Some week at the KNBR Morning Show. I don't know which was the more stunning image: 49ers owner Dr. John York standing up for a public mea culpa at the Mark Hopkins Hotel when he announced the hire of Mike Nolan, or the ferocity with which Morning Show producer Tony Rhein and assistant producer Patrick Connor attacked the lunch spread at the same news conference.

If you can judge the earnestness of York's apology to 49er fans by the glitz level of the news conference, York scores high: Four-star setting atop Nob Hill, and a sweet buffet in the back of the room that featured elaborate salads, sandwiches and cookies. Nothing says "Will You Forgive Me?" to sports media like a phenomenal spread at a press conference. York probably cannot estimate the goodwill he bought with that simple gesture, and by restocking the white chocoloate chip cookies throughout.

As for Tony and P-Conn . . . judging by the Everest-like pile of grub on their plate, it's time my partner Tim Liotta and I dig deeper and feed those lads after every show. It's like working with the orphans from "Oliver."

That's right, you've stumbled into another weekly dose of Murph's Musings, where we review, kick around, analyze and, yes, muse on another week at The Sports Leader.

(Side note: Does not the mere verb "to muse" put you in mind of Seinfeld's Kramer, who wondered aloud if George ever "yearned"? To yearn, and to muse, I would think, are cousins on the same family tree. Kramer, he yearned. Here, we muse.)

EXTREME MAKEOVER

You can no longer accuse Doc York of grossly mismanaging his football team -- at least until we see how he handles his business with Nolan. But in the past three weeks, York's furiously busy public offerings include:

-- Firing the deeply unpopular Terry Donahue.
-- Firing the poor sap of a fall guy Dennis Erickson.
-- Eating somewhere between $10 million to $15 million to do so.
-- Soldiering forward with a game plan: Coach first, GM second, criticism be damned.
-- Following through with a game plan to hire a coach with NFL experience and winning experience: Mike Nolan.
-- Standing up at the Mark Hopkins and, essentially giving a giant "My Bad" to 49ers fans everywhere.

What raised my eyebrows, as I stood in the back of the room hungrily eyeing the peanut butter cookies on the buffet table, was the direct nature of York's words. Among the quotes that stuck with me were: "We assure our fans we will take an aggressive approach to restore the roster" and "We understand our responsibilities" and "We are handing (Nolan) the 49ers, and we expect him to win." If you take away the bizarre Arkansas accent, the bad hair dye and about 8 inches of height, shoot, I could have sworn we were watching Eddie D. up there.

Now, York still must follow through on the promises to be "aggressive" about restoring the roster and about "understanding" the responsibilities. By that, I mean "aggressive" should not translate into idiotic overspending on free agents. It's been proven over and over that throwing dough at free agents is not the right way to go in today's cap-driven, parity-first NFL. It does mean you can spend, though, and not hermeutically seal your wallet, as York has done the past two years.

And by "understanding" the responsibility? I echo my many sportswriter colleagues from the past week who take that to mean: Mike Nolan knows football; you do not. Let Mike Nolan coach; let Mike Nolan handle his business with the personnel department; let Mike Nolan assemble his staff; and you just show up on Sunday afternoons to hand out victory handshakes and cigars in the locker room.

FEELING BARE

At this point, what's left to rip with York? Let's see:

-- Not hiring Pete Carroll? Sure, I'd bet Carroll was Candidate Numero Uno on York's list, but hey -- I wanted a Lindsay Lohan swimsuit poster for Christmas, and I didn't get my wish, either. We live in the world of reality, so we understand not all dreams come true. Once Carroll didn't work out, York didn't panic, went about the process and landed a guy who, quite frankly, had by far the best list of credentials and charisma of any choice. We won't know for 2 years, but Mike Nolan has the air and energy of a winner.

-- Jed York? Well, that ball is still in play, cynical friends. Until we can see that Jed York, prince-in-waiting, will handle his business in a professional and clinical and mature manner, we will remain suspicious about the role of a 23-year-old about whom we know nothing. Besides, it's sort of childishly fun to resent rich kids for no reason, isn't it? Let's face it. That's what the Jed Bashing is all about.

-- York's Hair? Tough to argue in favor it.

Sorry, Doc York. The public eye is a bitch, isn't it?

BEST FOOTBALL DAY OF THE YEAR

It used to be, January 1 took the cake. We had plaid-bedecked Lindsey Nelson and CBS from the Cotton Bowl in the morning; the glorious, unbeatable sunshine and pomp of the Rose Bowl in the afternoon; and flipping back and forth between the sweet sounds of Don Criqui at the Orange Bowl and the glare of indoor lights at the Sugar Bowl at night -- all four bowl games, one day, the best eight teams in the land -- and it was the finest day of football in America, period.

Now, that day has been folded, spindled and mutilated by the unseen force that seems to ruin everything good about American pop culture.

We fall back on the Next Best Day of Football: Conference Championship Sunday.

Mmmm. Games in home stadiums. Winner goes to the Super Bowl and two weeks of hype and glory, loser goes home feeling like the 2-14 49ers. Cold weather, condensed breath, you under a blanket enjoying Ruffles and onion dip in your living room . . . the best. The absolute best.

It's my argument that the Super Bowl can't measure up. Even though Super Bowl games have been taut and competitive since parity has taken hold, you're still talking about one game versus two, and a game played at a neutral site in front of corporate phoofs against a game played in front of passionate hometowners.

Nope, it's Conference Championship Sunday for me, any day.

This Sunday, under my onion-dip stained blanket, I foresee the following.

NFC: Too much inexperience from Atlanta, too much overdue intensity from the Eagles, too much Jeremiah Trotter and Jevon Kearse on the Philly defense, and too much you-win-or-we-go-Jonestown-on-you energy from Philly fans, who will absolutely NOT allow the Birds to lose at home again. Eagles win.

AFC: This one is simple. This is our third post-season in four years watching the Bill Belichick/Tom Brady Patriots, and if you have not learned by now that they are the most fundamentally sound, team-oriented, disciplined, intense, best-prepared playoff team since the Jimmy Johnson/Troy Aikman Cowboys, then you haven't been watching. You've been eating too much onion dip. With a rookie QB and Pittsburgh's shaky, shaky win over the Jets, this one goes to the Pats, even in Steel City. New England wins.

BATTLE TO THE DEATH

Almost forgot! My partner and I continue our Murphy-Liotta PGA Tour Fantasy League Battle to the Death (MLPGATFLBTD, for the acronym-lovers). Last week's Sony Open was a yawner for us: My pick, Briny Baird, must have had a bad macadamia nut milkshake on Friday night, as his 73 on Saturday derailed a sure money-maker of a tourney. Baird settled for a tie-42nd, and won Team Murphy a scant $16,800. Thanks for the effort, big guy. Would it kill you to make a putt, buddy? (We're all about tough love at the Musings.)

Meanwhile, at least Baird made it to the weekend. Liotta's pick, Jerry Kelly, went 74-71, missed the cut by a mile, and finished just four shots ahead of a 15-year-old girl. They sometimes call a Missed Cut, or an MC, an "MC Hammer" on Tour -- clever guys, those Tour players -- so we inaugurated a Morning Show tradition of serenading Liotta's pick with a little "Can't Touch This" last Monday. Nothing like hearing from a baggy-pantsed rapper before 8 a.m. on your commute. Good stuff. Anyway, the standings after two weeks: Murphy: $228,133.34...Liotta: $110,000. Just the way I like it.

This week at Torrey Pines, the Buick Invitational features the world's top-four ranked players -- Vijay, Tiger, Ernie, Phil -- but neither Liotta nor I was seduced by the bright lights.

My pick: Hometown lad Chris Riley, who was in a three-man playoff at last year's Buick Invitational.

Liotta's pick: The rock-solid Luke Donald, who was also in that three-man playoff at last year's Buick Invitational.

As I write this on Friday afternoon, and as Riley flirts with missing the cut while Donald is in the top-10, I'm just going to put my laptop down and sneak quietly out of the room. Shhhh! Don't tell anyone.

E-mail Brian Murphy at bmurphy@knbr.com.

Click here to return to the KNBR Morning Show page