"Hoo-hah," came the cry from the back porch, where Dr. Pick 'Em was surfing the day's sports news.
"What's hoo-hah, oh peerless, if imperfect, prognosticating professor?" I hollered across the house. The volume of the retort sent my Shih Tzu, Cooper, suddenly and guiltily scurrying for cover, convinced he had once again been detected depositing poop in the portal. I checked the front hallway and confirmed as much.
"All this Super Bowl hype," said Dr. P more calmly as he strolled into my study and handed me a roll of paper towels to pickup the poop in the portal, perchance before someone walked through the front door and put foot to foo-foo. "It's just h00-hah. This is going to be another Snoozer Bowl. The commercials will be better than the game."
"A runaway?"
"A runaway," he retorted.
"And just who will be running away from whom?"
"The Panthers," he shot back. "From the Broncos."
"No way." I said, matching him fragment for fragment. "We're talking the final game for one of the game's greatest quarterbacks, a chance to go out on top just like the guy who signed him, John Elway. The nation will be rooting for the aging warrior. How can you discount such a compelling story?"
"Think Namath vs. Unitas," he replied. "Remember Super Bowl III? The Baltimore Colts were 13-1, and everyone thought the old AFL teams were no match for the NFL teams. That one was over early in the fourth quarter, when Namath and the Jets were up 16-0."
"Yeah," I said, "but Earl Morral started for the Colts. Unitas didn't come in until the fourth quarter and led the Colts to their only touchdown."
"Against a prevent defense," said the wizened one. "But when the two next met, Unitas completed 26 of 45 passes for 376 yards and two TDs."
"See? The General still had it," I shot back.
"He had to throw that much because he was trying to keep up with Namath, who threw for 496 yards and six TDs, four of them for 65 yards or more. His footwork, his release, his timing were like ballet. He dropped a whole roll of dimes on the Colts.
"Like Elway, Johnny Unitas had already punched his ticket for the Hall of Fame and was still a master of the game. Cam Newton is like Namath was in those years, a young quarterback in his prime, doing the things to earn a ticket to Canton."
"OK, Pick 'Em, I'll agree that Newton this year had the best season of any quarterback in the league, indeed, one of the greatest seasons in NFL history. He's grown into a consistent pocket passer while still being a threat as a runner, and as a result the Panthers have the No. 1 scoring offense. BUT, he did well when he had a clean pocket. In the one game he was pressured, against Atlanta, his QB rating dropped 42 points and the Panthers had their only loss. Von Miller and DeMarcus Ware are monsters coming off the edge, and the Broncos have the best pass rush in the league."
"Never said it would be easy," Pick 'Em shot back. "Knocking off the Colts was breathtaking in its day, too. These are the things that get one into the Hall of Fame."
"He's not going to find it easy running the ball, either," I argued. "Newton ran for 686 yards and 12 TDs this season, but Denver, with linebackers Brandon Marshall and Danny Trevathan, have the league's top-rated rushing defense."
"Newton will find enough room for first downs here and there to keep drives alive," Pick 'Em said. "Peyton no longer is a threat to go deep, but Newton leads the league in long TD passes. He'll drop a dime here and there and turn the game."
"So you're saying that even with Denver's great defense, the difference in this game is that Manning is at the end of his career and Newton is reaching his prime?"
"Nah."
"Huh? Wait. What?"
"It's the curse of the Tebow," he said, looking down and shaking his head. "Elway cut him. Elway doomed the Broncs. It's a bad curse, a game specific one. The curse of the Bambino applied only to winning the World Series, and it lasted 86 years. Curse of the Tebow applies to the Super Bowl. It could go seven times longer."
"Pick 'Em, I know you've correctly predicted nine of 11 postseason games, but that is pathologically preposterous," I said as I shot a dirty look in the direction of the re-emerged Cooper as he peeked shyly around a corner.
"What was the score of the Broncos' last Super Bowl?"
"Um, Seattle 48, Denver 3," I murmured.
He pulled from his ink-stained pocket protector a paper towel on which he had scribbled his prediction:
Carolina 48, Denver 3.