We've resisted writing about the Super Bowl so far because, well, this Super Bowl is pretty resistible. Pardon us if we're not feeling it for Steelers-Cardinals -- we put most of the blame on the Cardinals, although the Steelers' first-team-to-17-wins brand of football doesn't do much for us. It's not like the Ravens would have been any better.
But that's all for Sunday. It's Saturday night, and that's when the real Super Bowl magic is made.
Wilson, Robinson, Robbins. Their names ring out in John Facenda's voice from across the years -- the guys who never even made it to Super Sunday because of what happened on Saturday night.
Barret Robbins sounds like he had some serious issues before he ditched his Raiders teammates for a bender-licious weekend in May-hee-co. Stanley Wilson can probably be excused for getting coked up and passing out in a bathtub -- for all we know, that was standard game prep when he played in Barry's Wild West Show at OU. And Robinson went out to find a hooker the night before the Super Bowl. Who could have figured anything would go wrong with that? Just bad luck, we guess.
All the pressure, all the hype, all the media -- all three of those guys took as much of it as they could and then imploded, steps from the finish line. We think of them every year about this time. And we're wondering if there's anybody down there in Tampa who just hit that point, who's going to lose the game tonight, before it ever gets played tomorrow. Sleep tight, guys.
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