OK so I promised myself I would keep my mouth shut and not dwell on that game last Sunday. I'm trying to keep that promise, but hell I can't help it. I'm sorry. That sucked. I mean, are you freaking kidding me??? We had that game. Albeit after the Safety? And the ridiculous 'too many men on the field" penalty?

That first offensive series was like watching a High School JV game. Give me a break. Are you shitting me? This was the Superbowl. Not some local yokel Division III college game, or High School Friday Night Lights crap.

This was the FREAKING SUPERBOWL!!! Hello????

So, we have all talked ourselves blue in the face over the what ifs, could of's, should of's...blah blah blah de blah blah bullshit! We can't turn the hands of time back. This is it. I know. If Hernandes catches that ball. If Branch catches that ball. If only Gronk was healthy...and the killer. The old go to, never fail, Wes Welka catches his ball? The game is over. We win. Superbowl Victory Number 4 is ours! The 2007 monkey is off our backs. That bone that has been stuck in our throats has finally been dislodged. Look out Giant fans! The Heimlich heard round the world is about to be performed. Everybody duck!

Instead, there is a new bone. The 2011 bone.

That new bone now sits firmly wedged into, and next to the 2007 bone. The 7-11 bones. In our throats. Forever. And please don't give me that "There's always next year Ralph bullshit!" Please! We all know how difficult it is to get back there. Or you should know by now. Hell it took us 4 years to get back since the last one.
Next year? Next year??? Give me a break.

But hear me out here. I am grateful. I am happy that we got there. I mean it.

Yes I'm pissed. Yes I'm upset. But I'm also a realist. I know how hard it is to get
to the big show. And Tommy said it best. "I'd rather come here and lose, then
not come here at all..." True Tom so true. And I'm not mad at Giselle either. Hell no. And neither should you be. She has an opinion. Shit, she's married to Brady. She is going to hear it and relive it all. Over and over again. And it's true. Any of those three receivers catches' any one of those footballs, and we are talking about an entirely different ending. But we are not.

We are losers of Superbowl XLVI.

My friend Tony said this poignant simple line that night, as the clock ticked off the final seconds, that makes the most sense. And it's nothing new. We've all heard it before. A million times. "It's only a game..." And really, in the big picture, it is only a game. But what a great game it would have been, if they had won.

For some reason, I recalled another Superbowl in my life today, as I drove down to the ocean to shoot some of the local surfers. 1979. The year the Cowboys played the Steelers . January 21, 1979 at the Orange bowl in Florida. Super Bowl XIII. Now for the most part, I had nothing invested in that game, or any other team that year. I was just a casual fan. What I was doing however is something I will never forget as long as I live.

On Superbowl Sunday in 1979, I was lying in a makeshift Hospital in an open Quonset Hut with IV needles stuck in my arm...I was delirious with a fever and I was dehydrated. I had been there for about 3 days. But that morning I knew I had to get out and head back to the ocean. Back to where the surf was. I was on the Caribbean Island of Tortola in BVI. My then close friend JT was back at the house we rented overlooking Little Apple Bay. There were two other surfers staying there as well. Jeff Chamberlain and Sam George. They were there with their two wives. They were from Central California.

We had all become good friends during our stay at Ellie's Camp.

I had taken ill a few days prior to that morning. They had to rush me off to the hospital. Who knows what it was. Maybe a relapse of Malaria from the war 10 years earlier? Who knows? And it did not matter. When I woke that morning my fever had broken and I was determined to get the hell out of that hospital. The only downside was, I was on the other side of the Island. Regardless, I had made up my mind. I was leaving today to get back to the beach. I did not come to Tortola to die. I came to surf.

And the surf was only waist to chest high at best all week prior to me getting ill.

But Jeff kept saying there was a swell coming. And Chamberlain knew his shit. And I'd be dammed if I was going to miss waves stuck in some freaking mosquito invested hospital. Besides, I could not stand hearing some local Brit crying about his broken legs he got in a car wreck a few days earlier. It was nerve wracking to say the least. 'Nurse...hello nurse...nurse...please nurse..."

So I waited until they gave me my morning mango and banana, and then I sat up and yanked the IV out of my arm. I rolled out of my cot, and onto the dirt floor and made my way out onto the dirt road. I started hiking back up the mountain that I knew was between me and the surf. I was queasy to say the least. I had lost about 15lbs in the time I was there at the hospital. So I was pretty weak.

I tried hitch hiking but it was no use, I must of looked a sight. Shirtless, hair sticking up, unshaven, and stumbling on the side of the road. I'm sure people thought I was drunk or something. But I kept my wits about me. I got dizzy several times and collapsed on the side of the road. I recall one time laying there with my head just inches from the road. Vehicles speeding past me just a few feet from my head. Pebbles hitting my face.

Undaunted I got back up and kept going. Keep in mind. In 1979, there were no cellphones. Nor was there a pay phone anywhere along my journey. So JT, Jeff, and Sam had no idea I was trying to get back . And unbeknownst to me, they were all snorkeling in the calm water near the other side of the break.

When I reached the top of the mountain and started my way down, I felt a surge of strength. I could see and smell the ocean, and l felt it's power. And it felt good. I'm not sure how long it took me once I started downhill, but I remember this next part like it was yesterday. When I was finally on level ground and walked towards the ocean, there was not a soul out surfing. Not surprisingly, there was no surf.

I stood on the sand and waded into the water.

My feet in the shallow tropical water felt so good. I felt sooo good. I sat down. I looked around and the whole beach seemed empty. No one was anywhere to be found. It was a clear bright day. Just a perfect day, albeit there was no surf. As I sat there in the ocean playing in the water like small child I heard something. A "whump" sound. I turned and looked over my shoulder. Nothing. Then I heard it again. It was coming from the ocean. The sun was in my eyes so I stood up.

What I saw next was something I'll never forget.

A wave. And not just a wave. But a big wave. It looked like it was six feet. The wind was offshore, and this wave came out of nowhere and hit that reef at Little Apple Bay, and just peeled over that reef. A perfect right and left. Now I am not going to lie to you. I thought I was still delirious, and I was simply hallucinating all of this. I looked both ways to see if there was anyone else nearby. There was not. I was alone standing in the ankle deep water watching in total amazement as the swell and waves kept coming, marching in a perfectly groomed cadence, of one wave after another.

Perfect, empty waves, in the 6-8' range unfolding in front of my eyes.

I started screaming. I yelled as loud as I could for anyone to hear me. But there was no one. Bomba's shack started to shake itself awake. I turned and saw a few other surfers who had been staying at the hotel. They were suddenly jumping up and down and pointing at the reef. Meanwhile I went frantically looking for JT, Jeff, and Sam. Turns out they were snorkeling, and the water started to to churn where they were, and they too realized what was happening.

Long story short. We scrambled for our boards and cameras and hit the surf.

They were laughing at my story of escape and evasion, and that day became a classic surf story. This image below is from a video frame grab of a super 8mm movie that we shot that day. This is me, less than 8 hours after pulling an IV out of my arm, and hiking many miles up and down a mountain road to get back to the camp. This is a serious wave. Well, it was for me. I called it 8 feet. You can call it whatever you want, but I was told it was the biggest wave that was caught that afternoon. Not the best surfed wave. Just the biggest wave.



I'll never forget that wave, or that day, for as long as I live. How could I?

That night we watched the Superbowl on a Black and white TV. Chuck Noll's Pittsburgh Steelers outlasted Tom Landry's Dallas Cowboys 35-31 in Super Bowl 13. Roger Staubach threw for 228 yards with three touchdowns to Tony Hill, Drew Pearson, and Billy Joe Dupree. But Ed "Too Tall" Jones and Thomas "Hollywood" Henderson couldn't stop Super Bowl Thirteen's MVP Terry Brandshaw's record 318 yards and 4 touchdowns. Catching touchdowns for the Steelers were John Stallworth (2), Lynn Swan, and Rocky Bleier ( Rocky was a Vietnam Veteran who was wounded in the war and told he would never walk again. He was my favorite NFL player at the time). Dallas tackle Randy White fumbled when Tony Dungy delivered a crushing shot on special teams. Franco Harris ran for a touchdown in Pittsburgh's 3rd Super Bowl victory.

January 21, 1979. The same day I surfed this wave.

The next day, the swell tapped out at a solid 10 feet and the REAL surfers had an amazing session. Sam George, Chamberlain, and JT were killing it out there. We made lifelong friends that trip. And that swell was one for the ages. I just thought I'd share this "Superbowl" story with you...and it just goes to show what I've been saying all along and just didn't realize it at the time.

And that is..."Surfing Heals ALL Wounds..." and boy did it ever back in 1979.