The game: Broncos at Patriots
The beer: Slumbrew Porter Square Porter
The result: Win, 45–10
The commentary: I’m sticking with the thumb-sucking theme, before and after versions. Again, these pictures weren’t taken on game day—it was really Monday at the mall—and in the second one she’s sporting the vacant stare of someone who wishes she hadn’t just taken her thumb out of her mouth. The void left behind projects a dim-wittedness I assure you isn’t there because she is the smartest baby but I like the inferred apprehension: “The Patriots played like world champions… against the Broncos.”

I actually missed the first few minutes of the game—I was so wrapped up in the amazing Saints/49ers fourth quarter and its postgame coverage that I didn’t switch over in time. I was under the impression the start of the second playoff game had to be held until the first was all-the-way over, due to the television contracts and the fat cats and all. But it wasn’t so horrible to be proven wrong as I switched to CBS in time to see Hernandez rip off a forty-yard run, followed immediately by the Welker touchdown. G. turned to me and said “That’s the game, I’m going to bed.” She was right—bedtime for her is usually 8:30 or 9:00.

I have to assume it was Josh McDaniels who came up with the Little White Guy Mix-Up plays on Sunday. Put Welker and Edelman next to each other on the line or make one of them trace the other’s route, sit back and watch the defense freak out when they can’t tell which is Welker. I loved it. Hopefully this is explored even further next year when the team makes Edelman change his number to thirteen or eighty-two.

Unfortunately the Slumbrew was just OK. I’d read about this Somerville-based brewery in one of Patriots Daily’s buffet spreads and filed it away to seek out. I should have known better—the label’s kinetic red sculpture, straight out of Porter Square itself, brought back memories of Cambridge’s… nay, the world’s… most evil parking lot. Narrow spaces! No left turn! Crosswalk! Trapped! I’m not sophisticated enough to provide more criticism than “it didn’t taste like much” (I’m quite certain that won’t be a problem tomorrow, to the tune of eleven percent alcohol) and I was disappointed. Various porters are among my favorite beers and removing flavor, pleasant or foul, seems as though it would require a major effort when producing this style. Anyway, it wasn’t nearly as bad as last January’s godforsaken altbier. But what could be?

I’ve complained an awful lot the past few months about the defense in general, the defense in specific terms and each individual personnel decision the team has made since 2006. I’m all set with that, at least until Belichick trades out of the first round—twice!—in April (or, you know, if Ray Rice, Torrey Smith and Anquan Boldin go apeshit tomorrow). The Patriots are in the AFC Championship and I expect them to win. Ed Reed might get his crazy athletic interception, Terrell Suggs and Ray Lewis might get a couple of bone-crunching sacks and Haloti Ngata might eat Ridley and Green-Ellis for an afternoon snack. But they can’t cover Welker and Gronkowski and Hernandez and Branch and Faulk (big game for him, I think), especially once Brady starts directing the no-huddle. Rice will give our appalling (sorry!) defense headaches even as they overcompensate in covering/shadowing him but Joeflacco’s moustache will have to play from behind for much of the game, and its sloppy trim job will grow more unkempt as the evening progresses. (Any or all of McCourty, Arrington and Ihedigbo will still find ways to look foolish.) (Sorry again!) Hopefully last week’s crowd shows up and honorary captains Troy Brown, Ty Law, Tedy Bruschi and Drew Bledsoe (I would like to have seen Ted Johnson, Lawyer Milloy or Willie McGinest, too) have big smiles on their faces as the Pats are awarded another Lamar Hunt Trophy. Final score: 30–24.

Up next: The Pats host the Ravens, and the winner moves on to face either the Giants or the 49ers in the Super Bowl. What year is this? Cheers!