I officially feel sorry for Tony Dungy and Lovie Smith.
In the eyes of the media, they are not decent and beloved men, deserving of coaching in the Super Bowl. They are neither geniuses like Belichick nor towering leaders of men like Parcells. The sum of them: they are black men. This all the media knows or cares to know. Of this Smith was reminded by my own team's village idiot, Terry Bradshaw, who, upon the Bears advancing to the Super Bowl, made his very first question to the celebrating Smith "How does it feel being the first African-American coach in the Super Bowl?" Three hours later, Dungy answered the same question, only it was "second." It's clear that much as the hack storyline last year was "Jerome Bettis playing his final game in his hometown of Detroit," this year is the "black coaches Super Bowl." Sigh.
Hell, even new Steelers coach Mike Tomlin was asked what he thought about the black coaches Super Bowl in the third question of his first press conference. The third bloody question!
I don't diminish the historical significance of this. Let's note it and celebrate it. But to make the moment about it is distasteful to me. Smith and Dungy are more than black coaches, and their teams are composed of more than black coaches' players. As Tomlin noted, real progress will be when this isn't a story.
I am presently a polka dot. Nestled in Thompson's, a bar in Seattle's predominantly black Central District, I've been drinking bourbon and billing for it for several hours. I'm also the only white guy out of the 20 or so here. Not especially noteworthy except for one thing: in all the discussion here about the Super Bowl, the pigmentation of the coaches hasn't come up once. Not a once. Compare that to the one-note media coverage. Here, Dungy and Smith are discussed as men, as coaches. Call me peculiar, but I think mental health lies in us uptight white folk following this lead.
Now if you'll pardon me, I'm going to go pile on the scorn being heaped upon Terrell Owens for torching Bill Parcells.