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<< Previous   of   Next >>   ADVERTISEMENT   ADDITIONAL ITEMS • University of Washington athletics (External Link)   CONTACT THE HERALD Report scores and results to 425-339-3470 or 1-866-6-SCORES (Call after 4:30 p.m.) E-mail information including items for Tuesday's Communities Sports Roundup and Thursday's Outdoor Calendar, to sports@heraldnet.com Kevin Brown, Sports Editor kbrown@heraldnet.com   Published: Friday, February 1, 2008 There's no Patriots' fever here Love of the unbeaten '72 Dolphins has me yelling: 'Go Giants!" By John Sleeper, Herald Writer I'm sure you saw the study. Research done by some group whose name slips my mind shows that we experience very definite patterns of happiness and depression according to our age. We're pretty darn happy in our 20s, gradually but steadily descend from there into our 30s and bottom out at age 44. From there, we steadily become happier as we enter our late 50s, continue giggling into our 60s and 70s and apparently are an unqualified scream by the time we expire. The group failed to speculate as to the reason, which is why I'm here. Given that this study was done recently, it's obvious. It's the hated New England Patriots -- as they relate to the 1972 Miami Dolphins. The undefeated Dolphins. My Dolphins. They were my faves and the faves of every right-thinking kid who grew up worshipping the original Star Trek, The Who and Raquel Welch. It's a sad saga. The '72 Dolphins likely don't mean much to those younger than 40 and older than 60. If you're younger than 40, you likely never saw them. If you're 60 and up, you didn't care because you probably had a life. The study says that those of us between 40 and 60, on the other hand, make up the most cheerless and melancholy humans walking the planet. Blame the Patriots, who should knock off the New York Giants Sunday, finish 19-0-0 and join the Dolphins as the NFL's only unbeaten teams. It's tough to stomach for us who loved the '72 Dolphins. Oh, I loved the Dolphins. Loved everything about them. Loved Larry Csonka, the human battering ram who refused to go down with fewer than four linebackers hanging on his back. Loved Eugene "Mercury" Morris, who outran everybody. Loved Bob Griese, the quarterback whom an obviously jealous buddy and Vikings fan referred to as "Greasy Bob." I loved all of them. Warfield. Langer. Kiick. Fernandez. Buoniconti. Scott. Anderson. Fleming. Yepremian, the kicker and seller of ugly neckties, whose shocking and comical pass attempt almost led to defeat in Super Bowl VII against the Redskins. Little. Moore. Foley. Kuechenberg. Shula, the great head coach. I could name the Dolphins' two-deeps on both sides of the ball, every special-teams member, the entire coaching staff and the whole ownership group. I remember that year, all right. Griese broke his right leg and dislocated his right ankle, missing 11 weeks. He was replaced by 38-year-old Earl Morrall. It didn't matter. The Dolphins pounded out 14 regular-season wins with Csonka crashing through the line, Morris running away from everyone, swing passes to Jim Kiick and a defense few knew anything about, thus dubbed the "No-Name Defense." I'll resist the temptation to compare the Dolphins and the Pats, mostly because I wouldn't like the result if I did. The '72 Dolphins played the third-easiest schedule in the modern era. Their opponents were 70-122, a .367 winning percentage. They didn't play a team with a winning record the entire regular season. I didn't care. Still don't. In the AFC Championship game, they beat the Steelers in Pittsburgh, when the Steelers were in their prime. Morrall couldn't move the offense in the second half, so in limped Griese, who directed two TD drives and a 21-17 win. Then they beat Washington, which, despite Miami's undefeated record, was the favorite in the game. As good as that team was, the 1973 Dolphins were probably better. They lost to Oakland 12-7 in Week 2 and to Baltimore 16-3 in Week 13. Still, they walked through the playoffs with a 34-16 victory over the Bengals and a 27-10 win over the Raiders. Then they swatted the Vikings 24-7 in the Super Bowl. They returned to the playoffs in 1974, but bowed out in what was called the "Sea of Hands" game, when Oakland's Ken Stabler, falling on his face with 24 seconds to play, lobbed a lame duck into the end zone. The ball sailed through three pairs of Dolphins' hands and into the arms of Clarence Davis for the winning TD. That signaled the end of that era. Csonka, Kiick and Warfield defected to the World Football League. Miami went 6-8 the following season, but won 10 or more games in four of the next five seasons. It wasn't the same, though. By then, I was off to college and was more concerned about passing the Anthro 101 final. I think it's like your first love. You never forget your first favorite team. We move on. We find other interests. Maybe we find another team in a different sport that intrigues us, but it's never the same. It's out of loyalty to my boyhood heroes that I'll root for the Giants Sunday. I don't expect they'll win. Fact is, I smell a blowout. And if that happens, I'll take it like the adult I am. Right after I hurl the guacamole bowl at the wall. Sports columnist John Sleeper: sleeper@heraldnet.com. For Sleeper[`]s blog, "Dangling Participles," go to www.heraldnet.com/danglingparticiples.

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