Well, well, well. Look what is going on out west. Who would have thought that this would be the story this year? The A.F.C. west leaders all by their lonesome, all alone atop the division, your San Diego Chargers. Potentially a 3-13 football team has raised their kilts and their proverbial middle fingers to all of us who thought that this would be another typical footballing year. Unbelievable. Just unbelievable.
Sunday brought us a nightmare of a game. A cardiac arrest inducing screaming match at the televisions. I, for one was standing firmly planted on top of the panic button with the weight of a portly elephant on my shoulders. This game felt like the day after the 2004 Turkey Bowl, conveniently played on a field of broken glass and rusty nails. No sort of comfort level was ever even close to being achieved, and the overwhelming feeling of total stomach evacuation was present until the V. formation was achieved in the final minutes.
Now I am not one for the idea that good teams get the breaks and that’s what makes them good teams. For whatever reason, call it experience, I will never be comfortable with our special teams play. Not that they have played badly this year, I am just used to their lapses enough that Dante Hall was a very scary man, only shorter, come Saturday night. I was very afraid. Very afraid. Low and behold Mr. Hall went nuts. Good thing for us that he choked on the pork chop at about the twelve and after a quick self induced Heimlich, the piggy was back in the Bolts hands. Disaster averted, well delayed until he made up for his memorable gaff by successfully holding on to the ball until he reached the magical six point line. Right about now I could hear the Pony fans extolling the virtues of all things Chief, and their laughter just burned my ear canals. It was like witnessing a high speed pursuit through the streets of L.A. rooting for the guy to get away. After he crashes and is thrown from the vehicle you are devastated that it’s over. Then out of nowhere he drags himself out of his Pontiac by his broken arm and continues to limp down the road. YES! It’s not over yet…
It’s a good thing that the Good Guys never got themselves rattled. As some of us were being talked off the ledge, Skip started picking at the Chiefers like a teenager's acne riddled cheeks. Despite the Zebras attempts to litter the field in Chiefs yellow, what the N.F.L. calls “parity”, we played through the awful officiating. Despite what looked to me like a rookie hazing, a receiver to remain nameless and a certain kicker looked like they had a rough Saturday night out in Kansas. Now, I don’t know what there is to do in Kansas, but I would like to hear from anyone in the “service industry” who may have seen some of our guys out in any sort of questionable establishments enjoying some libations this past Saturday. If there are any female entertainers making their livings in the artful brass pole polishing industry witness to this behavior, please contact this site via email. I am firmly convinced of this. Fortunately, the guys must have snuck in some Advil and a nap at some point because they pulled it back together.
Player of the Game: Sorry Mr. Gates, this one goes to the Skipper this week. Unbelievable game. Lights out. Just awesome.
Play of the Game: Sorry Mr. Osgood, Donnie got you this week with that miraculous interception and return in what might be called a “critical” point in the game. The good thing is we share an alma mater and I know that you will show up here again at some point soon. We Aztecs got to stick together. Keep hauling in midget kick returners and catching 65 yard passes…
Play of the Day: Pony fans vomiting their frozen Rocky Mountain guts out as that last ditch three point effort was dropped like a Pistons fan. How’s that second place feel? How’s it feel?
All by ourselves, the train keeps rolling…..