Don’t Pick With Heart in This Heartless Game

To all the teams I’ve loved before . . .

Ah, those charming Denver Broncos of the 1990 Super Bowl, so special. John Elway to Vance Johnson to eternity.

And those Buffalo Bills of 1991, those glorious unstoppable Bills. Jim Kelly, Thurman Thomas, obvious mismatch.

Who’ve traveled in and out my door . . .

Oh, how I embraced the San Diego Chargers of 1995, the soul of Bobby Ross, the heart of Stan Humphries, the upset of the century.

And, my, those New England Patriots of 1997, warrior Bill Parcells, hotshot Drew Bledsoe, it felt so right.

I’m sad it took so long, to dedicate this . . .

Aw, forget it. I always hated that tune. I’ll just fess up.

I’ve loved plenty of Super Bowl teams in the last decade.

But I’ve always loved the wrong ones.

For nine consecutive years, I have picked the wrong team to win.

Nine consecutive years of cackling like an expert, then pounding the floor like an idiot.

Nobody screamed at Joe Montana while wading through a living room filled with children’s toys in 1990 the way I did.

Nobody collapsed in a sobbing, mozzarella-sticks-encrusted heap in front of a fuzzy big-screen TV in Palm Springs when Scott Norwood missed his field goal in 1991 the way I did.

I still don’t know how Neil O’Donnell could have thrown those two perfect passes to Larry Brown in 1996.

I’m still amazed that Desmond Howard was able to run right up the stinking middle on a kick return in 1997.

And last year, when I finally picked against John Elway, he decides to make like helicopter and fly his team to victory?

I can’t and don’t bet, so the losses are not money, but pride.

I have been embarrassed in the newspaper. I have been embarrassed by radio people who publicly read the newspaper.

I have been embarrassed while watching the game with friends who, after four hours of giving me pitiful looks, politely say, “Well, how could anyone have known? . . “

I am the king of “How could anyone have known? . . “

Nine consecutive seasons, and a good reason for every one of them.

The 49ers were overconfident against the Broncos.

The Bills had a better lineup than the Giants and Redskins, and twice had more courage than the Cowboys.

The Chargers had the magic. The Steelers had the toughness. The Patriots had the smarts. The Packers had history.

As if I had a clue.

All those years of absolute certainty that the AFC would break an incomprehensible losing streak . . . then the one year it does, I decide the streak will last forever.

How could anyone have known.

My losing streak started after Montana led the 49ers over the Cincinnati Bengals with his last-minute drive in 1989.

I picked that one right. Whoopee. Everyone but Ickey Woods picked that one right.

I watched that last drive in awe and thought, so this is how it is. This is how Super Bowls are won. Not with statistics and trends, but with magic.

Since then, I have never predicted with my head, but my heart.

And I have learned that the Super Bowl is absolutely heartless.

It is not won with last-second sprints, but with extended pushes and shoves. It is not about quick inspiration, but quiet resilience.

Nobody wins because their coach is sick, or their wide receiver’s brother is in prison, or because the other team made fun of their mother.

The game is no different simply because it has been blabbed about for two weeks.

The game would be the same if it were played on the third Sunday in November with nobody watching.

The winner is the team that sticks its head down and makes the same precise, smart, boring plays it was making then.

If the Super Bowl were an Academy Award, it would not be best picture. It would be best screenplay. It would be the best dirty work.

All of which should make the identity of today’s Super Bowl winner clear.

I want to cheer for Atlanta Coach Dan Reeves and his quest to overcome heart surgery and heartbreak.

But Denver Coach Mike Shanahan is a better big-game boss, especially with two weeks to prepare for that game.

I like balding, disheveled Falcon Chris Chandler and his long struggle to the top.

But c’mon, in one game, you would take him over Elway?

I want to embrace Falcon Jamal Anderson with his fearless running and funky “Dirty Bird.”

But the Falcon defense has not seen anyone like Denver’s Terrell Davis.

Tony Martin and Terance Mathis are exciting and dangerous.

But the Broncos have three guys just like them.

Who would not cheer for Falcon kicker Morten Andersen, who is paying all the game expenses for the Indiana family that helped him when he was a poor foreign exchange student from Denmark 21 years ago?

But, uh, Jason Elam is the one with the 63-yard field goal.

I still want to pick the Falcons.

I still want to believe that fate can win over force, that giant believers can still slay giants.

I want to keep thinking that the true measure of any sports team is still something behind the uniform, something that beats large beneath those black-and-white ones from Atlanta.

But in nine years, I’ve learned my lesson.

Denver is the better team. Denver is the more experienced team. Shanahan will want to rub it in. You watch.

The ethical prediction here should be the Broncos by two touchdowns.

Over my dream-dead body.

I’m picking you, Atlanta.

Final score: 31-28.

I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at his e-mail address: bill.plaschke@latimes.com