By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
Back in the Middle Ages, when the Miami Dolphins could still field eleven men on defense and Buddy Ryan was fighting in the Golden Gloves, I wrote in this space that the Dolphins would beat the San Francisco 49ers in this year's Super Bowl.
The reason they play the entire National Football League schedule is that you never know what will happen--as Dan Marino, Vance Johnson and the New Orleans Saints can tell you. While most of the league's overworked placekickers have taken their cleats and gone home for the year, the real dancing is about to begin amid a cloud of mystery: The annual feat of higher mathematics that gave us last weekend's wild-card teams (including your Denver Broncos) has now produced four survivors (Chiefs, Packers, Giants and Raiders), while Emmitt Smith of the Dallas Cowboys used the week off to nurse the shoulder he injured in heroic duty against the Giants, and Battlin' Buddy, who doubles these days as defensive coordinator of the bickering Houston Oilers, got in some extra work on the speed bag for his rematch with fellow Oiler coach Kevin Gilbride.
Meanwhile, the two dirtiest words in pro football are still "Buffalo Bills"--especially at NBC, where everyone's worried sick that the three-time losers will once again be just good enough to knock off the other midgets in the American Farce Conference before getting blown off the field in Atlanta by the NFC champs. On January 30 in Chicago, NBC fears, the fans will decide to fix paving contracts instead of turning on their television sets. Blissed-out Coloradans will be lolling in sunny lift lines. Buddy Ryan will probably slip down to his corner saloon and blindside the bartender.
Who's gonna beat 'em? The Bills, that is. Which AFC nonentity is good enough to take out the conference's perennial embarrassment?
No one, we say.
Every January these Bills come due, squeak by in the playoffs and pack their bags for destiny. And every January they go home with a lot of bruises instead of the Super Bowl trophy. Jim Kelly and Bruce Smith must be getting so tired of this by now that they're thinking of moving to Minneapolis, or to, uh, Denver--where the locals are well versed in blowing the big game and can offer comfort for the troubled heart. On the other hand, the Bills clearly have the souls of slot machine junkies: Just one more pull on the handle and it'll come up all sevens. Pass that cup of silver dollars, willya?
The pretenders in this year's dash for second place include the Kansas City Chiefs, whose 27-24 playoff win Saturday against those late-season laggards the Pittsburgh Steelers was but a prelude to a nice plate of ribs at Arthur Bryant's. The old aware one, Joe Montana, knows exactly what the big game feels like--what winning it feels like, too--but he's actually shown signs of mortality lately, and his supporting cast will not be up to the task this time around. Besides, teams that have no running game don't get to the Super Bowl, much less win it, and the Kansas City Royals run a lot better than the Chiefs. Aging Marcus Allen has worn down over the grueling season and could be out of gas.
How about Houston? Don't count on it. While the pundits point to an explosive offense that ranked third in NFL scoring and the Oilers' ten-game season-closing surge as evidence of fresh confidence at the Astrodome, closer scrutiny reveals a couple of holes. For one thing, those ten straight wins included two each against pitiful Cincinnati, leaderless Cleveland and inconsistent Pittsburgh, plus single wins against Seattle, Atlanta and the New York Jets. The Moonies whacked San Francisco December 25, to be sure, but Young and Company had their minds on Christmas.
ÊOne other thing: Houston clearly wants to avenge the worst second-half collapse in NFL playoff history, that awful 41-38 loss January 3, 1993, at--guess where?--Buffalo. But the Bills aren't about to lie down for the indoorsmen from Texas: They have something to prove, too, don't you think?
The Raiders? Please. Wait till those Bronco-busting speedballs hit the home ice at Rich Stadium Sunday.
Live with it. Buffalo. The third time was not a charm--Marv Levy was anything but charmed by 52-17--and the fourth time won't be either. But Buffalo will get there: The Bills are not the offensive juggernaut they once were (despite season-ending scoring festivals against crippled Miami, the Jets and Indianapolis), but Kelly and Company are good enough, and the Buffalo defense is still one of the league's best, anchored by Bruce Smith, Jeff Wright and Darryl Talley. It was "D" that got Buffalo to 12-4 in the regular season--tied with Houston and Dallas for the league's best record--but there's another reason, too.
Aside from the stubborn Show 'Em factor and a playoff-tough mentality--the Bills have been through more photo days than Madonna--there's also the matter of the weather. Even penguins and polar bears avoid Buffalo in January, and thin-skinned visitors to howling Rich Stadium like it a lot less: It may not be fair, but until the Green Bay Packers are transferred to the AFC, the leading clubs of the AFC (such as they are) will feel like Marla running into Ivana in the elevator every time the playoff road takes them to Buffalo.