I have a story to tell; tell it, I shall.
One night, not too long ago, two men stood under heavy spotlight in the center of a room. They were singing, poorly, belting out a roaring duet that was not well-received by operatic aficionados, but quite well considered by the crowd assembled for the occasion.
Both men were thought in that moment to be on mutually transcendent paths, as if strapped together to a rocket ship that would blast them simultaneously off to limitless heights. The first called his home the deep south, the second the west coast.
This was punditry and prediction, however, not undisputed fact, and so it shall come as no surprise to those with shares fair of knowledge that the prevailing theory did not come to pass as planned. Indeed, 'twas no more than half right.
In the two years that followed, deep south would ride the rocket ship skyward, not reaching fully the heights but coming within hair's breadth. He would develop a powerful brand, as well, as much about his prowess on field as his impact off. He is without question one of his profession's most impactful -- and influential -- players.
To make a long story short -- too late -- the west coast did not. Three time zones away, west coast faltered, stumbled, then fell. There were flashes of possible return to form, hints of possible resurrection, but all for naught. The bench was his true and rightful home, and there he remained.
In fact, he became so enamored with and accustomed to sitting the bench that he did so once even when he was not supposed to ... and thus was thrust back into the spotlight of prominence that had eluded him for twenty plus months. West coast now has a new rocket ship; whether it blasts him to new heights or detonates just after lift-off remains to be seen, but his footprint hardens now in the annals of sports and national history.
Of course, it has nothing to do with football, the footprint or the rocket ship -- which is why my story ends here, and why the masses are moving quite definitively in one direction, Newton-esque I dare say, with force and motion and momentum as only Sir Isaac could love*. There are other selections: a few Cardinals, a few Ravens, a few Broncos, a few Seahawks, a few Lions, even a few Patriots as some poor souls brave the double Swami Hex.
The Swami has never liked moving with the masses. This is known. He prefers and has always preferred to move not to the measured beat, but his own glorious rhythm. And yet ... and yet ...
Carolina, for the win.
That is all.
*See what I did there? Newton double entendre. I just left my customary double entendre indecency home, as children might be reading.
