There's a shot of Vince Young at the end of this drive, after he's won the game, that I love. He's standing near the fans shaking his head up and down, and slapping their hands. The shot says something beautiful that I'm having trouble naming (Damn right? I told you so? I think it's more than that.)
It's extremely important that I tell you that I thought Vince Young was done. While we're at it, I thought Brett Favre was done too--but for other reasons. I'm bringing this up because I think people shouldn't confuse thinking someone's done, with wanting them to be done. For all my chatter about the impending end, it's been a joy to watch Favre this year. I don't care how much the pundits love him. I love him for my own reasons.
Likewise, for Vince Young, but even more. That drive yesterday is why I watch football. For people who think it's only about the hits, I'd show them this. There's something almost super-biographical about it. I called football a narrative earlier this year, and maybe that's not quite right. Myth, maybe? Watching a guy go from the bottom, watching him come back better at his job, and then, against incomparable odds, arrive at a moment where it all depended on a choice, is resonant. (Especially when, like me, you've spent a good part of your life considering yourself a fuck-up.)