Monday, December 12, 2005

I'm Pretty Fu*king Far From Okay...

Everything is now more complicated. We waltzed into our stadium on Sunday, played great football for the first quarter of the game. Realizing that we were playing good football and totally dominating the quarter with over twelve minutes of possession, we let up and started doing our impression of an unbeaten, unbeatable team. We started getting cute, talking a lot, being cute with the play calling although still running the unbelievably vanilla offense. Doing things like throwing the ball all over the field out of unimaginative formations to receivers running uninspired routes. The offensive line looked as sharp as a bag of wet q-tips. The quarterback, when not running for his life, was throwing the ball all over the field. Then Miami realized it was 7-3 and figured that they might be able to steal one on the road. Zach Thomas took the ball away from Antonio Gates. He just took it away. He wanted it more. And it showed. Before you knew it we were down, we turned the ball over, and we were down some more. There was no urgency, no desire, no plan, nothing. We got pounded. On our own turf. By a terrible team. Where was Ladainian early in the game? Where was he as the coaches decided to heave the ball 52 times. Yes we were down in the game, but we came out throwing from the start, I don’t want to hear anyone telling me that we couldn’t run it. We didn’t even try. The coaches had no faith in our kicker, three times trying to convert fourth down instead of long field goals? Was the kicker ill? Was he hurt? Did he tell someone that he couldn’t make those kicks? What the hell was going on out there? The secondary? I think they were down at the Silver Fox, having beers and watching the morning games on t.v. They had to be drunk. There is no explanation for how badly they played…

Now we look ahead. Apparently the playoffs weren’t enough motivation for us this weekend. Where does this responsibility fall? On the coaches? Well, they can’t cover people, although Schottenheimer might be able to cover some of the less athletic guys in the league, it wasn’t happening on this Sunday. Who is to blame? Everyone who wears a bolt. Everyone.

Now it’s do or die time. We cannot lose another game. Good thing we get to play Indianapolis this weekend. On the road. In the dome. A place where the Colts historically don’t really play very well. In fact, I can’t really recall the last time the Colts won a game at home. Can anyone tell me what their record is this year? I’m confused.

If week fourteen was the end of our season, I am going to have a problem. We laid down and welcomed the Fish with ankles airborn and then politely thanked the Dolphins for the Pulp Fiction treatment we received. The only recourse is to take it to the Colts and everyone else for the rest of the season Marcellus Wallace medieval style with some angry pipe hitting mother fu…… well you know. It’s the only way to save what’s left of the season. Cobra Kai, no mercy.

Tim Mother Fu… well you know McGraw just got done making fun of us. I am going to go punch a cat now.

No comments: