They say it ain't over till the fat lady sings, but after Jacoby Jones' electrifying 108-yard touchdown return to kick off the second half put the Ravens up by 22, I was cranking a Mama Cass album and planning my outfit for the victory parade (bare midriff, lots and lots of sequins, whale tail). Then came the dark times. But I'm pretty sure that power outage was caused by the ghost of Art Modell. He ectoplasmed a transformer or something, then appeared in the Ravens' huddle and said, "Come on fellas, lets make it a show." And that show nearly 'effin killed me. As the once-mighty Ravens D lost Haloti Ngata and replaced him with an elite cadre of matadors, allowing Colin Kaepernick and the 49ers to sail back into the game, I lost faith, just like I did when the Ravens lost to the 4,738-year-old Charlie Batch in December and like I did when they had less than 40 seconds and 70 yards to go in Mile High. After Frank Gore's 33-yard run set up first and goal, the 49ers started draining the clock, and then they cut to that damned commercial that was so long it had its own commercial break (seriously, I would have beaten Paul Rudd to death using Seth Rogen's enormous Moai-like noggin had he been in the room), I was contemplating life as a guy whose team lost the Super Bowl. It wasn't pretty.