFC Championship Game. Read that sentence again. Heavens to Murgatroyd. They should have sent a poet.
And if Philadelphia wins tomorrow ... this site should be rather interesting over the next week.