They emerged from both tunnels like winged Polish hussars bracing for the battle of Hodow. Only this time, the enemy was not some comically outnumbering force, but something a bit more enigmatic. In today’s NFL, the idea of actually, purposefully scoring points is sometimes more daunting than fending off a fleet of 40,000 men with just 100 cavalry and a few hundred more volunteers scooped from the village.
The Steelers and the Patriots came into Thursday night defined by offensive impotence. The gambling powers that be assigned this prime-time matchup a total of 30.5 points, which, depending on the source you ascribe to, is either the lowest since 2005 or 1993. There was a stretch of games late in the ’93 season with totals under 30, though there was a notorious cold front battering the country at the time. A New York weather archive had the temperature that Sunday listed as 10 degrees below average, impacting Jets-Bills. In a game between the Colts and Patriots in New England, both coaches, Bill Parcells and Ted Marchibroda, wore those puffy Starter jackets and thick nylon gloves.
In Pittsburgh on Thursday, the temperatures were most certainly above freezing (still in the 40s at halftime). The field conditions were fine. There was no planned, Dark Knight Rises–style demolition of Heinz Field scheduled for halftime which could somehow more gently explain why the Steelers and Patriots would, when combined together, fail to score as many points as the Dolphins do in four quarters by themselves almost every week.
No, this was a matter of two teams facing one another in theory but also attempting to mentally arm wrestle their private hallucinations that both end zones required an uphill traverse and were guarded by homeland security.
Of course, great battles produce great heroes. Maybe some of you were wondering why Bailey Zappe was still a character in the NFL universe. After he auditioned for, and ultimately did not get the role of, “random quarterback Bill Belichick drafted out of obscurity destined to take over the NFL after supplanting a highly drafted starter,” it turned out he was perfect for “spark plug gunslinger programmed to come alive to appease a consumer goods billionaire desperate for watchable content on a barren Thursday.”
He almost didn’t need—nor did he certainly get—any help from Mitch Trubisky. It took just 27 minutes and 10 seconds to hit the over. We didn’t need, but still enjoyed, the several hundred reverses to Jaylen Warren throughout the process.
One has to wonder what fortitude (or fevered delusion) it took for Mike Tomlin to send his offense out on the field for a fourth-and-2 attempt deep in New England territory at the beginning of the fourth quarter, only to watch Trubisky seize a bit in the pocket then flip the ball to a covered receiver, who was helicopter-tackled well short of the first-down marker.
Then, to double down on said fortitude on the following drive by running a reverse to third-string tight end, who then attempted a jump pass that was almost intercepted, which was then followed by Trubisky burrowing himself into the end zone on the next play. It was all so perfect. Having offensive incompetence as a backdrop was almost like watching mascot football, or foot-only volleyball—a sport that is enjoyable and familiar, but has its obvious blemishes excused.
The quest to topple 30 points may have seemed pathetic on its surface, but there was something endearingly American about the entire thing. In this country, we have the technology to fly across the country, but necessitate the hours-long slog through decrepit airport terminals while being pickpocketed by corporate vampires hoping to charge you by the ounce for the weight of your backpack. We can visualize, design and begin the process of building a massive glass-encased building fractured by rifts that showcase live greenery but spend most of our construction dollars on razing Dollar Generals and filling them with a tornado of unshelved greeting cards and travel shampoos.
Similarly, you can have Najee Harris, Warren, George Pickens and Diontae Johnson, and simply not score points. You can have Belichick, via his original quarterback muse, be able to out-think and out-prepare an entire generation of coaches, then go 2–10 and get shut out by the Chargers. You can have all of those people exist in the same league with Mike McDaniel, Tua Tagovailoa and Tyreek Hill. With Kyle Shanahan and Brock Purdy.
We—football players, coaches, fans, Americans—have the ability to both maximize, optimize and painfully overcomplicate everything all at once. In that way, it truly is the country’s pastime.
Like most good battles, we probably should have been smart enough to see the big picture; all the forces at work. Here were the spokespeople for the sportsbooks who set the lines talking to media outlets about the historically low total for the game that so many people are betting on (said in the John Mulaney carnival barker voice) to hype it up, ahead of the largely meaningless game that no one would have watched otherwise (on the digital network that pays the sportsbook and which the sportsbook depends on to be funneled to more suckers). It was brilliant.
That doesn’t mean the process wasn’t worthwhile. There is something to be said for vanquishing your foes, be it physical, mental or otherwise, especially when the world is watching (and stands to financially benefit) from your failure.
By the way, the 100 Polish hussars, and the 300 cavalry did end up holding off 40,000 Tatars. Look it up. Anyone, even Trubisky and Zappe, can produce a miracle. (The Patriots won 21–18.)
