Sunday, January 29, 2012

Kids Say the Darnedest Things


I hunted and gathered quarters from the wine bottle change jar to go get a Sunday Washington Post out the paper machine in town, because I love those samurai sudoku's, but there's something real about doing it on paper than cyberbotting it... no asking for answers or getting lead along by robots, just you and your stupid brain.
Anyways, the Sunday sports section had a remembrance of the Redskins' last Super Bowl victory, which was 20 years ago. And the following conversation occurred on my couch as I looked at this:

me: Ahh yes, when the Redskins were champions.
my oldest kid (nearly 13): When was that?
me: 20 years ago.
my kid: At least you were alive for it.

And I chuckled the sad laugh of a man that knows deep down in his heart that this may very well be the last championship I know during my lifetime as a Redskins fan. Sadly, that was my freshman year of college, so I had discovered doing acid on weekday afternoons and having long-term sexually active relationships with crazy women, thus I'm not even sure I watched that Super Bowl. Oh well. There is always next year...

Monday, January 23, 2012

The Ghosts Have Company Now

Sneak Preview of The Elder Scrolls VI: K'andl'stikk (look, I need the laugh right now)

To be a San Francisco 49er fan is to live in the past. Even this season, the first time in ten that living in the now has been worthwhile, and even kinda fun. But the past is sacrosanct. What the 49ers used to be is the cherished memory of this fan base, and the envy of all others [well, maybe not Pittsburgh and Dallas; they're pretty even]. So every fleeting success of the modern edition of the 49ers is invariably measured against 49er history, because they seem to exist concurrently. Even as Vernon Davis made his game winning catch against New Orleans last week, in the same north end zone of the same old relic that is Candlestick Park, running virtually the same route as Terrell Owens ran to beat Green Bay 13 years ago, a 49er fan could immediately see the phantom of Owens, running alongside him, grabbing the ball and taking the hit at the goal line at the same moment as Davis did, and Joe Starkey's radio call which consisted of him screaming OWENS! OWENS! OWENS! over and over again drowned out the FOX broadcasters of today (a blessing in its own right). And, as was proven yesterday, even the heartbreaking losses seem to be but echoes of what has come before.













Last Friday, January 20th, was 21 years to the exact day that the 49ers' bid for a Super Bowl Three-Peat fell agonizingly short. The Scene? Candlestick Park. The Game? NFC Championship. The Opponent? The New York Giants. The defeat? Roger Craig made a costly and uncharacteristic fumble late in a close game, which the Giants parlayed into a field goal that won the game. As a little kid, innocent of real problems in the world and knowing no worse cruelty than seeing a favorite sports team that happens to be the best team in its sport that you've come to expect to see win and depend on winning, losing, I cried. That loss felt apocalyptic, even in the moment. It got worse when the Giants went on to win the Super Bowl that year. It got worse again in the months to come, when Roger Craig and Ronnie Lott were not retained, making that loss their last game in a 49er uniform. It was also effectively Joe Montana's last game as a 49er, too; the injury he sustained at the hands of Leonard Marshall (may he rot in Hell next to Hitler, Tim MacVeigh, and the guy who invented telemarketing) caused St. Joe to miss all of 1991, forcing the team to commit to go forward with the younger Steve Young as QB. Montana would get one swan song at home in the 2nd half of the season finale, mopping up against a beaten Detroit Lions team in 1992. He would throw his final TD pass as a 49er to the otherwise unmemorable Amp Lee. He would sit unsummoned on the bench as they lost another NFC championship game, this time to Dallas, my pleading for him to enter the game and save the day, future be damned, may as well have been silent. He would be traded in April of 1993. I've forgotten who they got in return and I don't even care, anyway.


So really, yesterday could've been a lot worse. This year's 49er team was a pleasant surprise, an endearing overachiever that put a finger in the eye and a knee in the scrotum of nouveau football fans everywhere, who have no true soul-bond with any team but draw their knowledge of the sport from FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY and from fantasy football, who follow stats without understanding their deeper significance, and who wanted to watch Drew Brees play 60 minutes of pinball with Aaron Rodgers and put up a basketball score. The 49ers took that away from those people, and then lost narrowly to their co-conspirator New York the following week. This was not a shocking upset of a juggernaut, and it certainly wasn't the doomsday end of a dynasty. Still, I almost have to laugh at the absurdity of how yesterday's game played out. It was a conference championship game, at home, against the Giants, and it was lost on a fumble that led directly to a field goal. Kyle Williams is not as beloved as Roger Craig, and most likely never will be now, but now they will sit together on the ghost-bench that occupies the same space as the now empty real bench on Candlestick's home sideline. Roger possibly even has a consoling hand on his shoulder, reminding him to buck up, and at least he'll get a chance at redemption next season and that fumble won't be the last thing he did in the uniform (at least, it shouldn't be. Dire as his failures as backup Punt Returner may be, they truly can't afford to lose him as a wide receiver, as they are comically thin at the position and he's the one wideout who actually holds onto the ball consistently when its thrown at him).

Just not when its kicked to him, apparently.

21 years later, I'm a grown-ass man (mostly) and I'm not going to cry over a football game when there's real shit like taxes and death and debt and jobs that are underpaid and psychically unfulfilling. Not to mention the creeping corporatization of everything in America that threatens all our souls (in which the NFL is not only complicit but integral). Hell, I don't even hate this Giants team. There's no LT, or Leonard Marshall, or Bill Parcells, or any real villain worthy of contempt. There's just the Cruz kid who likes to salsa dance in the endzone and he's kinda fun to watch. And the good quarterback who plays well yet is forever overshadowed by someone who has QBed before him -- his older brother, in this case -- and really, we can sympathize with a guy like that. Once again, Then exists alongside Now and its hard not to see a sliver of Steve Young and what we 49er fans put him through even AFTER he finally won a Super Bowl. Besides, New York's opponent will once again be New England, Quarterbacked by a man born and raised in 49er Country who threatens a 4th Super Bowl ring, and to thus invariably draw comparisons to St. Joe, and with a 4th they'll start casting him as an equal. Some heretics will even start calling him better. The Giants only beat 49er present; the Patriots threaten to tie 49er Past and thus they must be destroyed. Kinda ironic to have to lean on the Giants as indirect defenders of that legacy -- again -- but there it is.


So, onto the goat, Kyle Williams. Predictably, 49er fans are pissed at the convenient scapegoat, and pinning the loss on him. He made the fatal fumble on a punt return, after all. He also caused momentum to shift the Giants way by muffing an earlier punt because he didn't think to get way the fuck away from a bouncing ball that he had already decided not to try and catch. He nearly coughed up the ball two other times, once was again as a punt returner as he made an ill-advised dive to catch one. Again, as WR, on a double reverse attempt that was pitched (poorly) by Kendal Hunter, although Williams deserves some props for wrestling that one away at the bottom of a scrum and preserving it. Williams also only had 1 catch for 4 yards that was wiped out when the 49ers opted to accept the Illegal Contact penalty called on the play and thus get one more yard. All in all, a shitty day for Kyle.

My Exact Thoughts Were: "Poor Kyle 'you stupid motherfucker!' Williams."

But its not his fault, really. Williams as Punt Returner has been a misadventure for a couple of months. He should not have been back there. Coach Jim Harbaugh, who otherwise has done a tremendous and un-reproachable job this season, can count this as his one failing. Williams had a muff against Pittsburgh that could've done to that game what it did to yesterday's, except the referee ruled he hadn't touched the ball (and there were 49ers in the area who fell on the ball just in case) even though again, Williams was wandering way too close to a ball he was letting bounce. He got injured and missed a game returning a kickoff against Seattle, and losing him as a WR hampered the already-challenged 49er passing game even further. Dude is star-crossed when it comes to returns, and he's the back-up to Ted Ginn anyway. Harbaugh and his Special Teams assistant should not have been married to keeping Williams back there, they ignored his struggles at their own peril, and that peril came at last. Kendal Hunter filled in when Williams got hurt. Delanie Walker was the return man under Singletary. Either of these guys could've gone into the game and while they wouldn't have gotten far with the ball, past performance suggests they'd have held on to it better than Kyle. Kyle's more valuable as a receiver, anyway. Hopefully next year they have him focus exclusively on doing that. Don't put him back their on punts anymore and for God's sake don't heed the idiots calling up sports talk demanding his release.

3rd String Running Back Anthony Dixon, shown consoling his teammate. NOT SHOWN:
His internal monologue of "put me back to return punts, shiiit, I ain't doin nothing else
anyway and at least I can hold on to the damn ball."


11 out of the 12 best teams in the NFL have a shitty end to their season. Today the 49ers are merely one of them, sitting alongside Houston, Baltimore, New Orleans, and Green Bay, which is pretty good company all things considered. "How Far Have They Come?" and "How Far Do They Still Have To Go?" We have all off-season to answer.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Dolphins Watch: Fuck it, I'm hopping off the bandwagon




Being a sports fan in Wisconsin who doesn't like the Wisconsin teams, picking favorite teams can be a difficult challenge. I'm here to say I picked wrong. And, since I am a sports fan nomad at heart, I reserve the right to change my mind. I reached a breaking point with the Dolphins today, and am officially jumping off the bandwagon. Let me explain.

The Dolphins announced the three finalists for their head coaching job recently. On the list is interim coach Todd Bowles, who may not actually be able to speak. Also on the list is Denver Broncos offensive coordinator Mike McCoy, who learned at the knee of Dan Henning and who is basically just riding the wave of Tim Tebow success to several job interviews, and Green Bay Packers offensive coordinator Joe Philbin, who is basically riding the wave of Aaron Rodgers being the best quarterback in the NFL and the team being just absolutely stacked on offense all the way around.

Not on the list is Cincinnati Bengals coordinator Mike Zimmer who, despite being friendly with general manager Jeff Ireland, was never considered a serious candidate, reports have it, because he is “too outspoken.” This is code for “if things go wrong, Zimmer is going to say something about it.” And, as we've learned from following the Dolphins lately, owner Stephen Ross and Ireland want a yes man more than a good football mind. Ireland has Ross completely snowed that he is doing a great job and it is up to the coach to put together a winning product on the field.

Reality is, what the Dolphins are is the worst thing you can be in sports. The Indianapolis Colts might be bad, but they have hope. You feel like if they draft Andrew Luck and add some pieces around him, that is a team that could turn things around rather quickly. What the Dolphins are is too good to be bad enough to get a guy like Luck in the draft, and too bad to make the playoffs and make any type of run at the Super Bowl. They are perfectly mediocre.

Which, that alone is no reason to abandon a team. The real problem is that Stephen Ross is the worst owner in professional sports. He is treating this ownership like just another business venture for him. For some reason, he's listening to Ireland and leaning on him, when reality is, Ireland is simply over his head and doing a mediocre job. This was a case where sweeping changes had to be made. What happened in Indy is what should have happened in Miami. Instead, they're going to hire McCoy or Philbin and we'll be right back to this same spot three years from now, with Ireland and the coach on the outs and the team in dire need of another change in direction.

But Ross couldn't really be bothered to care about that. He's more worried about stuff like Club Live. So when the very top of the organization doesn't care, why should the fan base? I see this not as being a fair weather fan, but rather making a statement about my dissatisfaction for the state of things. Everyone who goes to Miami treats it like a retirement home or a cool place to hang out. I happen to think sports are serious business, because I have asperger's and I am unflinchingly rigid about the things I believe being true. So fuck the Dolphins, and fuck everything I wrote about them on this here site in the past. I am still an idiot, but at least I will now be an idiot rooting for a team with some actual direction.

So I will take you through the thought process I underwent to find a new team. I examined my past sports loyalties and realized that the only sports team I do not want to abandon is the Los Angeles Clippers. I have been a Clippers fan since I was seven years old, because they have almost always sucked and I love rooting for teams that suck because if they ever get good you can say “told you so,” and if they never get good, well, no one can accuse you of hopping on their bandwagon just because they are good. So the Clippers had to stay.

So I sought out a town that has a football team and a baseball team, preferably a National League baseball team. That narrowed it down to Pittsburgh, St. Louis, Cincinnati and San Diego, right off the bat. Well, my friend Kevin DiFrango is a Pittsburgh fan, so they are out. Despite sharing a name with him, Dusty Baker is my least favorite person in baseball, so they are out. And St. Louis is coming off a World Series, and the Rams just hired Jeff Fisher, who I think is a weiner. So hello San Diego!

In baseball, I have always preferred small market teams who develop prospects and look for bargains to fill out their roster. My designated American League team is and always will be the A's, so the Padres definitely fit the bill since they are basically the National League version of the A's. But what of the Chargers? Let's take a look there.

Their owner, Dean Spanos, did something Stephen Ross hasn't done and will never do. He showed tremendous vision for the upcoming season. And the beauty part is, he did it by doing nothing. If Kenny Rogers taught us anything in this crazy mixed up world, it is that you need to know when to hold 'em, and know when to fold 'em. Spanos knew now was a time to hold 'em. He looked at his team and said, “We're not that far from contending. If we can get Antonio Gates and Malcolm Floyd to stay healthy, if we can add some playmakers on defense, we can maybe get to the Super Bowl.” Sometimes the right thing to do is nothing at all. I applauded the Texans last offseason for not firing Gary Kubiak and they proved me right by making it into the playoffs despite being on their 832nd quarterback. I think the Chargers mindset here is, let's give this one more shot, and then if it doesn't work, if we are mediocre again, then we can make the changes everyone is clamoring for.

They are in perfect position to make the playoffs next year. No one in the AFC West is really that inspiring. The Chiefs feel like a mediocre, 8-8 type team. The Raiders are in transition and paid way way too much for Carson Palmer, and that might end up crippling them and ultimately undermining their attempts to contend. And as for the Broncos, I can't help but feel the longer Tim Tebow sticks around, the more teams are going to figure him out and be able to stop him. He sort of strikes me as a better, much more hyped up religious Mike McMahon. McMahon had that great game against the Packers because the Pack had no idea what to expect from him, and then almost immediately thereafter McMahon became the second worst quarterback of the last 15 years behind only Ryan Leaf.

So the door is definitely wide open for the Chargers. And I feel comfortable hopping on their bandwagon since they are not *so * good that I will get snide looks from sports snobs who hate that I jumped ship in the first place. Philip Rivers is on the cusp of becoming an elite quarterback. I feel like he is at the very top of the second tier of quarterbacks in the league, right behind guys like Rodgers, Tom Brady, the Mannings, Drew Brees and whoever. As I said earlier, if the team can stay healthy, and they can avoid their notorious slow starts, they could very well make the playoffs next season, and we all know, anything can happen in the NFL playoffs, since it's just a bunch of one game sample sizes.

Plus, I get to root for a team coached by Norv Turner one of the most notorious coaches in football. It seems like he is always on the hotseat, but he manages to keep his job year after year. I think he's actually a good coach, and I think the team has an actual vision for success, both for this year and into the future. If they miss the playoffs again, then they can fire Norv and hit the reset button. I appreciate the thought that stability matters in this league, since I'm not a big coaching guy in the first place. I don't think bringing in Savior Guy, whether it be Jeff Fisher or Jon Gruden or whoever, is the answer. Having a well run organization with true vision is what matters the most.

The Dolphins? They don't have that. If ever there was a time to fold 'em, to make wide sweeping organizational changes, this was it. Instead, they were content to make Tony Sparano the fall guy and otherwise maintain status quo. How are McCoy and Philbin any different than Cam Cameron? He had a pretty impressive resume as an assistant coach too, and that led to one of the worst seasons in NFL history. This is a team that is not only going nowhere, but seems perfectly content to continuing doing so. So while I will continue to listen to 790 The Ticket podcasts and be Dan LeBatard's biggest fan, I can't stand being a Miami fan anymore. So fuck you if you think what I'm doing is wrong and breaks the sports fan code of ethics. I feel like I'm making a stand here by doing this, and besides, I was going to swallow a bullet if I had to put up with that nonsense any longer. So goodbye Miami, hello Norv Turner and San Diego, and yes, I'm sticking with this. God help me.

PS. Return of the Killer Tomatoes was filmed in San Diego, and that is the best movie ever made. So, fate.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Dolphins Watch: In lieu of actual vision, steal someone else's



It's been a while, but I'm back with style...

When I last wrote for this here site, the Dolphins were well on their way to sucking for Andrew Luck. Boy how things change. By the end of the season, they revealed themselves for what they were: a mediocre team with some good pieces who isn't going to go anywhere as long as Chad Henne and Matt Moore are stationed at quarterback.

So how do they turn things around? Well, Matt Barkley did them no favors by staying in school. By the time it comes the Dolphins turn to pick in the upcoming draft, Luck will be long gone. Robert Griffin III will likely be gone as well, since with Barkley gone, he's the clear number two guy and is worth taking a shot at if you are, say, the Redskins or whatever. Once again, it seems like the Dolphins will be left out in the cold in the never ending hunt for Dan Marino's replacement.

What they really need to do is get bold. They should go out and get Peyton Manning. See, everyone likes to say, “Oh, how great will it be for the Colts, they can draft Andrew Luck and have him learn under Peyton!” The problem with that is, Luck is the most starting-ready quarterback to come along since Peyton. So they'd really just be wasting their time operating under that scenario. They should focus on trying to get what they can for Peyton and moving on from there.

Now, if I'm the Dolphins, I'd be willing to give up a king's ransom to get Manning. And yes, I understand saying “king's ransom” makes me the most elderly person in the history of ever. This is a team that cannot develop their own quarterbacks. They don't have the vision to go out there and draft one, and they historically don't have the coaching to build one from the ground up. The Dolphins never show any true vision, so why not steal someone else's vision?

They just got made to look like fools (for the second year in a row) by helicoptering Jeff Fisher in and then not getting a deal done with him. My problem with that from the beginning is that Fisher was a bad choice. He only had six winning seasons in 17 years for the Titans. What gave him the right to want personnel control in the first place? He's just another in a long line of Big Name Guys that the Dolphins wanted to bring in, which would have led to the same inevitable mediocre result. But I'm trying to get over Bill Parcells, so I won't mention him by name here. Oops.

I am advocating hiring Jim Caldwell to be the new head coach, and trading for Peyton Manning to be the new starting quarterback. Why not? How is it any worse than any of the past ten years, barring perhaps the lonely singular playoff year they had with Chad Pennington at the helm before his arm fell off? I'm one who thinks that coaching is a very overrated cathedral. Bill Belichick was a terrible coach in Cleveland. He didn't suddenly get better when he went to New England. He suddenly got Drew Bledsoe and Tom Brady. What we've seen lately with the Patriots is a team that has won one playoff game since 2007 because Genius Belichick has failed time and again in building up a proper defense. This weekend you're going to see wide receiver Julian Edelman and a man in a wheelchair line up at cornerback for them.

So if coaching doesn't matter all that much, why not Caldwell? He looked like a pretty darn good coach up until his quarterback went down. Plus, he's black and the NFL likes it when you hire minorities. But more importantly, if you're going to acquire Peyton, he's the head coach anyway. Just as Michael Jordan was the head coach of the Bulls all those years they were winning championships. You think Phil Jackson was really giving him orders, other than like, “Yeah! Dunk that basketball!” I think not. The benefit here is, you're grabbing someone Peyton is already comfortable with, to help ease the transition of him going to a new team.

Because Peyton Manning, at 36 years old, isn't going to want to go to just any scenario in the NFL, just so he can keep starting football games. He's not Brett Favre. But he likes it in Miami. Dan LeBatard said he once spotted Peyton riding a ten speed around downtown Miami. It's a hella good place to retire, too. And you gotta believe someone like Peyton, if he does indeed land somewhere else for next season, that's it for him. This is his final team. So why not acquiesce to him and make the transition as smooth as possible. Don't force any old coach on him. Get him one he's used to working with. Like I said, he's calling the shots anyway.

Oh, and that king's ransom I mentioned? How about this as a starting point: Your first round pick, $20 million to cover that gigantic signing bonus you promised him, and the Colts' choice of Jake Long, Vontae Davis or Cam Wake, the three biggest difference makers the team has right now. Any of them are worth losing in order to go out and finally get that quarterback. And even if it is only a couple year rental, it's worth every penny. Getting Peyton Manning would finally represent some measure of hope for a stagnant franchise. Keep in mind, I'm not in favor of making changes for change's sake. I don't believe bringing in, say, Matt Flynn of the Green Bay Packers just to say you brought in a new QB would be an effective decision. Flynn is very much like Elvis Grbac in my mind. He played on a team where all the pieces worked together like a well oiled machine, and if you plug him in there, of course he's going to look impressive. Put him on a lesser team and he's not going to be as good.

But if you put Peyton Manning on a mediocre-to-decent team like the Dolphins, all of a sudden there is hope. All of a sudden they are a playoff contender. There are enough pieces on this team right now where adding Peyton would make them legit. Reggie Bush had his best year as a pro, and Daniel Thomas looks like a solid runner as well. Brandon Marshall and Davone Bess are at least as good as Reggie Wayne and the shopping carts with mannequin arms Manning had to work with in Indianapolis. If the Phins could draft a tight end in the second or third round, that offense would really be cooking.

Dolphins fans have been saying all year they are a quarterback away from being a playoff contender. Well, that's easier said than done. There aren't that many elite quarterbacks out there right now. Aaron Rodgers, Drew Brees, Eli Manning, guys like that. And as I said, with the two best available guys in the draft almost certain to be gone by the time they pick, that isn't really an option either. But Peyton is absolutely one of those guys, and when the opportunity presents itself to get one of those guys, you have to go all out and do everything you can to make it happen.

The alternative is starting the season with Matt Moore behind center, and the eighth pick of the first round lining up at right tackle. Same as it ever was, as the Talking Heads might say.

By the way, I hope the Jets fans enjoy Tony Sparano. He is a good person, with a tremendous accent and an affinity for the word “hey,” but if you think he represents any sort of improvement over Brian Schottenheimer, well you are taking a long walk off Shorty Delusion Cliff. Or something. I have no idea what I am saying at this point.

Monday, January 16, 2012

2011 Chicago Bears Post Season Awards - The Bad.

The Showcase of the Immortals.

 The Fruit Stripe Gum Award for Biggest Disappointment goes to...



Chris Harris, S. Man, up until Jay Cutler's thumb injury sending the team on an excruciating death-slide, this had to be the most heart-breaking part of 2011 for me. Last year, Harris was the man, the most clutch of clutch players, and the secret reason for the Bears defense actually earning their big reputation for the first time in years. This year? He was injured, then he sucked, then he became a Detroit Lion, then he presumably kept sucking over there. And all of this lead to at least a week or so of the kind of godawful safety-reshuffling that he came in and put a stop to in 2010. So instead of having at least one spot locked down in a solid-ass way for the next three-to-five years, it's back to more trial-and-error with and endless string of rookies. From Mike Green to Todd Johnson to Brandon McGowan to Chris Harris to Adam Archuleta to Kevin Payne to Al Afalava to Chris Harris to Major Wright and it goes on and on and on, it's Heaven and Hell.
Honorable Mention: Gabe Carimi, OT.
Past Winner: 2010 - Devin Aromashodu, WR.


The Jerry Angelo Memorial Award for Biggest Stupid Waste of Money goes to...


(TIE) Roy Williams, WR and Brandon Meriweather, S. I had to make up a new award for these two guys, because I was going to just throw them up in a tie for biggest disappointment, but really, can you actually be disappointed by two guys whose failure was basically a sure thing from the start? Roy Williams hasn't been any good since 2006, and he really never was all that good before that. He was a disappointment in Detroit, a joke in Dallas, and not much more than an annoyance in Chicago. I know I've beaten that dead horse into an indistinguishable pile of horse-dust at this point, but for Christ's sake, the Bears had to pretend that he was a starter all year, putting him in on the first snap and then yanking as soon as possible, to keep their stupid, soon-to-be-gut-punched offensive coordinator happy. He was just a symptom of every Larger Issue, ever. As for Meriweather, anyone who knew anything could have told the front office that this guy wasn't going to work out. I mean sure, he did make two Pro Bowls, but then again, Deangelo Hall had just made one, so how much does that mean anymore? If they had just stopped and thought maybe the Patriots -  an established winning team for like a decade now - might have had some reason for cutting the dude loose after watching him for four years and one full preseason, this could have all been avoided. But no, he got a few more million dollars, and the Bears got a shitty head-hunting safety who couldn't even hunt heads well. But he sure did provide big-name depth as the number five safety behind Winston Venable and Anthony Walters, I guess.
Honorable Mention: Chris Spencer, C/G.
Theoretical Past Winners: 2010 - (TIE) Brandon Manumaleuna, TE and Chester Taylor, RB. 2009 - Frank Omiyale, OT.


The George Blanda Award for Ex-Bear of the Year goes to...



Greg Olsen, TE, Carolina Panthers. So, you fancy yourself having a high-powered, fancy passing offense. Alright, so who are your receivers? A bunch of kick returners, Earl Bennett, a bunch of bullshit, and Roy Williams? Wait, so your top receiver is a running back who's also going to have to carry the ball twenty times a game? Ooh, not good. Oh, but don't forget, this is 2011 in the National Football League, and this is the Year of the Tight End. This shall be a full seventeen week festival of records being broken and games being won by the new breed of fast, athletic, sure-handed tight ends. And you've got one right there in Greg Olsen, primed and ready to take advantages of mismatched linebackers and cornerbacks a full foot shorter than he is. Wait, what's that? Your offensive coordinator who's already turned down a contract extension doesn't like tight ends, because they're not what he used in 1999? And you traded him to the Panthers? Ha ha, oh man, ha ha hahaha, that's a good one, ha ha ho ho, haha ha. Wait, you're serious, and that really happened? Fuck.
Honorable Mention: Mark Anderson, DE, New England Patriots
Past Winner: 2010 - Brandon Lloyd, WR, Denver Broncos.

The Brian Piccolo Memorial Award for Gritty, Hard-Working Fan Favorite of the Year goes to...


(TIE) Dane Sanzenbacher, WR and Tyler Clutts, FB. This was a banner year for the white man in Chicago. Not only did the team decide to continue their "eh, just throw whoever's cheap back there" policy at fullback with Aryan warrior Tyler Clutts, but they also grabbed a slow, shitty white wide receiver - the ultimate kind of football player in the eyes of the Chicago fan base - and even let him play in actual games this time. Sanzenbacher was the sensation of the first quarter of the season, with his habit of constantly dropping passes and not having a chance in hell of seeing any major playing time once Earl Bennett was back being completely ignored, as pork-fed Type 2 diabetics everywhere found their new Tom Waddle. Meanwhile, Clutts was possibly even worse than the bullshit fullbacks this team has had to endure over the last decade or so, (although oddly enough, the closest to an actual good one was Greg goddamned Olsen) and used his stunning accidental elusiveness to funnel defenders directly into Matt Forte and Marion Barber more often than not. Sometimes, you have to just look past "grit and determination" or whatever, and just use guys that are actually good at football, no matter how much it pisses the fans off.
Honorable Mention: Chris Conte, S.
Past Winner: 2010 - Patrick Mannelly, LS.

The Alonzo Spellman Rampage Award for Controversy, Off-the-Field Issue, or Other Distraction of the Year goes to...


Sam Hurd, WR/Drug Kingpin. Man, Sam Hurd being busted for huge amounts of cocaine was a thing no one could have ever seen coming, unless of course they had noticed that a buddy of his had been busted with $70 grand of Hurd's money in Hurd's car on the way to buy a huge amount of cocaine like a day before the stupid Bears signed him. So yeah, score another one for Mr. Angelo. I guess the craziest part is that he seemed like the least likely dude on the roster to be the NFL's answer to Nicky Barnes. The textbook backup wide receiver/special teams contributor, he was a completely unflashy dude without a huge criminal record or a diamond encrusted Rolls Royce or anything like that; just your typical "good teammate." And the dude was selling coke by the goddamn pound. On the other hand, he was a former Dallas Cowboy, so there you go.
Honorable Mention:  Angelo refuses to negotiate with terrorists, Matt Forte spends breakout superstar season making close to the league minimum.
Past Winner: 2010 - Jay Cutler NFC Championship Mannerismgate.

The John Thierry Award for Defensive Least Valuable Player goes to...



Zackary Bowman, CB. Of all the stupid, no-brained goddamned nonsense. Look, Tim Jennings is a small dude, I get that. But he was solid as hell all year long in spite of all this, but stupid Lovie Smith benched him after he had one bad game. Even though he had to know that this guy was the next guy in line behind him, and even though he had just got done blowing several huge plays against the Broncos to help keep Tebowmania on life support for another few weeks. And he's awful, and aside from that one game he had a a rookie, he's always been awful. Oh yeah, he had a bunch of interceptions in '09, but when quarterbacks throw your way constantly because they know it's the safest bet on the field, eventually a receiver is going to have one ricochet off his hands and into yours. Law of averages. For goddamn real, it even got so bad that you could see Aaron Rodgers's eyes get huge and a half-smile show up on his horrible face every time he'd see Bowman lined up against Jordy Nelson or Donald Driver, and every time, he would stare his receiver down like a shitty high school freshman, all but shouting out to the defense, "HEY GUYS, I'M GONNA THROW IT OVER WHERE NUMBER THIRTY-FIVE IS! YOU KNOW, ZACKARY BOWMAN'S GUY!"  But every time, the ball would be caught for a huge gain, because Zack Bowman is bullshit. But they just never have wanted to give up on the dude, and it would not shock me if he's the one back on the Bears next year instead of Jennings. Unbelievable.
Honorable Mention: Brandon Meriweather, S
Theoretical Past Winners: 2010 - Tommie Harris, DT, 2009 - Zackary Bowman, CB.

The Ron Turner's Playbook Memorial Award for Offensive Least Valuable Player goes to...



Caleb Hanie, QB. Oh man. You poor, poor bastard you. After an NFC championship game where people were to busy shitting all over Jay Cutler to notice that Hanie was kind of awful, this guy was poised for big things, at least in terms of finance. He was going to be a free agent in 2012, Mike Martz hated him, and the Bears weren't going to bring him back, and it was heavily rumored that some poor GM was seriously going to pay him starting QB money to hopefully be a starting QB someday. And then, Cutler went down, and Hanie had his Date with Destiny. And Destiny, she's a girl with high standards, so you better make damn sure you make a good first impression, because sometimes, there are no second dates, you know? But this guy, he took her on this date, man, and he ordered a cheeseburger at the fancy French restaurant. He spent the entire meal telling dead baby jokes and filling her in on every aspect of his Pokemon card collection, loudly announced at one point that "I gotta go take a piss," made her pay for the meal, and when dinner was over, he took her to the shitty dollar theater to see Saw, part 6. But even then at the end of the date when he had her drive him back to his mom's house, Destiny, she decided that she pitied him enough to give him one kiss before she left, because hell, it might be the only one he'd ever get you know? And when she did, the dude sneezed right into her mouth, blowing snot all over her face, sneezing so hard that he not only shat himself, but decided to let her know that this had happened, as though it was information she wanted. Of all the dates Destiny has had, no one has had a more utterly disastrous Date With Destiny than Caleb Hanie.
Honorable Mention: (TIE) Roy Williams, WR and J'Marcus Webb, OT.
Past Winner: 2010 - (TIE) The Doom of 2010, (Kreutz, Garza, Williams, Omiyale, Webb, etc.) OL.

NEXT TIME - THE GOOD.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Exhiliration

I don't know if I'll ever have the right words to describe how I felt at about 5:20 pm local time yesterday. I'm going to try.


Yes, that's Alex Smith. That's the hero of the game, Alex fucking Smith, sprinting to the end zone on a designed QB run from 30 yards out.

And that's Vernon Davis, crying his eyes out after scoring THE MOTHERFUCKIN' WINNING TOUCHDOWN.

I thought they could win this game. I hoped it but I did not dare predict it. I figured they would need close to a best case scenario which, for the first 20 minutes, they did. Turnovers flowed like Napa County Wine. Donte Whitner looked like he had become the new host body for the soul of Ronnie Lott, blasting Pierre Thomas on the 2 yard line on the Saints' opening drive, knocking the ball loose by literally knocking Thomas out with what Ronnie would call a OOOO hit (because everyone watching the game says OOOOO when they see it). Thomas did not return to the game. Dashon Goldson picked Drew Brees off. Special Teams blasted the ball loose on a kickoff. Terrell Brown grabbed an interception. 4 first half turnovers. Even when they punted, Andy Lee flipped field position as he has done all year long. The 49ers D ascribes to a bend don't break approach, enhanced by Lee forcing the other team to have to go 90 yards repeatedly to score. The odds are, in covering all that territory, the offense will eventually make a mistake. Miss a block, drop a pass, slip on the turf. The 49ers made their breaks in this game and got some others. Marquis Colston, for instance, dropped the ball on that deep post pattern he likes to run where he out leaps everyone at the goal line. Carlos Rogers stuck to him like flypaper, knocking balls down, wearing #22 and looking for all the world like Dwight Hicks (or Darell Revis, for you younger folk out there). Ahmad Brooks and The Smiths -- Aldon and Justin -- recorded sacks, and when Justin couldn't get to Brees, he bull-rushed the lineman blocking him back into Brees, then reached over and around the lineman to grab a hold of Brees, shaking him enough to make a 3rd down pass wobble harmlessly.

But the best case scenario never lasts. Turnovers must become like a squirrel's foraging; stowing acorns in bundles of 7 for the upcoming winter of bad breaks and the other team making plays.

5 total turnovers in the game, and the 49ers only scored 13 points off of them.
The Saints converted 3rd downs regularly, even a couple on the ground.
Once again, a drive started in the red zone and ended in a field goal.
Andy Lee punted 4 times in the second half.
The Saints won the time of possession battle.
An injury to center Jonathan Goodwin forced someone else to slide over, and temporarily forced the Abominable Turnstile, Chilo Rachal, into the game. Predictably, sacks followed.
Michael Crabtree started dropping balls again.

All these were things I thought would spell the 49ers' doom before the game. I thought a win would mean those things Could Not Happen. That goes double for this next one: the 49ers surrendered 30+ points for the first time all season. Anything above 21 sounded like too much; 32 would mean the offense didn't sustain long clock-eating drives (sho' nuff, they didn't). 32 points meant the bend but don't break defense finally broke under the strain of the offense kicking too many field goals. And, really, in the last few minutes of the game, the defense did at last start to fracture. 2 long catch and run TDs by the Saints as Goldson came up to make the hit, rather than the wrap, on Darren Sproles and then Jimmy Graham, who both evaded him. Even the shining light of the defense for years, the mighty MISTER PATRICK WILLIS, missed a tackle on Graham, after being unable to cover him. When PATRICK WILLIS misses a tackle, we have learned as fans that it is just not our day.

Yet they won, because the unforeseeable happened. No one could have dared dream, let alone predict, that the 49ers would win a game because Alex Smith put the whole damn team on his back in the last 4 minutes and fucking willed the team to victory like real quarterbacks do. You just can't account for shit like that in a pre-game analysis. Its like aliens landing to give an intergalactic message of peace during half time. Real Aliens, not bullshit dudes in foil jump suits pretending to be aliens like that one Super Bowl half time show in the 70s or whatever.

Alex Smith: Hero. I never thought I'd type that. Even this year, improved as he is, he's been the sort of QB derided as a Game Manager. They won because Alex Avoided The Big Fuck-Up, only throwing 5 interceptions all year (and fumbling a couple times). After not-losing 13 times, Alex had to play to win the game. And he DID.

After Sproles sprinted to 24-23 and the Saints' first lead of the game with 4 minutes left, the 49ers moribund second half offense took the field behind their own 20. Then suddenly, the swing passes to Kendall Hunter were open. Crabtree remembered how to catch. And then, the 49ers encountered the Yellow Card to their Green Lantern; the red zone. 3rd and 2 quickly became 3rd and 7 when Bruce Miller joined the huddle too quickly, becoming the 12th man in it. I hoped for a field goal. I dreaded a sack and an interception. Instead, I got a fucking designed QUARTERBACK SHOTGUN SWEEP around the left side as Alex Smith loped like a gazelle for the first down. And then he kept going. And going. He balanced perfectly down the sideline. He lept over a dude.

And Ancient, Decaying Candlestick's foundations creaked their approval.
Even the ghosts of past glory shrieked in joy.


Alex has been on the team for 7 years, and this sort of thing has happened like 3 times. Bear that in mind, because this score came with just over 2 minutes left. Or in other words, after a failed 2 point conversion, the 49ers gave Drew Brees the ball back with over 2 minutes left. Now all of you are no doubt thinking what I was thinking; "that's way too much fucking time to give Drew Brees." As described above, Jimmy Graham scored again, the Saints hit their 2-pt play, and the 49ers were down by 3 with 1:39 left. 2 minutes? Brees barely needed 2 plays.

And that is the final, unpredictable irony of the upside down ending to this game. As it turns out, Drew Brees left too much time on the clock for Alex Smith.

1 time out left and the 49ers never used it. They came to the line agonizingly slowly for the hurry up offense as Gore caught short passes. The clock bled under a minute in just two plays, and just as I'm getting ready to bad mouth the offense's futility, Alex hits a bomb to Vernon Davis, who gets 40 yards and the sideline. Frank Gore explodes for the one and only time in the game, as he gets 30, and the 49ers clock it. And then, with 9 seconds left, Alex hits VD on the goal line. Davis leaps, plows over Roman Harper, left crumpled in a heap, and scores the winning touchdown.


You could almost see the phantom image of Steve Young to Terrel Owens in January of 1999, more so with it being a shorter version of the same route, the same play, into the same North End Zone of the park. And, two failed attempts by New Orleans at running the Cal Rugby Play later, the first playoff game in 9 years ended in triumph. After taking 7 years to get 2 4th quarter winning drives, Alex essentially did it twice in 1 game, which technically is a mathematical impossibility. But what sums up doing the impossible better than Alex Smith being the reason the 49ers won a playoff game?

[By the way; he's an unrestricted free agent at the end of this season.]

There are new heroes. There will be a new generation of ghosts to sit in the faded orange plastic seats of Candlestick here in its final years. And for the moment, there even seems to be a new The Catch. How many fan bases even have one "The" play to look back on fondly? We have more than our fair share, and win or lose next week, we just got richer yesterday. Let us never forget to appreciate it.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

NFL 2011: Week 19 – Divisional Round (OT)

So I have to warn you going into this week’s NFLuminati Index of a few things… Namely, this time of year it usually becomes painfully obvious to me (as I am ultra-aware) that the NFL is fixed. And it’s important to remember that this means “engineered” typed fixed and not “choreographed” type fix. It’s hard to find smart employees nowadays, regardless of the industry, and there’s no way you could actually have like 45 dudes per football team truly understand a full script of a game, memorize, and actually perform their roles well. But you position a few key insiders into key roles and the whole affair is easily pushed in desired directions. I also feel like that the feeling of this is not so strong during the regular season because at that point, a lot of it is wide open at times. The NFL does not need to engineer every detail, or else it would become obvious. But come the playoffs, a lot of it does seem engineered, and has seemed so to me for over a decade now. Can’t help it… I’m naturally distrustful of things.
This is because most of my life has felt like me vs. the World, and it is only the past couple months that I think I’m finally ready to say the World has won. I’m whooped. My dreams are dead. There will be no great future for me; I’ll be lucky to die where I’m not too far in debt that my shitty budget life insurance policy can pay it all off. Some dude sent us a $50 donation, specifically for Neil, I used it for gas, then out of this paycheck became overwhelmed by my financial drownings, and didn’t even paypal that shit to Neil. $40 fucking dollars. (He was gonna pay to renew the domain for the year out of his donation.) What a pathetic piece of shit I am. But that’s the row I’ve hoed, and I’ve hoed it well, albeit halfheartedly at times.
And then I get mad, because I feel like I’m saying strong shit inside this interweb, maybe not on the prolific level Neil has kicked the past couple years, but fuck man, I’m nearing 40 and realizing MY DREAMS ARE FUCKING DEAD! There is work, sleep, die in my future. That’s it. All the Real Man shit that’s been written, it means nothing. But little weasel-faced halfwits get paid blogging gigs or shine from false witticism dens like Grantland, and we just sit here, nonsense gibberish which is actually perfectly sensible dissection of the world around us, yet we don’t pretend to be so holy and righteous about sports. So we don’t get shit, except older and weirder. And then one day you wake up and look in the mirror and realize the Great Dream was all a fucking lie to distract you from the day-to-day, and once the haze clears and you see the day-to-day, there’s really nothing left to do but fucking wish for a hollow point to bore a hole through your head.
This is where the NFL comes in, and most great cherished forms of mass entertainment. It was Stanislav Zizek who said, “religion is the opiate of the masses” and he was right. But of course, no one cares about religion anymore because our god is now the Shine of the New as ordained by Science & Technology. (It should be noted that I am technically a scientist by trade, and through extensive personal research will tell you that actual opiates make a much better opiate than religion.) But the great sports entertainment is a distraction/opiate for us to forget our real lives we are uncomfortable inside of on a full-time basis, and at this time of year during the playoffs, important psychological memes are driven home, whether we realize it or not. But it is happening.
I am against engineered reality. I’m against reality to be honest with you, and frankly with the depressing realization that this is it, I am against all things. Blow up the world for all I care. Unleash Cormac McCarthy’s worst nightmares as filtered through the minds of a thousand primates poisoned by Philip K. Dick-style angel dust. Let it fucking go. Which I would imagine is a popular unconscious sentiment in this world right now, festering just below the surface of the electrosmog, which just like Kesey laid out in the first few pages of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, they will cut up, this weekend, as what I heard the stupid AM radio call “the greatest football weekend of the year” goes into full press on our collective brains.
Now I’m sure many of you are like, “Man, football isn’t fixed, and this is a bunch of jibber jabber bullshit.” But be open-minded friend, and watch this weekend’s game with even just 10% of your thought stream thinking of these things. Note the strange ways things play out during the games. (And somebody paypal $50 to neilabfree at hotmail.com, to bail my shitty ass out, or else Neil can get in line with the collection agency from North Carolina and the hospital bills from last year’s Super Bowl and the creepy gypsy Jew lady who hovered back into my life to try and reclaim my trailer camper from the past this last month. I promise, I’ll square everything up when I do my taxes – the Earned Income Credit: a poor man’s grant to buy off another year of life.)
Fuck it, let’s just jump into this…
#1: GREEN BAY PACKERS (15-1, 1st overall, 10.0 rating on a 10-point scale) – A good example of how the NFL engineers things is this Giants at Packers game, which echoes the great storyline from a few years back when the Giants beat the Ol’ Gunslinger himself in Green Bay in weather so cold that your face could freeze and your nose break off which is what they used to do in the old days, Packers breaking off the noses of opposing RBs in the bottom of the pile. But this is the new NFL and what they didn’t tell you is the Frozen Tundra actually has heating coils going underneath of it, so the ground is warm and supple, like a vagina, and for as cold as it was, the players only really suffered briefly, like walking from your warmed car to the entrance to Whole Foods on a winter day.
But the Giants Super Bowl win that year, as well as the Packers win last year, as well as a lot of Super Bowl victors of recent memory, have come from the wild card ranks – the all-American tale of coming up from below championship level, working together, peaking at the right time, and being the best. That is the illusion of the American Dream right there, that patience is a virtue and you will overcome, even if not as ordained great as others around you. But last weekend, that was shot, and no wild card team won at all, so we are left with nothing but the eight division champions. I am not entirely sure what this tells us about the future direction of the American Economy, but I am sure it’s not a good psychological conditioning we are undergoing right now. The Republicans are shaving retards off the fringes of their mock nomination process, and Obama is cooking up his very own war-mongering October Surprise with Iran, and between Bush’s Executive Orders and the powers granted Obama over the past 12 years, straight dictatorship has been given legal backing for the position of President, if necessary by emergency (but who decides the emergency?), and the economy certainly still seems to be teetering not settling. I have been looking for a schoolbus on govdeals.com to buy for cheap and turn into our own Joad family jalopy. Times are weird, and uncertain.
So yeah, all home teams won last weekend – all champions. And yet somehow the storyline is being pushed that the Giants are this year’s “peaking at the right time” football team that could go into Green Bay and pull off the upset. At least that’s what the TVs and radios were saying this week. But it was only a few weeks ago that everybody was like “lolol one of them has to win I guess” about the Giants and Cowboys. And the Packers were, by far the best team this season (as displayed by my NFLuminati Index rating). There’s no one even close.
Thing is, like with the wild card teams of note in previous postseasons, the NFL does not like to crown the King come playoff time. The most notable example of this was when the otherwise perfect Patriots dropped that Super Bowl to stupid Eli Manning and the Giants. The NFL just does not make the supposed King be the actual King. It’s bad for business.
I have not decided whether this will play out like that again, or if the NFL is looking to crown Aaron Rodgers our new Brady Manning, as we don’t really have one right now. One Super Bowl championship does not do that. But supplanting the Ol’ Gunslinger, and then winning back-to-back titles? That would seal Aaron Rodgers.
I don’t know. It’s hard to say what the NFL will push upon us. But I do not see them pushing the Giants over the Packers this weekend. This was an elaborate ploy to build up an alleged top-flight opponent for the Packers to dispatch of in their opening playoff game. There will be some highlight-ready Lambeau leaps, and Eli Manning will do his frustrated Manning Family Yuckface at some point in the second half, and then we will see how the unspoken plans develop in regards to the Packers in the next week or two.
#2: NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS (13-3, 2nd overall, 8.5 rating) – The Patriots being pushed to high heaven as the greatest thing ever, right around 9/11 when we were all encouraged to “let’s roll” against Islam and fixed rate mortgages and things like that, that was when I started to really distrust all of this NFL madness. How could a guy like Tom Brady – a failure to some degree as a collegiate starter – become the Greatest QB of Our Generation? Sketchy tuck rules and snow games and all sorts of bullshit contributed to the process.
But it’s been a few years. And one thing to remember as I talk of these shadow conspiracies is that the entire network of Illuminatis is not a well-organized, streamlined machine. It’s a great bureaucracy. This is why you can’t have every player know how things must play out. This is why local dudes joining the local Freemasons look at it as a fraternal organization where they do charity work. Because it is. So it’s hard to understand if one tentacle of the beast can easily tap into the other tentacle of the beast and be like, “You know what Brother Goodell? It’d be great if we could have people rally around the term ‘Patriot’ one more time.” The bureaucracy is large and inefficient, which ultimately will be what enables its demise.
Oddly enough though, the Patriots find themselves against Tim Tebow and the Broncos, in a rematch of a game that was a blowout a few weeks back. Tim Tebow is the Jesus freak guy – homeschooled born again super athlete. And think back on America’s historical origins, where Christ-based fringe churches were willing to float across a seemingly endless fucking ocean to find freedom from the oppression of the Catholic church. That religious freedom was mostly for religion about Christ, sure, but not the fancy gilded brutality of Catholicism. And yet you can’t throw a pissy snowball in the greater Boston metropolitan area without hitting some alleged Catholic. Tons of grandsons and daughters of immigrants who hold onto the Catholic ways, despite the torture and molestations and obvious historical hypocrisies.
And here comes the homeschooling lover of Christ spirit, who feels a Jack Chick pamphlet tucked into a phone booth is just as righteous a path to the Good Lord as fancy sacrament in satin robes. And the Brady/Belichick genius machine is certainly the football kin to the Catholic church – as respected an entity as there could be. And the ragtag Tebow option offense/wacky Bronco defense is as perfect a pagan church to that football tradition as you could conjure up. The fucking option, in the NFL. Long fucking pass plays off the option, against the vaunted Steelers defense last week. (It should be noted, for those that still refuse to believe the engineered NFl talk I talk, how the Steelers/Broncos game last week conveniently went long, into primetime, for an almost perfect at 8 pm exciting overtime finish, where Tebow dropped to a knee in celebration to his Lord. You couldn’t have timed that shit better if you taped it beforehand and edited it to fit. And of course, it was the highest rated wild card game in nearly 20 years. Which means the NFL can now ask for even higher rights fees next time around.)
I can’t cypher the tea leaves on this game. You have to figure the Brady/Belichick machine will get one last hurrah at some point, being it is the most illuminated chapter of the NFLuminati process’s recent history. I mean they fucking got the former Broncos head coach as their assistant in the past two weeks. What kind of bullshit is that? But also I did not think the NFL would push Tebow past last week, and they did. I feel like there may be more to this Tebow thing underneath the surface than meets the eye. Perhaps somewhere in Alabama they have finally bred the flawless red heifer and there are those who are ready to rebuild the Temple of the Mount in Jerusalem to usher in the final days of conflict, thus the build-up to war with Iranian Shi’ites (essentially the Catholics of Islam), and Tebow is all part of our conditioning. Divine intervention, on the football field, to a level never before known. Even wonderboy Brady was forced to bow to His Greatness. I don’t know. I feel like the Patriots will win, as they are the second best team in the NFL, despite their defense, but it really seems hard to say with this strange Tebow factor. And John Elway is no stranger to the secret halls of the NFL hierarchy. I know it will get big ratings though.
#3: NEW ORLEANS SAINTS (14-3, 3rd overall, 8.3 rating) – The Saints are this weekend’s big question mark game, as you will see from the ratings, they are the 3rd and 4th best teams in the NFL. But as we move into the real NFLuminati mode, it’s important to remember that the Saints are not a powerful franchise. In fact, they’ve been shit for most of their existence, and were only given a Super Bowl in order to regenerate the tourist economy of New Orleans. And sure, they’ve got this Madden Bowl style of new school NFLineering down pat, but they also lost to the fucking Seahawks last year. It is also of note that the two games they played on real people grass this year were two of their lowest scoring games. And the 49ers have an opportunistic defense. Actually, fuck that, as “opportunistic defense” is one of those chump ass phrases; the 49ers are an odd collection of man-beasts, the type of man-beasts that could pressure past that Saints O-line and get an INT or two to break up Brees from “Drew Brees great dude” to “Drew Brees, every now and then he has a game like this.”
The real test is the throwback 49ers offense that leans heavily on a RB. If they can beat up the Saints defense, could be a great game. But if they fall behind even slightly, you can’t do the “let’s let Frank Gore fuck shit up long enough for Alex Smith to make a couple passes” thing. It should be an interesting test, though just as the Saints are not a great NFL franchise in the powerful sense, the 49ers are one of the big ones. Shit man, Bill Walsh practically took over the NFLuminati for about 20 years. Seems to me the NFL would probably set up a Saints/Packers rematch like the opening kickoff, but they like to not do what you would expect.
#4: SAN FRANCISCO 49ERS (13-3, 4th overall, 5.9 rating) – Actually the real key, underneath the surface, to this game is how high shall the NFL push the Jim Harbaugh star? He’s gotten the background hype, ordained as the new Ditka due to his Bears ties, and ordained as the new Bill Walsh because he’s in San Francisco. Do they hotshot this asshole straight to the Lombardi Trophy stand? I don’t see that happening just yet, and the 49ers haven’t had a playoff game in a few years, so it would be completely respectable – in both an NFL is real sense as well as the engineered way – for them to lose out this game and still be strong as fuck in the psychic mind of the masses. That defense look hongry at times.
#5: BALTIMORE RAVENS (12-4, 5th overall, 5.0 rating) – The Ravens/Texans game is the worst game of the weekend, because neither is a realistic contender. The Ravens get media hype like they could be, and if every game was played in Baltimore, then they might be, because at home they are a dominant NFL team. But on the road, they are like the fifth member of the AFC West. They did win the AFC North to get a long-wanted home game, so I would imagine things go well for them this weekend. But as soon as they end up playing somewhere else, they will be exposed as the fraud that they are, even though we’ll get 39 stories about “the last run for Ray Lewis”. Man, fuck Ray Lewis and his stupid fucking pre-game dance. And don’t get that twisted, because I have never in my life ever thought negatively of a man who would wear a full length white mink coat and get caught up in a stabbing death. In fact, I generally respect people with that type of back story. But somehow Ray Lewis, despite those facts, has shown himself to be a shitty and false human being. Let’s not forget that even though he wore a full length white mink coat and was caught up in a stabbing death, he testified against those who actually done did the stabbing. And also let’s not forget that stupid pre-game dance.
Anyways, the best hope for the Ravens is that the Broncos win so Baltimore can have another home game and not be exposed until the Super Bowl.
#6: NEW YORK GIANTS (10-7, 8th overall, 3.6 rating) – Eli is the only stupid member of the stupid Manning family cluttering up my goddamn January football. I can’t stand the Manning family, ever since that dog rape story got buried by the media. Sure, Mike Vick punishes a couple of underperforming pet athletes and gets sent away to federal prison and becomes public enemy number one, to this day, for a lot of folks, who respect the lives of dogs more than humans. “I hope they throw him in a cage, like an animal, to punish him for treating dogs like animals, because that is wrong.” I always loved the hypocrisy of that thinking, that by treating animals badly you should be treated like an animal. That’s like the thirtysomething hipster’s version of the “against abortion but for the death penalty” thing Republifuck candidates do. But nobody gave a shit about an actual incident of bestiality. I don’t know; maybe we’ve progressed. I would be happy with that, because we have two pygmy goats, one white named Sugar and one brown named Nutmeg, and with their fluffy winter coat, I kinda want to fuck them sometime. They’re just so damned cute, and usually when I see cute things I want to jam my penis into it.
#7: HOUSTON TEXANS (11-6, 11th overall, 2.4 rating) – I was surprised the Texans won last weekend, not because of any rookie QB factors or none of that “let’s pretend this is real” bullshit. I just didn’t think the NFL would allow such a shoddy franchise with such shoddy unmarketable uniforms. But they did. Really, this Texans/Ravens game is gonna be an uninteresting foreplay into the late game on Sunday. I don’t even really want to talk about it, though it should be noted that despite their crappy uniforms, I am probably even more disappointed in the Ravens uniforms when they started. My birth middle name is Raven, so I expected in my honor something chill as fuck. Instead, black and purple, and yet somehow screwed up. How do you screw up the colors of malevolence and codeine cough syrup? You be from Maryland, and thus retarded, that’s how.
#8: DENVER BRONCOS (9-8, 15th overall, 1.3 rating) – I am rooting for Tebow at this point, because I am rooting for End Times. Like I said, my dreams are dead, and if my dreams must die I would hope it is at least exonerated in the cleansing chaos of an apocalypse. If my dreams are dead and there’s no divine intervention or world war or something to distract me from reality, then I will be forced to actually retrace my own mistakes. I don’t want to do that, and right now I’m having trouble finding actual opiates. I guess there’s always painkiller abuse (like always), but there’s something so blissful about the hazy dream world of smoking actual opium. And to smoke opium and watch football where some weird barely good QB somehow keeps winning? Even better. And to smoke opium and watch some weird barely good QB somehow keep on winning, over stupid Tom Brady, with shitty Phil Simms on mute and pumping DJ Burn One’s The Ashtray so goddamned loud shit is vibrating off the desk? That would be a real nice way to spend a Saturday night. But no actual opiates. Just fucking Bibles and football. Fuck this world.

Friday, January 13, 2012

A Referendum On Defense

MISTER PATRICK WILLIS was a Madden Cover Boy?
Behold the power of WILLIS, for this means he is Curse-Proof.
Sadly, this is not nearly the same as Brees-Proof.

So earlier in the week I made a point of watching college football's championship game. Alabama ended up winning 21-0. It was an unusual 21, too; 5 field goals (out of 7) and a missed extra point very late in the game when the outcome was essentially decided and Alabama's running back finally scored an actual touchdown. The Tide strung a lot of good drives together, but they all ended up bogging down in or near the red zone; meanwhile their defense absolutely smothered LSU's offense and made all those field goals stand up [although, admittedly, LSU's QB had an atrocious game and their offensive play selection couldn't have been worse and less imaginative even if you consciously attempted to make it so].

Or in other words, it was the same game I've been watching throughout the second half of the 49ers' 2011 season. I inevitably started pulling for Alabama, with their familiar dominance of field position and time of position, their ineffective short yardage offense, their settling for repeated field goal tries and somehow making it stand up until the turnovers started happening and the other team finally broke and surrendered a game-cinching TD. Tony Richardson became Frank Gore in my mind's eye.

I couldn't hope but pick up on the similarity, both in the development of the game and the exasperation of play by play broadcaster Brent Musberger sarcastically whining about their not being enough touchdowns/scoring. Because, after all, this is the 21st Century and Professionalism amongst journalists and broadcasters is a relic of America's Ancient Past, languidly haunting the inside of something called a "phone booth" or perhaps the shattered remnants of a horse and buggy.

It's bad enough when we as Americans bitch about the world's game, football (i.e. soccer), being boring because there aren't enough goals scored. But now, after a couple decades of us playing Fantasy Football, being able to bet over/under in a Gambling Book, and playing the Madden NFL video game franchise, and the NFL attempting to coddle and placate this new market by re-writing its rule book year after year to make the game more conducive to high scoring shootouts that more closely resemble the video game world, here we are, now bitching about our own mutant strain of football being not "exciting" enough because the score totals aren't quite as ballooned as basketball yet.

But that's where we are. 2011, where "taking steps to promote player safety" is merely another fancy way of saying "neuter the defense". If you throw deep balls trying to draw pass interference as a means of moving the ball down the field, you will be rewarded. Holding is almost as decriminalized as marijuana. And casting an unpleasant gaze in the Quarterback's general direction is a 15 yard penalty also subject to later fines and suspensions. Hit a QB high? That's a flaggin'. Hit him low? Flaggin'. Hit him late? Flaggin'. Hit him on time, in the middle of his body, but momentum and gravity carry you through and as you both fall to the turf, you land directly on top of him, and he's thus a little slow to get up? That's a flaggin' too. What's a Pass Rusher to do? Why, be worried about penalties and fines so he'll hesitate a little bit, be a little less effective, and the glorious Offense Show will be unimpeded by those pesky defensive players trying to muck things up with this "competitive balance" bullshit. Since, after all, nothing neuters a pass-heavy offense quite like a dominant pass rush. Go watch Super Bowl 42 again if you need a visual aid of this principle.

[Somewhere Roger Goodell and David Stern are at some degenerate billionaire resort, giving each other handjobs, all the while Stern is reassuring Goodell in a breathy voice that the increased score totals are good, and he loves the way the rules/protection is different for star individual players than the rest of the grunts, and that "you're almost there, Rog!"]

All year long, the passing record book has been getting re-written. Dan Marino's ballyhooed single season passing yard record stood for 27 years. This year THREE QB's eclipsed it. And one of them didn't even make the Pro Bowl roster, think about THAT. Madden fans and Fantasy players are loving this year. The three top teams in terms of power rankings are Green Bay, New England, and New Orleans. All of them have high scoring pass heavy offenses (2 of the 3 Marino Record-Breakers), and all three have forgettable defenses. Green Bay's has often looked bad and the Patriots almost seem indifferent to the concept of playing defense; they have a 3rd string Wide Receiver playing CB, for instance. It hasn't mattered, because they all score TDs seemingly at will.

Thus, sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb at the top of the NFL power rankings, trailing just behind those teams, are the lower scoring, defense-led San Francisco 49ers. The Saints average 40+ points a home game. The 49ers only scored above 30 three times; once against a shitty team, once against another shitty team and they needed to resort to a fake field goal to do it, and once against a mediocre team and they needed two special teams return TDs to do it. The 49ers take the antiquated approach to football success; they use a run-heavy offense to control the ball and the clock, taking occasional shots downfield (that fail half the time). They kick a lot of field goals. Their kicker and their punter consistently bury the other team's offense in shitty starting field position and force them to go 90 yards to score over and over again, knowing that a team can do that once or twice, but not repeatedly. The odds are the other offense will make an eventual mistake when trying to cover all that territory. That mistake becomes a turnover and a short field for the 49ers, and thus they dominate the field position battle against opponents as well. The offense needs only be pretty good, not great, when it only has to go 30 yards (or less) to score.

So a long snapper, a punter, a place kicker, and a kick returner walk into a ring of honor...

It's the style that all the rules changes are all but legislating out of the pro game. It is also anathema to folks whose football "expertise" comes from following stats for fantasy football or from playing the Madden franchise. There is no blocking or tackling in Fantasy Football. There are no offensive linemen. There is no field position, or time of possession. There are no gunners or long snappers. There is no punting and there are no punters. The 49ers thrive on these things (well, not the offensive line so much), and they make no sense to the fantasy player. A team that wins this way boggles their mind. [Come to think of it, the Broncos squeak their way into more wins than anyone expected them to get much the same alien way; Matt Praeter hits 50 yard FGs as easily as most of us piss into a toilet bowl and Von Miller wrecks QBs on defense. Of course this crowd has no other explanation for their results than ascribing magic Jesus powers to Tim Tebow!]

It is boring. It is frustrating even for fans of the team. It will cause much petulant whining from the Tony Kornheiser's of the world and the dittoheads that quote them on the internet, smugly complaining about how its a "ratings disaster" whenever the pre-ordained marketing friendly teams don't make it to the championship game. Most of the time they're just trying to cover for their own disappointment as fans and trying to pass it off as objectively bad for the game when their team fails, but it's still annoying as hell when people treat this like a valid complaint. Especially in football, since the Super Bowl is ridiculously popular and has proven time and again that this country will basically as a whole stop to watch it regardless of the teams involved. Fuck those people. Go watch pro wrestling if you want to make sure the championship is always contested between the top ratings draws without any of that pesky real world randomness and legit competition ruining the storyline for you.

But, in regards to the 49ers Defense & Field Position approach, the question "Does This Shit Still Work?" still waits to be answered. The 49ers' Defense hasn't faced an offense on par with New Orleans (there's almost no such thing). The Saints haven't faced a defense as good as what the 49ers have. The old football axiom was "Offense Wins Games, but Defense Wins Championships." It seems to be on trial, in a way, this weekend. Counsel for the prosecution: New Orleans, and Drew Brees, Esq. Presenting the case in defense of... well, defense... will be the 49ers. It is not the ideal test case, since the Saints will not be playing their ideal Dome element, instead in the wonderfully shitty mire that is Candlestick Park, with its below-sea-level playing field. [Note: the weather outside is nice. Bright and sunny and few clouds in the Bay Area. DAMN IT. Break out the fucking hoses and spray that turf down until its yellow and brown. Not one blade of green remaining.] The 49ers, for their part, are in Uncharted Territory: this is the franchise's first playoff game in NINE YEARS, which means its the first taste of postseason pressure for virtually the entire roster, particularly the key players like Vernon Davis, Frank Gore, MISTERS PATRICK WILLIS AND NAVORRO BOWMAN, Dashon Goldson and Carlos Rogers, and arguably most key of all, embattled Alex Smith. It would not be unheard of for the 49ers to be nervous and choke on the pressure of the big stage. They could vomit all over themselves and Alex could play like he did in the first 6 seasons of his career. But, assuming (hoping) they don't, and likewise assuming no flukes of luck in the other direction, like a last second monsoon or a freak injury to Drew Brees, we could have a litmus test on whether Defense Wins Championships still applies in the modern NFL. There is nothing to suggest the 49ers are capable of out-gunning the Saints in the way some thought Detroit might be able to. If the 49ers win this game, it will be because a great defense CAN cripple a great offense, still. 26-21 would probably be the score; field goals at least coming after long, tedious, time-devouring drives that keep Drew Brees on the side line. A couple turnovers turned into the touchdowns. Long fields increasing the chances of a sack, or a bad throw, that kills New Orleans drives. Not all of them, but enough of them. If, however, this team build is invalid, and Offense now Wins Championships, the 49ers can't win; this IS the end of the fun part of the season, where they run into a team they can't score enough to beat, and the glee of "look how far they've come" turns to the bile of "look how far they still have to go".

Sunday, January 8, 2012

And . . . Curtain




I actually sat down to do this late last night, half drunk, completely insane, filled with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but I was just too wrecked, both physically and spiritually, to do anything other than pound my keyboard like some pathetic half-mad ape and the final result would have no doubt resembled a cuneiform version of a succession of hoots, grunts and whistles and throughout it all there would have been a terrible eerie soundtrack playing through all of our heads, the ghostly sound of me weeping like a faithless man from far away. Terrible, terrible . . .

And so I decided to put it off until today when I would no doubt be refreshed and re-energized. Instead, I am vaguely hung-over, my eyes burn and so does my soul. There will be a time when I look back upon this season with happiness, when I give it the fond farewell it deserves, but it still hurts too much and so all I can do is try to explain what last night felt like, which is kind of impossible because in order to do so I would have to die and then be reincarnated as Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”.

The weird thing is, is that it wasn’t all horrible. Hell, the Lions actually led at the first half and I managed to tweet some gibberish about the team playing well, and even as I wrote it, a vague thought was flying through my mind which resembled something like “No, stop, you fool, you are only setting yourself up for something ridiculous.” I promptly ignored this thought because it seemed a product of old fear based thinking and then I went back to watching the game. And then the world caved in on itself, my head melted like at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark and I’m pretty sure I traveled back through time and was crucified by Pontius Pilate. Or maybe it was by David Bowie playing Pontius Pilate in The Last Temptation of Christ. Who can say?

Anyway, sacrilegious babble aside, there was still never a moment when I lost faith, which I suppose is a good sign. After all, I’ve seen too much wild and crazy shit this year to completely fold in on myself, too many comebacks, too many manic adrenaline fueled “Holy shit, I can’t believe this is happening!” moments, and so I kept my heart alive for as long as I could, a dangerous decision given that I should have disconnected and gone into protectionism mode far earlier.

After all, I was a goddamn beast last night. During gamedays, I am continually thankful that my neighbors don’t regularly call the cops on me. After all, during the course of your average game it probably sounds like I’m doing everything from strangling a goat to singing death metal – while strangling a goat. I am not what you would call a cool, calm, composed fan while the action is actually happening. So . . . yeah, following a game I always feel like I both survived a war and thankful that nobody had me arrested or committed.

But this game . . . this goddamn game . . . well, I wouldn’t be surprised if my neighbors went into hiding at some point in the second half. Shit, they’re probably all in the Witness Protection program while the feds try to build a case against me. “Yes . . . yes, sir, that’s the man . . . that’s the one I saw wrestling a bear in his living room and then eating the bear’s heart while punching a puppy. That’s him!”

At various points in that second half of woe, it probably sounded like I was wrestling with the devil while simultaneously arguing with God like we were some sort of dysfunctional couple on Cops. “You said you were gonna stop all this nonsense, God! This is fucking bullshit! Never again!” That sort of thing. If someone would have looked in the window, it probably would’ve resembled the scene from Highlander right after he chops a dude’s head off – just lightning flashing everywhere, people screaming, headless bodies flopping on the ground, swords slashing, madness, just . . . utter madness. At one point I lost my shirt. I ripped it off like some sort of degenerate street thug getting ready to throw down. A couple of hours later, I couldn’t find it. I finally found it earlier today. To be honest, I forgot I was ever wearing it. It was just a sweatshirt and I still had a tee-shirt on so it wasn’t completely absurd, but . . . okay, fine, it was but I just don’t want you to think that I was just stomping around bare-chested and violent all night long. I’m a civilized man, after all.

Not that anyone would have been able to tell last night. Had the cops actually been called, they probably would have broken down my front door and then tied me to a chair and called in an exorcist while I swore at them in tongues and spit pea soup and vile, vicious words, my head turning 180 degrees while I vowed to eat Drew Brees’ soul and to banish Aaron Berry to some dark corner of hell.

So . . . uh . . . yeah, it wasn’t the best night. I’m an emotional dude, a passionate dude, and I make a goddamn ass out of myself watching this thing we call football. I scream and I yell and I carry on like a freak. I scream “Fuck you!” at the television like a goddamn petulant child, I try to bargain with all manner of deities and I’ll even change clothes during the middle of the game because I think that it somehow makes a difference in the outcome of the game. My adrenaline spikes, I shake like a junky, I weep like a faithless man when things are going bad and I cheer like a Roman Coliseum fan hopped up on crank and blood when things are going well. I do not temper myself because this is sports fandom and sports fandom is carnal and wicked and beautiful and completely unreasonable. It exists completely within its own sphere, its own world, and this world is insane and has no laws other than the laws of the beast. It’s feral and strange and completely fucking insane and I revel in it because why not? Why not? It’s perhaps the only socially acceptable way to touch the madness, like scream therapy for the crazy.

I’ve begun to ramble and I haven’t touched on the actual events of the game nearly as much as I probably should, but I suspect this is just my way of protecting myself. After all, I don’t exactly want to relive what went on in that second half, you know? Some part of me still believes that it’s halftime and that the score is 14-10 Lions and the biggest thing I can be pissed off about is that the ref blew the whistle and caused the play to go dead after The Great Willie Young ate Drew Brees’ soul and knocked the football loose. A part of me is huddled in that memory, clinging to it like the last rickety life-raft in a storm from hell.

But I know that that second half happened and so do all of you. We all watched it and even though it caused me to descend into the heart of darkness, whispering The Horror, The Horror over and over and over again to my beleaguered soul, there was still that rational human side of me that stayed reasonable (well, sort of, anyway) and wondered over and over and over again “What if?” What if that ref hadn’t blown the whistle and the Lions were allowed to return that fumble for a touchdown and a 21-7 lead? What if the refs didn’t inexplicably spot the ball a yard further down the field thus giving the Saints a key first down following a third down pass which only netted nine yards instead of the ten they said early in the second half, which would have forced the Saints to punt? What if Eric Wright or Aaron Berry would have caught just one of the interceptions Drew Brees tossed into their arms? Just one? What if the Saints didn’t convert every single third down or all 168 (I believe this is the exact number if I remember correctly. You can trust me, I’m a professional.) 4th down conversions? What if Sean Payton had behaved like every other caveman coach and punted on those 4th downs? What if Titus Young wouldn’t have fallen down on that first Matthew Stafford interception, which in retrospect, was basically what ended the game? What if the Lions understood how to properly tackle? What if the refs decided to do their job and call holding on the Saints offense line just one goddamn time? What if, what if, what if, what if, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarfggggggfhkjkhjloksiflhweygfliwefi

And so it goes. So it goes. In a sense, I suppose there’s something macabrely good about all those “what ifs”. Even being able to ask them is a sign that the Lions were at least competitive, that they showed up, that an outline exists – no matter how hazy – for a different story, a story, a world, an alternate reality in which the Lions actually won the game. But it also makes it hurt more. It makes it more frustrating. The closer you get to heaven, the more bitterly painful the flames of hell feel licking at your feet. Because I can see that alternate reality, it makes it more maddening that it never actually happened and that I am forced to live in this world with its bullshit outcomes.

After the game, as I always do, I calmed down and began to channel my wild emotions into something approaching coherence. I tried to be philosophical, to put it all in its proper perspective but to be honest, I couldn’t. I still can’t. Not really anyway. I admire everyone who was able to do an immediate about-face and remind everyone else that this has been a hell of a season, a magical season, and hey, I’m right there with you. But last night is still too fresh in my mind, in my heart, my soul, to do anything other than grieve for what could have been but isn’t because of all those goddamn “what-ifs”. Later, I am sure that I’ll be able to summon something worthwhile and human to wrap up this amazing, wild, weird, fantastic season. And we’ll all smile and laugh and say things to each other like “Man, what a ride!” and “I can’t wait ‘til next year!” Those are things that are undeniably true, and maybe a part of me is starting to crawl into that place already. I don’t know. But the majority of me is just gritting its teeth and remembering all of the things – both big and small – that happened last night and caused the Lions to lose that game and that part of me is too big and too tough to conquer right now.

I do want to say this: for as much as the Lions lost that game (well, defensively anyway), and for as much as the refs stuck their little knives in, helping to bleed us to death while Sheriff Goodell cowered in Houston, shining his tin badge with a smug smile on his liar’s face, the New Orleans Saints won that game. They were pretty damn good and so was their coach. For as much as it rankles me that Sean Payton went for the jugular every damn opportunity he got, I respect him like hell for it. That’s what a real coach does. That’s what a winner does. That’s what allows a team like the Saints to reach their full potential and I commend him for it. Besides, I take that jugular hunting as a sign of respect. He knew he had to do that in order to put the Lions away. That was his acknowledgment that the Lions are a real team, a dangerous team, a damn good team capable of beating his Saints in their own building. He played to win because he knew that playing not to lose would have just meant that his team would be walking around in a daze after the game, wondering how they got knocked out of the playoffs in the first round for the second straight season.

But enough about all that. Nobody wants to hear that shit today and I feel unpleasant even acknowledging it. Today is a day for us, a day to try to purge our own pain, not to celebrate the joys of another’s soul.

I have spent a ridiculous amount of words lately hyperbolically comparing this last month of the season to arriving in a New World or to Wild West shootouts at the OK Corral but today metaphors just seem cheap and trite. Today, the feelings are too real, too raw, too big, to explain away with some pithy imagery. There is nothing symbolic about any of this. There is just an open wound. I know I just said “No metaphors” and then with this open wound thing I, well, I just gave into the welcoming arms of metaphors, but this is just the way I think. Everything is a goddamn play, an opera of the mind, heart and soul and I don’t know what to tell you. My brain is a drama queen.

I guess the difference is that while my brain keeps searching for metaphors, for symbolism – and keeps finding it – last night’s game exists in that same brain as something separate, something that cannot be summed up with gunfight metaphors. Everything else – including my feelings (hell, especially my feelings) - is fair game for the symbolism addict that is my brain, but the game against the Saints exists as its own thing, immune to symbolism, to stories, to metaphors, to imagery. It does not fit in some grand narrative in my head. It just exists by itself, the facts cold and hard and brutal, the memories raw and untouched by anything other than themselves. I kind of just want to wrap that whole goddamn thing up in chains and dumb it to the bottom of the sea of my brain but that can’t happen and we all know it. I’ll always remember this game and I’ll always remember how much it sucked and that’s that.

I should never, ever, say that I’m not going to give into symbolism, to metaphors, because as I’ve already demonstrated, I am completely incapable of doing so. I don’t just write in metaphors, in symbols and dramatic imagery, I think that way too. This is what makes me the creative super-beast that I am, but sometimes it gets in the way. Sometimes, I just want to think in clear, concise terms and I want everything to be simple, easy, black or white, up or down. This is how I feel about last night’s game. I just want it to be a dead thing, not something that lives and blossoms and flourishes in my brain, taking untangleable (spellcheck says this isn’t a word but fuck it, I just made it a word) root, something that will pop up in epic terms later on, something that will inform the rest of my fandom, the way that the last 50 years of failure has. I desperately don’t want this to happen. I don’t want it to become some epic dragon, flying through the halls of my brain, breathing fire and laying waste to everything in its path. As you can see, it’s too late. Too late.

So, I guess all I can do now is try to put it into its proper context, to allow the metaphors and the symbols and the imagery to grow but to watch over them and make sure that they don’t grow into something too ugly or monstrous. Obviously, I’m rambling, but this is what happens when you write at the exact same time that you try to gather your thoughts, that you try to contextualize everything. In the end, I suppose I have no choice but to acknowledge this game’s place in the epic opera of my mind. It happened, but I have to remember that it is but a scene – a scene that marks the end of an act but not the whole damn opera. It is a scene that marks the end of an act, but there is more than one act in any play, in any opera, and even though this one is over, I don’t hear a fat lady singing, and even though the lights just dimmed and the singing just stopped and the curtain momentarily closed, I know that soon enough, it’s going to open up and there will be Matthew Stafford, at the height of his powers, and there will be Calvin Johnson and my God, what beauty, what a fucking show, and I can’t wait. I can’t wait.

Last night happened and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. My mind still reels, and my heart still thunders against the ravaging horrors of it all, but it’s over now and maybe this is what people call acceptance, or at least something like it, or the faint whispers of it. I don’t know. What I do know is that as soon as I am done writing this, it will be time for my mind and my heart to move on, and I will begin watching that curtain, waiting for it to open, and I will remember that despite the way it ended, this act was a ton of fun, fucking incredible, awe inspiring really, and I’ll smile a faint, hopeful smile and I’ll remember that this opera is destined to be amazing, because it is my opera and all my operas are. And finally, I’ll remember that this is just a beginning, the birth of a star, and that soon – very soon – this star will shine and on some distant planet, someone will look up, see it shining up in the sky and they’ll wonder where this star came from, and what it actually is, and my soul will whisper that it came from my heart and what it is, is the Detroit Lions and it will never die.