One thing that will continue to flabbergast me, and by flabbergast I mean completely infuriate me in the highest degree is the inconsistent nature of this football team. Not merely in this highly yet unsurprisingly disappointing 2010 campaign, but throughout the previous five seasons this complete lack of anything consistent continues to ravage its menacing stink on the squad.
This one was simple to analyze. We, as a squad, were outplayed, out-coached, out-executed, and out sobered. Obviously, everyone involved on Sunday was looking forward to Kansas City coming to town and completely abandoned any semblance of preparation for a football game. Dominated on both sides of the ball in the trenches, the coaches failed to make anything resembling an adjustment and completely mashed the panic button abandoning the run like a Malaysian orphan when staring at what they determined to be an insurmountable fourteen point deficit on the scoreboard in the second quarter. Fuck and you coaches.
Needless to say that me laying some of this responsibility on Norv and his feeble minions would be ignoring the nude elephant in the room that without a doubt, the players were drunk. I don't mean like, ooh, these guys were obviously out drinking last night, you can see by their lack of hustle and mental lapses. This wasn't the challenge flag kicking variety, it was the real deal hammertits, cuts on the forehead from banging skull against porcelain during an intense stomach evacuation session at 3:47 a.m.. Somebody get the manager from Platinum on the phone and find out who was there and until what time. There is no other explanation except maybe mescaline. I'd buy that one too.
I was fortunate enough to be in my pick 'em pool with a solid two losses (thanks and fuck you to Miami and San Diego) rolling with the Jets in a tiebreaker on Monday night. Ha. That worked well. I was in that one for approximately eighteen seconds. But, more importantly something very telling came from that Monday night affair. No, not the Patriots are destined for the Super Bowl normal wanking motion bullshit, but something telling of the Jets. The Jets are the Chargers of the past few years. Yep. Believe it. It's there and true and smacking you in your stupid face. I know, I just blew your mind. What a classic fecal smear on the kitchen table that was.
All flatbilled optimism aside, consider the playoffs a very indistinct possibility. We have continually managed to ride the underachieving coattails of our division foes into the postseason and the possibility of Kansas City getting all gaggy on cock is remote along the lines of Sasquatch showing up to beat me at poker and car bomb races this Saturday night. I saw it on the internet once. That hairy fucker can down those things while slow playing a nut flush like it's his career.
Bottom line is that winning out is now not just optimistic drivel but imperative. So, here I'll be as pissy as ever wondering why I still allow myself to be continually let down by these guys. Guys I don't even particularly like ('cept you Gates and Marmalard, you cool). Oh well. At least we have cheerleaders.