In nearly every aspect not involving geriatric pop stars or those unconscionably wretched Danica Patrick “GoDaddy.com” commercials, we witnessed a riveting Super Bowl Sunday. Sure, the teams were two of the weakest to ever reach the big show and the winning score featured Ahmad Bradshaw falling into the end zone like a toddler into a pool, but there was something perversely captivating about watching the Patriots attempt to at least partially wash the putrid aftertaste of Super Bowl XLII from their mouths as the Giants kept searching for ways to hand them the game on a silver platter.
As many jibes as we can enjoy at the expense of the Patriots’ receivers’ greased-up hands — Gisele beat us all to the punch, anyway — or Tom Coughlin’s resemblance to a senile Kool Aid Man, I also can’t help but appreciate this year’s big game as a testament to the indomitable potency of effort, teamwork and persistence in the United States’ cherished gladiatorial sport. Not only did the Giants play as if the Mayan Apocalypse were in February instead of December, they played for each other. As any of the 12 remaining Washington Wizards fans in the world can attest, building genuine solidarity on a professional team represents one of the stiffest challenges in all of athletics.
The remarkable narrative of the Giants’ late-season cohesion has largely become an afterthought in most postgame commentary. I knew that as soon as Cris Collinsworth said it right after the game in that half-jovial, half-condescending voice, which makes him sound as if he is amused at how much smarter he is than the rest of us: “Eli Manning did it again.”
Indeed, Manning once again propelled his team to a fourth-quarter comeback and claimed a Super Bowl MVP trophy on the strength of a sturdy 30-for-40 passing performance. As a New Orleans native — Eli went to my grammar school — and an ardent believer in the underdog/little brother redemption story, I am proud of and happy for Eli after his ascendancy to superstardom during the past few weeks. He has broken through the barrier from “good” to “elite” quarterback, to the horror of embittered NFC East fans and the glee of Colin Cowherd.
But Eli Manning did not win the Super Bowl. The Giants did. And the disproportionate amount of credit and attention paid to Eli reflects an alarming trend in contemporary sports — the increasingly reckless attribution of a team’s accomplishments to its most visible or prominent figure.
If you followed the overbearing pre-Super Bowl Tom Brady and Manning coverage or are still listening to the incessant discussion of Eli’s legacy, you should understand from where I’m coming. From every vaguely competent NFL quarterback to the Lebrons and Kobes and even Ovechkins of the world, the story of the individual routinely overshadows the story of the team. It’s not just the big-name pros generating an inordinate number of headlines either. While we Virginia fans would have enjoyed this basketball season no matter what, we’re kidding ourselves if we earnestly believe our beloved Cavs would capture the same degree of national attention without legitimate Wooden Award candidate Mike Scott. Superhero sagas are more intriguing than stories about team dynamics and the strength of that narrative skews our perceptions of what actually happens on the field.
But is it necessarily bad that we focus on the lead actors rather than the overall performance of the ensemble? Granted, such star-centric coverage downplays the impact of crucial contributors such as Mario Manningham and Chase Blackburn last Sunday, but, arguably, enhancing the plot by focusing on Manning should outrank petting the egos of other players.
The only problem with this line of reasoning is that we’re not fantasy writers. We’re sports fans. We should observe and reflect, but far too often and with the prodding of the media — mostly That Sports Channel — we distort what we observe on the field to fit a juicier storyline and sacrifice the quality of authenticity, which differentiates sports from other forms of entertainment. I say it more often than the standard Virginia fraternity plays “Levels,” but I’ll repeat it anyway: I love watching and playing sports for their applicability to life’s challenges, not just because they help pass the time.
The Broncos reached the playoffs with a fusion of stout defense, sturdy running and Tim Tebow’s clutch fourth-quarter play — not only on the strength of Tebow. LeBron’s fourth-quarter malaise is not the sole reason for every Heat loss. The Giants reached the summit of football by trusting each other, by blocking out conventional wisdom and by assuming a collective swagger, which propelled the Giants through a brutal playoff schedule. Manning facilitated much of their success, but the obsession with Eli toppling Brady for the second time, outshining big brother Peyton and becoming part of the “elite” has shrouded the true story of the Giants’ meteoric rise.
In fact, Eli himself said it best.
“This isn’t about one person,” Eli told reporters after the win.
Ultimately, it never really is.