This Super Bowl was a bit more exciting then watching your Aunt Edna knit

Well, they played a big football game Sunday. The Super Bowl. With a bunch of Roman numerals after it, so it had to be important

It was even televised.

Of course, I think they just do that so they can have plenty of breaks in the action to show all those supposedly Super (not?) commercials and have some musical artist such as Katy Perry have 6,742 people join them on onstage in an over-hyped lavish production.

Last night might have been The Greatest Super Bowl Every Played, a surreal and superlative melodrama with an astonishing and shocking twist in the ending.

When all was said and done, the Patriots edged the Seahawks 28-24 because of the improbable stupidity of Seattle coach Pete Carroll.

Down four points, Seattle had traveled 79 yards in 62 seconds and had one yard to go and three plays left along with one timeout to punch Marshawn Lynch, the baddest beast on the planet, in for the winning touchdown and their second straight Super Bowl win.

Instead, Seattle got way too cute and had Russell Wilson throw a slant to Ricardo Lockette. But an unknown rookie, Malcolm Butler, from West Alabama, which might as well be the Planet Mars when it comes to football obscurity, picked the pass off with uncanny perception for the most stunning Super Bowl finish of all time.

Of course, many folks didn’t embrace the Patriots’ remarkable victory because they perceive them to be the ultimate cheaters, consider Bill Belichick to be as warm and cuddly as Rushmore granite, and hate Tom Brady’s guts because he’s good looking, never ages, and his supermodel wife would cause cardiac arrest in a yak.

So they refuse to throw the Pats even a few dollops of acclaim and I get that. After all, rooting for New England is like rooting for a hedge fund.

But I have to give Brady and the Patriots some props.

Brady was incredibly clutch in the fourth quarter, leading the Pats back from a 10-point deficit in the fourth quarter by going 13 of 15 for 121 yards, 2 touchdowns, 0 interceptions, and a 139.9 passing rating in his last two possessions against the best defense in football.

That, my friends, was a pristine palette of passing precision and patience.

The Butler then saved Brady’s ass, which seemed to be redemptive karma to me.

Brady now is 4-2 in Super Bowls and he could have been 6-0 if the Giants hadn’t stunned him twice on are-you-freaking-kidding-me circus catches by Mario Manningham and David (Velcro Helmet) Tyree.

And it unbelievably almost transpired yet again Sunday night when Seattle’s Jermaine Kearse made a ridiculous 33-yard catch on his back after touching or deflecting it four different times (in his next life look for him to find work as a juggler in the circus) to set up what should have been the winning gimme putt before Carroll’s brain got the yips.

The shocked look on Brady’s face at that moment said it all. At that juncture he and the Patriots seemed more snake bitten than a guy swimming a mile in the Amazon.

But the fickle finger of fate, being unpredictable by its DNA, didn’t give them the finger this time.

Media, pundits and the populace pump up Deflategate

Everybody has been squeezing the Patriots’ deflated balls all week.

Never has a shrinkage issue gone this viral.

It’s all people are talking about. The issue has paralyzed America like a continental-wide tsunami of a killer snowstorm.

It was amazing that when Bill Belichick and Tom Brady were proclaiming that they, much like Sgt. Schultz, know nussink about how Deflategate went down, they didn’t do so with high-pitched, squeaky voices.

With their balls on the line, did anybody actually expect either to fess up? C’mon, get real.

In a country where almost everybody could give a damn less about the PSI level of their tires, everybody suddenly is an expert on deflation and inflation.

Did they all take a quickie online graduate course in voodoo economics?

Personally, if it weren’t the Patriots involved, this story would not have swelled bigger than a blowfish.

But New England’s Evil Empire/KGB-villain persona has, pardon the pun, overinflated this narrative to absurd proportions.

Still, we all are deliriously curious about who screwed with the balls and who told them to do so.

Two things to keep in mind that actually make this story – matters of integrity and fair play aside – much ado about nothing: Underinflated footballs can be thrown more accurately, which obviously is a good thing, but they also lose velocity, which obviously is a bad thing when a quarterback is trying to rifle the ball into a tight and closing window.

Nevertheless, teams always are looking for a competitive advantage and messing with ball inflation has been commonplace in football and basketball over the years.

During the heyday of their hot-as-blacktop-under-a-summer-sun NBA rivalry, the fastbreak Lakers overinflated balls and the plodding Celtics underinflated balls.

Ever since Ty Cobb was sliding his spikes into second basemen’s faces, baseball teams have been stealing signs and growing infield grass giraffe-high against certain opponents.

Perhaps there is something to that old adage that if you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying.

NCAA’s restoration of Paterno’s 111 victories rights a wrong

Once upon a time, Joe Paterno was a hallowed icon.

The Jerry Sandusky sex scandal at Penn State smothered JoePa’s legacy.

The NCAA, with thunderbolts of emotion and pious soliloquies resonating throughout the land at the time, piled on with the ultimate cheap shot by stripping Paterno of 111 wins.

What happened on the football field had absolutely nothing to do with what happened off the field.

Recruiting violations can alter the course of a football game. The Sandusky garbage did not.

Today the NCAA restored those 111 wins, restoring Paterno as the winningest coach in major college football history.

Redemption now is floating in the air above Happy Valley like a sweet smog.

Questions abound about how quickly and effectively Marcus Mariota will transition to the NFL

The world wasn’t knocked off its axis today when Oregon junior quarterback Marcus Mariota declared for the 2015 NFL draft.

The world already knew that it was a given, much like the weather always sucks in the winter around here.

That decision, a surprise or not, will ramp up the rhetoric among Eagles fans about whether the Birds should trade their first-round pick each of the next 10 years, plus Shady McCoy, to Tampa Bay and move up from the 20th spot in the first round and land the Heisman Trophy winner who cut his Oregon teeth playing for Chip Kelly.

With Kelly newly installed as the personnel guru in Philadelphia and the team’s quarterback situation more shaky than a jackhammer on amphetamines, the speculation undoubtedly will be ingesting more steroids than A-Rod ever did.

Granted, Mariota is a dynamic athlete with excellent top-end speed. He is elite at throwing on the run and has a quick, compact over-the-shoulder release. He has all the physical tangibles – arm strength, mobility and intelligence. Plus he has a great smile and is kind to his mother and cats.

And he obviously knows Kelly’s offensive playbook chapter and verse and has a fast-twitch tempo stitched into his quarterback DNA. You should see how fast the kid brushes his teeth and sorts his socks.

But buyer beware: The kid, like most college spread offense quarterbacks, is a project.

He didn’t have to make NFL-type throws in the Ducks’ scheme. He didn’t take snaps from under center. He primarily only had to make one read. He likely will struggle reading NFL defenses in the beginning. They will seem like a foreign language to him.

And Mariota does struggle at times with his anticipation and accuracy when passing from the pocket — the most important ingredient for an NFL quarterback. That could be a red flag big enough to incite any bull.

And Mariota is prone to putting the ball on the ground. Talk about a big oops.

So even if the Eagles pull off an astonishing coup and move heaven and earth, not to mention a platoon of bodies and picks to pluck Mariota, it’s a long shot that the kid will be an immediate savior.

And it’s hardly a lock that he will become the Messiah after a prolonged baptism of fire.

Ebola enough to make you stay home and hide under the covers

Ebola suddenly is a nightmare with cold fingers.

Talk about getting a deadly grip on our psyches.

Ebola could be coming to an ER near you.

Or, gulp, me!

Needless to say we all have a vested interest in this, but I fear that our helpless voices are birds trapped inside a tenement building.

Ebola seems to be pitching us over a cliff that hardly will have a soft landing.

Staring into the face of your mortality seldom is a comforting sight.

So the last thing we can afford is pure stupidity.

It seems health care workers treating the original Dallas Ebola patient did not wear protective hazardous material suits for two days until tests confirmed he had the virus.

The delay in using Hazmat suits provided the window in which workers may have been exposed.

The second nurse who was infected inserted catheters, drew blood and dealt with the Ebola patient’s bodily fluids.

News like that will knock anybody on their trousers.

Making matters worse, that nurse flew the day before she felt ill.

You think the 132 passengers on that flight are all now yelping like bacon grease splattering on a hot stove?

Two miracles aside, the Eagles’ passing game has been misfiring

Last night was a bad night for atheists.

Miracles do happen.

Of course, so far this young season they seem to happen every week to the Philadelphia Eagles.

They are specializing in making the biggest comebacks since Lazarus was playing in the Old Testament League.

The Birds’ legend is swelling like a blowfish.

They have the unique capacity to turn frowns upside down in the Greater Delaware Valley.

Granted, Chip Kelly is the premier offensive sorcerer in the world, an X’s and O’s wizard whose magical schemes move like a clarinet glissando.

But could he also be divine?

The Eagles became the first team in NFL history to start their season 2-0 despite trailing each of their games by 14 or more points.

For two straight weeks their opponents have folded like a carpenter’s ruler down the stretch.

Philly beat the Colts 30-27 in Indianapolis Monday night with a last-second field goal by rookie Cody
Parkey despite finding themselves down 20-6 halfway through the third quarter.

These corpuscle-popping dramatics came after a season opener in which the Birds spotted the Jacksonville Jaguars 17 points in the first half, only to storm back with 34 (count ‘em!) unanswered points.

Not to be a naysayer in the midst of all this miraculous euphoria, but the Eagles’ vaunted passing game is out of sync.

Perhaps DeSean Jackson was more than just a disposable rap artist.

Right now there is a definite disconnect between Nick Foles and wide receivers Jeremy Maclin and Riley
Cooper, who seem more disoriented than folks back in the good ol’ LSD days.

Maclin and Cooper are struggling, which totally sucks when Kelly’s schemes routinely give at least one receiver on every play more space than a wandering dairy cow in Montana.

Thank God (the miracle thing, you know) that multi-purpose back Darren Sproles has been simply heavenly and that Zach Ertz is blossoming into one stud of a tight end.

Foles has been inaccurate when he has had no excuse or reason to be … throwing behind open receivers, rushing to get the ball out on bubble screens, and misplacing his deep ball of last season.

Compounding matters, the Birds dropped at least six passes last night.

If and when the Eagles get their aerial circus performing brilliantly under the big top, miracle comebacks won’t be a mandatory MO.

When you look at the Bush/Cheney Iraq war in the rearview mirror, you see the birth of ISIL

History sure is a funny old possum at times.

Over the centuries there have been some deadly dudes … Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Attila, Hitler, Napoleon.

Of course, times change and now history has served up a deadly threat that sounds like an acronym for an insurance company.

The Psychic Helpline couldn’t have predicted this.

ISIL is one scary terrorist organization, nastier than eating Brussels sprouts.

The Islamic State in Iraq and the Levant has a silly name, but there is nothing silly about this bloody thirsty bunch of crazed zealots.

They get their kicks from seeing their victims dissolve like a sugar lump in water before beheading or crucifying them.

Like a wet Post-in note, nothing seems to stick with them.

The only way to blunt these infidels to is behead them with unrelenting carpet bombing.

In a piece of irony thicker than a $3 steak, these violent creatures were spawned by the loins of war.

The totally unnecessary Bush/Cheney Iraq War and its ill-advised aftermath created the conditions that led directly to the rise of ISIL

The first Bush ousted Saddam Hussein from Kuwait in 1991 but refrained from taking out Baghdad to avoid kicking over the sectarian hornet’s nest unleashed by the second Bush in 2003.

And then George W. exponentially compounded matters by pouring gasoline on the raging fire fueled by the volatile sectarian strife between Sunnis and Shiites.

He eliminated all vestiges of Sunni power in Iraqi society, inadvertently lighting the fuse for the Sunni insurrection against American occupation and the new Shiite-led government.

The younger Bush disbanded the entire Sunni-dominated Iraqi Army and bureaucracy, unwittingly creating a massive vacuum where disenfranchised former commanders in the Saddam-era Iraqi military took root in ISIL.

Why couldn’t Bush and Dick Cheney have realized that they telegraphed this whole mess like a veritable Samuel Morse?