Mr. Hyde Meets Dr. Jekyll

Six quarters. One game and half of another. 90 minutes. 5,400 interminable seconds. It was the worst we’ve seen piled on top of even worse than that. If this was a life flashing in front of one's eyes, the highlight reel would have been entirely blank. Not merely 60 unanswered points. 60 points without an answer.

And then all was forgiven. The 98 pound weakling became Mr. Universe. Out of the depths of despair emerged a landscape of rainbows and puppies. The clouds departed and the sun shone brightly 24 hours a day. In the span of 30 minutes the Titanic missed the iceberg, the Hindenburg had a safe journey and the age of Aquarius dawned.

What happened in those locker rooms at half time? As Yogi would say, 100 per cent of what took place on the field thereafter was 50 per cent psychological. This had to have something to do with Oedipus, Freud or at least some brownies laced with a substance of significant interest to the authorities.

These are grown men, trained relentlessly for the task at hand. Supposedly equipped both physically and mentally for whatever comes next. Except that is inadequate explanation for what transpired before our unbelieving eyes. In one moment, the season was declared D.O.A. In the next, we were booking our tickets to the Super Bowl.

Giants 31 Cardinals 28. That says everything you need to know. Or more precisely, nothing at all.