Well climb in, buckle up, and grab a cold one from the glove compartment/mini-fridge, as I fire up the flux capacitor and send us back to the magical season of 1984. It was not the world George Orwell envisioned. Far from it. (Pfft. Orwell. Fucking Debbie Downer.) It was a time of glory, majesty, wonder, and zipper ankle jeans. A time when the Number 13 became a lucky number for us all, and the NFL record books took a beating as if Ike Turner himself had strapped on the pads and helmet.
Steelers.com, celebrating the Pittsburgh Steelers' 75th anniversary, is running a series of articles chronicling their playoff history. This week: the 1984 AFC Championship (Played in the Orange Bowl, which is hosting its very last game this weekend. A tear.). Even though I was just a little Dude, I remember it fondly. Read it. It's awesomeness.
"Being that Marino was in just his second NFL season, opposing defensive coordinators still were searching for answers to his unique skill set. The conventional wisdom always is to attack a young quarterback, but Marino’s quick release and nimble feet, plus his rocket arm, plus his veteran’s savvy were making this strategy the football equivalent of juggling nitroglycerin – eventually, something was going to blow up in your face....Marino completed 66 percent of his passes and averaged 20 yards per completion, which translated into 421 yards and four touchdowns.... 'There was no way,' said Malone, 'that we were going to compete – or any team that year – was going to compete in a passing matchup with Dan Marino and the Marks Brothers.' "
That was the year, man. The year The Right Arm of God came into our lives and cemented his legacy forever.
Damn, I miss that shit.
(by the way, Mondesis House has the greatest Dan Marino pic ever! Gangsta!)