This column was originally written as of 2 on Sunday, January 19. A wonderful human-interest story worthy of an HBO movie.

Here's the scenario: A 10-year-old boy is taken to the 1960 NFL championship at Franklin Field in Philadelphia by his US Marine uncle, a year after his father had died. His hometown team, the Eagles, beats the Green Bay Packers, 17-13, as his idols shined: Speedy flanker Tommy McDonald caught a TD pass and ends up in his short-sleeved jersey face down in snow bank. Master QB Norm Van Brocklin, in his last game, controlled the contest throughout with his passing and the running of Clarence Peaks and Billy Barnes. And Chuck Bednarik, the last of the 60-minute men, a center/middle linebacker, tackled Packers fullback Jim Taylor on the Eagles' nine-yard line in the final seconds of the game, and lays on top of him snarling, "You aren't going fuckin' anywhere until that whistle blows!" Fade to the 2002 Eagles going to the Super Bowl the following weekend.

Yep, that was the game plan. Until Donovan McNabb started became the Hurdy-Gurdy Man and did an organ-grinding (grinding mine and other Eagles' fans' organs, that is) act that let the Tampa Bay Buccaneers steal their ticket to Soopah Bowl XXXVIII in San Diego, because of his inability to put points on the board in the National Football Conference Championship.

So it's Tampa Bay that will face the quite mighty Oakland Raiders instead of this old boy's Iggles. But at least this offered a bit of intrigue for those of you who don't really give a damn about teams from west Florida or the West Coast.

If you don't know about the aura of ultimate bad-boy behavior surrounding the Raiders, then you've been watching too many episodes of the abominable Friends. Raiders' fans dress up like Vulcans, Klingons, pirates, and other ugly characters, who most sane people would associate with severe homoerotic and sadomasochistic obsession. The team is owned and managed by Al Davis, a self-styled New York-bred sociopath with a hairdo that looks like Duane Eddy left it to him in his will. His "Just win, baby" slogan has become one of the most famous lines in NFL history since Vince Lombardi's, "Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing."

Adding habanero sauce to this match-up is Tampa Bay's head coach, Jon Gruden, who last year coached Oakland until he was spirited away from the greasy Davis by Tampa Bay for more than $8 million, four players, and the first-born of every one of Buccaneers sideline dancers -- provided none was sired by Jose Canseco. Gruden was famously nicknamed "Chucky" by Raiders fans, in testament to his looking like the malevolent and murderous cinematic ventriloquist's dummy. And it is a good allusion. Gruden's facial contortions on the sidelines couldn't be closer to Chucky's twisted looks, and Chucky himself, axe in hand or not, might even be more laidback than Gruden. And here is the man who couldn't win the Big One with Oakland, back to face his old team with the one he was hired to get to the Super Bowl, and right now. Yes, Chucky's back, and you better watch yours, Mr. Davis.

Since Soopah Bowl coverage produces more hyperventilation than Matt Lauer interviewing Britney Spears, we'll skip the team-by-team, position-by-position, therapist-by-therapist evaluation that we'll be treated to prior to the four-day pre-game shows on 75 different channels. Suffice it to say that Chucky's team, four point underdogs, will make it a game, and Oakland will eventually win, 31-17. But for you amateur or parvenu football fans, here's a basic guide to what you will end up loving and/or hating by the time you've had your fourth bowl of chili at your friend's Soopah Bowl party, someone has just copped the last Sam Adams, and you're looking at a choice of Coors Light, Pabst Blue Ribbon, or Jägermeister jello shots.

You'll love not seeing Michelle Branch, Beyonce Knowles, and Styx on the pre-game show.

You'll hate missing Santana and Bonnie Raitt on the pre-game show, and being treated to Celine Dion doing "God Bless America" (nice timing, Celine, what with your fellow Canadians currently outraged at America over the US planes' bombing mistake), the Dixie Chicks singing the national anthem and No Doubt and Shania Twain lip-synching at halftime.

You'll love Warren Sapp going after the Raiders on defense, pancaking them when he's brought in as a tight end on offensive goal line offensive situations. Shades of Refrigerator Perry.

You'll hate Warren Sapp being incessantly featured on camera trash-talking, bouncing around, and whooping on the sidelines throughout the game.

You'll love at least one of the featured new $2.2 million-a-minute ads, most likely Willie Nelson, once bankrupted by the IRS for back taxes, doing a spot for H.R. Block.

You'll hate all the rest, notably the trailer for The Hulk, The Osbournes -- whose 15 minutes are up -- and Michael Jordan and Jackie Chan modeling underwear. (OK, maybe something for the ladies there, but let's finally shut up about the Miller mud-wrestling women.)

You'll love seeing Raiders fans in their Goth/Star Wars outfits with Chucky doll heads on pikes.

You'll hate watching the fat cat corporate executives who don't know a blitz from a blintz hanging out in the luxury boxes, talking on cell phones throughout the game. Pray for a few chicken bones and jumbo shrimp lodged in windpipes.

You'll love any reporter or announcer who actually criticizes the No Fun League either before, during, or after the game.

You'll hate reading the same coverage in every paper from Providence to Palau as burnt out, busted-down hacks, who spent too much time drinking at the various sponsored parties during the week, simply pump out a reworking of the NFL press release for the day.

You'll also hate anyone writing about the Soopah Bowl who uses a lame allusion to the Chucky movies in the headline of his piece or refers to Soopah Sunday as the Greatest Day in America -- one which our Founding Fathers no doubt envisioned when penning the Declaration of Independence -- and which stands for truth, justice, the American Way, apple pie, Chevrolet (oops, that plug'll cost ya), it justifies bombing Iraq immediately, sends shudders through North Korea and blah, blah, blah . . . .

Issue Date: January 24 - 30, 2003