Amidst all the chatter Tuesday of 16-and-0 and the '72 Dolphins and whether or not Tony Dungy should rest the starters if given the chance, something is being overlooked.  Something small, but nonetheless significant.    

That "something" is the 5'9" bunker-buster residing in the Colts' secondary.

Make no mistake, Monday night’s systematic dismantling of the Steelers contained
about 8,000 separate and distinct causes for excitement among Colts fans, each
deserving of their own separate and distinct analyses.  There was Marvin’s utterly
demoralizing “f--- you” touchdown right out of the gate, a kill-shot for the ages.  There
was the defensive line, in all their undersized glory, validating the Dungian defensive
philosophy.  There was Edgerrin, per usual, quietly sidestepping his way toward Canton,
six hard-fought-yards at a time.  There was Tourette Glenn, per unusual, drawing only a
single false start.  There was Marvin again, unleashing his inner Ike Turner on a stunned
Ike Taylor, silencing all finesse-related criticisms in the process.  And of course, there
was Peyton.   

But in terms of sheer “Oh-my-God-we’re-going-to-win-the-Super-Bowl” moments of catharsis, nothing matched the glorious
destructiveness of Bobby Boucher Sanders.

Never mind the fact that Sanders actually picked
up Cedric Wilson—Thunderlips-style—and
violently DDT’d him into the field turf.  I mean,
sure…it was fun, it sent a message, and it
conjured up images of how Blade might
dispose of a ball-carrier.  But beyond that, it
didn’t have a profound impact on the destiny
of this team.  Not like his heat-seeking
obliteration of Willie Parker only moments
later.

To set the scene, the Steelers—facing a third-and-seven—ran Parker out wide on a sweep.  With nothing but open space and a wall of blockers in front of him, a first down seemed inevitable, a 25-yard gain seemed likely.  Then, a quick flash of light and Parker was lying on his neck, well short of the first down.  I was dumbstruck, as was most of
the television-watching audience.  (Understand, if you were at the game, you might have noticed the vapor trail streaking towards Parker's kneecaps...you might have even been anticipating the meteorite-like collision.  But for those of us not in attendance, we saw nothing that could have prepared us for what was coming.  Like I said, the only thing
we saw was a vague blur...and then Parker was doing his hilarious impersonation of a quadriplegic getting tossed out of a moving truck.  Seriously, that was it, that's all we saw.)  Instantly, we started asking questions like “What the f--- just happened?” and
"Is that guy alive?"  Really—and this isn't a joke—it was like watching the Zapruder Film in real time: we didn't see the actual bullet...only its destructive impact. 

And the impact was profound. 

In the span of about 15 yards and 0.0038 seconds, Sanders violently streaked into stardom and altered the national perception—and the overall persona—of this team. 
In years past, Parker takes that same handoff and rattles off a large gain.  On Monday night?  Parker takes that handoff and gets mown down by an anger-filled V-8 Buick. 

Big difference there.

Am I blowing this out of proportion?  Am I over-exaggerating the meaningfulness of Sanders' bad-ass-ness?  No, not really.  Actually, as to the public perception of the Colts—the perception that this team is no longer soft—I've probably underestated his role.  And here's why: watching the game in my basement, Sanders' hit on Parker
caused my very pregnant, very distracted, and very caucasian wife to sit up and blurt out a
very uncharacteristic "Gaaaawd DAMN!"  (Think Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction.)  Truthfully, had she simply stood up and given birth right there on the couch, I would have been no less shocked.  I mean, here's a person who isn't a football fan, who refers to Reggie Wayne as Bruce Wayne, and who was about 10 minutes removed from a
full-blown Braxton-Hicks contraction.  And yet, despite her immense disinterest in the game, Sanders' hit struck a chord with her; it caused an involuntary, outward reaction—a
reaction that just seemed so foreign coming from someone with a J. Crew catalogue in their hands.  Better yet, it was her first non-cheerleader-related comment during a Colts game.  Ever.  The point of all this?  You didn't have to be a die-hard Colts fan to appreciate the utter destructiveness of Bob Sanders on Monday night.  You didn't even have to be a football fan.  All you had to do was see it.  And people did.     

And what about Sanders' impact on the Colts' persona?  How can his presence not affect them?  Finally, the Colts have a player who opposing offenses legitimately fear.  Personally speaking, my only other experience with this is through "Tecmo Bowl" Lawrence Taylor, the most dominating defensive presence this world has ever known. 
I fully understand what it's like to have to scan the field—prior to the snap—searching for
the one guy who might permanently cripple my
running back.  And conversely, I know what it's like
to have That Guy on my team, to know that my
opponent is terrified of him.  Anyone who has ever
played with "Tecmo Bowl" LT knows that feeling. 
It's empowering.  And addictive.  Your defensive
goals change: three-and-out's and turnovers aren't
the main objective anymore.  Rather, you become
fixated on causing the virtual ambulance to roll out
onto the field in order to cart off Steve DeBerg or
Willie Gault or whoever it is that's carrying the ball.
Simply put, That Guy boosts your team's thirst
for violent destruction. 

Bob Sanders has officially become That Guy.

He—and not Dwight Freeney—has become the
motor of this Colts defense. (And while that debate
needs its own article, just know this: Freeney's been
here since 2002, back when the Colts were rewriting
the book on how to give up points and doing their all to put Chad Pennington into the
Hall of Fame.  So there you go.  Do with it what you will.)  In short, Sanders plays defense like no other player in Colts history: he's one part William Wallace, one part Boba Fett, and 17 parts ruthless vengeance.  Add to that his ability to lay the wood like a coked-up
Dirk Diggler, and what do you get?

Some serious cause for excitement.

And a ticket to the Super Bowl.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
What About Bob?
Bobby Boucher...the only player in NCAA history with 16 sacks in a game.
Please sign our petition to make this picture the official seal for the state of Indiana.
What About Bob?