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Today, my friends, we drag The Cooler next to the Christmas tree. We pack it with egg nog -- even if it jams the nozzle and comes out like an IV drip. And don't worry: It's all taken care of, you animals. We've spiked it with a little Johnnie Walker Red.
|  | | Is there anything better than watching Brett Favre frolic in the snow? |
Because today the Cooler is about Christmas Eve. And Christmas Eve is about being a kid who believes again. And being a kid who believes again is all about the NFL, baby.
That's right. The NFL.
That watered-down parade of forgettable teams. That once-proud league of warriors seemingly reduced to overblown celebrations for the most mundane of
tasks. That league run by the C. Montgomery Burns of sports executives -- Tags.
Today, my friends, we put aside all the bitterness and bask in the glory of the NFL. We go back to the days of sleeping on sheets and pillow cases adorned with helmet logos (even those brand-new ones from Seattle and Tampa Bay!). We go back to the days when the Vikings played outdoors. We go back to childhood, when you could fall asleep on a couch during the late game and wake up to hear Charlie Jones on NBC calling a Chargers-Raiders game from Jack Murphy, where it appeared perennially to be 70 degrees, with nary a cloud in the sky.
We're in a forgiving mood, and all because of Lambeau Field, our guy Brett (The Joy of Football) Favre and a Wisconsin snowstorm.
Let's back up first.
See, Christmas basically sucks, right?
I had this argument with a pal just yesterday. I'd trade him five Christmases for one Thanksgiving any day. Just look at the scouting reports:
Christmas: Laden with heavy religious imagery, guilting you into remembering you've only been to Mass, like, four times in your life. Inescapable burden of buying gifts for relatives you might only marginally care for. Searching for parking in a mall. Pulling a hammy while sitting Indian-style on the living room floor, trying to wrap gifts.
Thanksgiving: No religion. No gifts. Eat as much as you want, with extra gravy.
Is this not a Sam Bowie-Michael Jordan draft dilemma, or what?
So it's Dec. 23, I'm needing some WD-40 to get into gift-wrap lotus position. I'm generally pissed off after watching my bank account dwindle. I'm minutes
removed from flipping off a few fellow parking-searchers.
Then I turn on the TV.
And I see Lambeau. And Favre. And little, magical flakes of snow dancing across my screen.
And I hear Dick (Father Christmas) Enberg, the man who brought me so many Rose Bowls featuring Woody Hayes and Bo Schembechler and John McKay and Terry Donahue.
And reverie set in, Cooler residents. Reverie.
Browns-Packers. Late December. Playoff implications. That Miller ad with the horse-drawn sleigh to the piano tune of "I'll Be Home for Christmas," an ad
that has been running since Lynn Swann tried to beat George Atkinson on a post pattern.
And Dorsey Levens sliding 12 snowy yards through the end zone with the Coolest Touchdown Catch of All-Time.
Oh, to be Dorsey Levens!
(Which might qualify as a sentence never written before in the history of the English language.)
A long rope of drool cascaded down my mouth, spilling on to the Bee Gees Greatest Hits CD I bought for an unnamed relative who might be reading this.
The memories came rushing back: Mud bowls down at the neighborhood park. Can't rush the passer till "four-thousand" -- no, wait! Too fast! -- "five
thousand," which was recited, "onethousandtwothou-sandthree-thou-four-th-FIVE-THOUSAND!" Wearing the old Chuck Foreman Vikings jersey for tackle football, '77. (And I was a Northern California kid. Chuck Foreman? Hey, the Vikes were in the playoffs all the time and had cool helmets. That would pretty much be the reason I had that
jersey.)
Back in my living room, the gift-wrapping could wait. The snow kept falling on Lambeau. I had to wonder: Was I leading a deprived life, living on the West Coast? I have never known a White Christmas. Sure, we have Lake Tahoe. Three-hour drive, and you're in heaven. But Christmas Day in the Bay Area is 52 degrees and clear skies. A little rain before, lots of rain after, come January. Sure, I like the weather. The winter rains mean something to us NorCals. But still ... no snow.
No tackle football in the snow. Like Favre and Levens and Ahman Green and all those Packers, playing football against the ink-black skies, under the floodlights in that homey town in America's heartland.
Man. That was nice to see.
Saved my Christmas mood, I'd dare say.
God bless that ever-lovin' NFL, huh? So, wishing a Merry Christmas to every last laptop-dweller out there, we dedicate the Christmas Eve List of Five to
that old childhood staple ... the National Football League:
1. Now I know what Beatlemania was all about
Had to cover the Raiders-Titans game on Saturday night. Didn't really want to. Would rather watch Melissa Stark's really cute face from the comfort of my own living room (all the while assuring the wife: "No, I don't think she's that cute at all").
|  | | Coming face-to-face with Dennis Miller in the press box was a little too much for The Murph. |
But the magic of the Christmas season prevailed. See, I knew the ABC crew would be there, and I knew the layout of the Oakland Coliseum press box, and
I knew that my Idol to end all Idols would merely be feet away.
Yes, I'm that big a fan of Dan Fouts.
No, man! Dennis Miller.
Anyway, I'm chilling about an hour before kickoff talking to a fellow scribe when ...
Wham-o. There he was.
Right in front of me.
The Raja of Rants. The Wizard of Weekend Update. The Funniest Cat in the Land.
Now I'm not going all John Hinckley/Mark David Chapman on you here. I just think the guy's hilarious. Some people hold that magic spell. (I once rode an
elevator with Joe DiMaggio. Similar experience to seeing Miller face-to-face, though I don't think Miller could piece a hit streak past zero games, if
given the chance.)
He was staring right at me. He asked me if another writer was around. He wanted to say hi to the guy. I seized the opportunity and went Total Geek on
him.
"He's not here, Dennis," I said, extending my hand. "But I am. Brian Murphy from the San Francisco Chronicle, and an enormous fan."
Thankfully, he didn't call security. He merely shook the hand, bowed his head in gratitude, and thanked me. My heart was racing. Here he was, the king of
comedy. Here I was, some hack-job scribe with a silly column on a website. It was like Carrot Top meeting Woody Allen.
Still, I won't forget it soon, people.
See, you've got to keep the little kid alive in you!
2. Old School: Always in session
|  | | You want old-school football? How 'bout Bears linebacker Brian Urlacher catching a TD pass? |
Saturday night, Tim Brown and Charles Woodson returned punts for the Raiders. I found this refreshingly cool. Enough with the "specialist" occupying a
roster spot. Stick one of those high school All-Americans back there, one of those former Heisman winners, and let the man strut his stuff. That's
football, baby. Just like down at the neighborhood park. No substitutions there! You go offense, defense and kickoff return. Same personnel.
So imagine my delight when Brian Urlacher, whose Bears team is rapidly rising through the heartwarming/appealing stories of the season ladder, broke loose for the TD on the fake field goal!
The dude looked like Lance Alworth hauling that ball down. He looked like Steve Largent breaking that tackle. He looked like ... well, I've run out of
white wide receivers to reference. Still, Urlacher looked dynamite -- and on a throwback NFL weekend, gave reason to hoist another spiked egg nog.
It's the next trend, people: Players going two -- nay! -- three ways. Should clear some serious dead wood off rosters.
3. The Tournament?
Jon Gruden, after the loss, pointed out the Raiders were still "in the tournament." Dan Dierdorf, on the CBS broadcast from Green Bay, talked about teams "in the tournament."
What, do the Rams face 16-seed Furman in the first round? Should the Steelers be worried about a second-round showdown with upset-happy Gonzaga? That said,
it is a tournament. I'll give them full points for accuracy. Hell, I'll adopt the phrase, just like they did.
The NFL playoffs: January Japery!
4. Sebastian Janikowski: A case study
|  | | Sebastian Janikowski proves the old axiom is still true: Never take a kicker in the first round! |
I don't know how long I got to sing this song/But drafting a kicker in the first round is just plain wrong!
Sorry. I saw a sneak preview of "Ali." Got into character.
Anyway, I spent a year howling against the idea of the Raiders spending a first-round draft pick on a kicker. Janikowski made me look good with a terrible rookie year. Then, his sophomore season was looking good, and Raiders fans believed Al Davis still had his fastball on Draft Day. I still said "Nay, brothers."
Then Jan-o pulled the hat trick Saturday night.
Listen to me: Unless you can draft Gus The Kicking Mule in the first round, Do Not Draft a Kicker in the First Round. That maxim goes right up there
with: Do Not Give Your Real Name in a Bar on the Road.
Are we clear on this?
|  | | The Niners defense gave no ground against Duce Staley and the Eagles during a seven-play goal-line stand. |
5. We leave with the goal-line stand
On an NFL weekend that was so Old School I swear I saw Pete Rozelle in a luxury box at Lambeau, the 49ers' goal-line stand on Philly topped it all.
Rain pouring on that forsaken turf on Candlestick Point. Mud staining the Eagles' and Niners' jerseys. Philly, with seven tries inside the 10. The
Niners, stopping them seven times.
On the seventh play, when 49ers linebacker Derek Smith picked off Donovan McNabb and 49ers safety Lance Schulters fell on top of Smith and hugged him
for what seemed like forever, you had to smile. It looked like a neighborhood Mud Bowl. Now, if only the NFL could institute a
can't-rush-the-passer-till-five-thousand rule, then we'd be in business.
Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Chronicle writes the "Weekend Water Cooler" every week for Page 2.
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