BMOB: As we all know, the Colts are heavily favored to rain all up ons everyone's parade and send the Saints home losers, and there are a number of arguments that support this majority opinion. Peyton Manning is awesome, their defense has found a way to dominate all year without Bob Sanders on the field, they are the hum-drum San Antonio Spurs of football, etc. Well, I hate the personalitiless and boring goody-two-shoes Colts, led by a low-level commercial actor and a rookie coach whose brilliant NBA-inspired style is simply letting his stars do their thing. They had a chance to be the greatest NFL team of all time and threw it away even though they have always been favored and rarely challenged this season. Not to mention, they stole my kicker. Well, I think it's high time they got theirs, and I'll tell you why. Voodoo.
Yeah, that's right. The Saints have the dark art of voodoo on their side, and I would not want to be up against them on Sunday. I mean, you've already got the karma guillotine hanging over the Colts for a) dropping the last two games of the season, b) ditching out on Baltimore 40 years ago and c) playing against Katrina victims as they try to cap the resurrection of an entire region with a dramatic championship. Now, the real question is why would I ever attempt to write such a ridiculous preview. The question I am going to address, however, is why the voodoo powers have lain dormant for so long and why they will choose now to influence the fates of football teams.
We all know that this is the Saints’ first trip to the Super Bowl, which doesn't seem possible for a team with voodoo influences intervening on its behalf. But though there is a small fan base that has never wavered in its loyalty, Saints mania now taps into the very soul of the city, and has taken over every facet of the common consciousness. It takes a lot more than a run-of-the-mill mercenary football team for the dark arts to take notice, but anyone who has been to New Orleans in recent years must acknowledge: There has been an awakening.
For most of the Aints' history, they were simply beyond help. In fact, their one bright spot for the longest time was none other than Archie Manning, who played ok ball at quarterback for the Saints for 11 years. Archie, however, was a Mississippi carpetbagger, who came over from a rival SEC state and never really amounted to a whole lot. His son, Peyton, was born in New Orleans during this period, and would have made a great hometown hero around which the Saints would rally. But it was not meant to be, and on Sunday the local boy will be leading the opposition in the biggest game in Saints history. Not only that, but one of his key receivers, Pierre Garcon, is another cultural turncoat, if only in terms of nomenclature. The clouds gather.
Now, it would seem just as unlikely for a Texas boy like Drew Brees to inspire supernatural allegiance as it was for a Mississippi boy, but Brees was different. He made Louisiana his home, and has worked to make everything around him better, taking on the epic project of rebuilding the region as his personal responsibility after the disastrous consequences of Hurricane Katrina. Since that hurricane and the ensuing efforts by Brees, he has proceeded to have a rejuvenation thought almost impossible in 2005 (one that mirrors the city of New Orleans itself in a way) when the Chargers elected to roll the dice on young Philip Rivers rather than resign him. Brees flourished in an environment of so much emotional turmoil, not to mention decades of losing culture, and was able to put a team and a fan base on his back and carry them steadily in a methodical, four-year campaign to this moment and this game, all the while being a symbol and standard-bearer of hope and faith for an entire culture struggling to return to normalcy as well as completely underestimated by the nation’s pundits, even to this day. Do you really think he did that all on his own?
Thus, the dark arts will intervene, and the Saints will be Super Bowl Champions. Certainly, this moment would have come a bit sooner if the Saints front office hadn't wasted high picks on SoCal pretty boys like Reggie Bush, but now, with a guy named Pierre Thomas in the backfield and the mania in New Orleans at an all-time high, forces are rallying around the Black and Gold, and they will not let them lose. Either that, or I am completely full of shit.
25 January 2010
12 January 2010
The Pete Carroll Crisis
Pete Carroll has just officially been introduced as the new coach of the Seattle Seahawks, and he seems thrilled. The Seahawks certainly are as well, and optimism runs high in the Pacific Northwest. I hope they forgive me if I do not share their outlook. Pete Carroll is a summer soldier and a sunshine patriot, and has left his Men of Troy for a nice quiet NFL hideaway.
First of all, the simple fact of the matter is that the documented statistics related to coaches who make the jump from college football to the pro game are heavily stacked against Carroll. For every Jimmy Johnson there are four or five Nick Sabans or Bobby Petrinos or, well, Pete Carrolls. Pete had moderate success (or at least not abject failure) in his first NFL forays, at his best taking a Super Bowl squad and turning it into a .500 team on the playoff fence, but still he is eager for this new “challenge” for some reason.
The tragedy of this for Pete is not just the fact that he is statistically unlikely to succeed. It is that he is giving up a position at the top of his game to try his hand at an entirely different game. Carroll has held USC at or near the top of the college football heap ever since he arrived in L.A. It was then that he found his niche. He has been coaching since the seventies, according to rivals.com, and half of it has been in the NFL, but the step from assistant coach and coordinator to head coach is a doozie, and I think we can all agree that Pete found a home not by making that step in the pros, but by heading to USC, and that he was at the apex of his profession there almost from the start.
That is where the difference lies, between what he did at USC and what he is attempting to do in Seattle. Being a head coach in the League and in the NCAA are as different as Luge and bobsledding. Sure, they take place on the same surface and the goal is to get down the hill fast, but how you get there is vastly different. There is no recruiting in the pros, and there are no salary caps in college. The NFL is structured for parity and fairness, and every head coach has to build and shape his team with only slight edges in talent and ability to exploit. In stark contrast to this is the college game, which is built to favor the haves at the detriment of the have-nots. Pete had forgettable experiences on the level playing field of the League, but he is extremely talented at building a powerhouse and constantly reloading the best new talent into his machine. Where will this skill come into play in the NFL? How does his ability to get verbal commitments in living rooms in any way qualify him to manage and guide an NFL team to victory? In this light it is clear why coaches so often have a hard time making the transition between the professional and collegiate levels of the sport. For head coaches, it’s literally a different game. Frankly, I think Pete is out of his mind to leave a dynasty for a foundering pro team with a bleak immediate future, and I can only think of one reason why he would suddenly do so with such zeal.
As we all know, Carroll’s Trojans failed this year to appear in a BCS Bowl for the first time since about 1946. It is in the wake of this “failure” that Pete has skedaddled. Today in his speech to all his stunned and disappointed fans (Southern Cal fans don’t get heartbroken, they don’t care enough) he alluded frequently to the USC expectation “to win every single game.” He says he loved it, but the way he repeats it, and focuses on it, I think Pete was starting to feel like he could no longer live up to such high hopes.
When he arrived in 2001 he found a program that had seen some prominence but was on the decline. He took some flak for a poor season that first year, but the turnaround came rapidly. Almost 100 wins and two national championships later, USC became the Team of the Decade, and dominated the college football landscape, à la the Florida State Seminoles of the nineties (ok, they weren’t quite as good as the nineties Noles). But in the past couple years the Pac-10 has started to close the gap a bit, and even Pete’s cross-town rival is no longer content playing second fiddle in recruiting, with Coach Rick Neuheisel of UCLA doing a lot of saber-rattling (but not yet enjoying any tangible results). This year, as the climate got a bit more hostile, the Men of Troy lost four times, all of them within the conference, and failed to make their preordained BCS bowl. Perhaps Carroll’s success was obtained too cheap and esteemed too lightly, for in the wake of this first disappointment, he shrinks.
He can say all he wants about new opportunities and how he can’t resist a challenge, but there are plenty of challenges ahead at USC. They have a ways to go to get back to the rarified heights they once knew, but Carroll doesn’t feel like leading them there anymore. So he is skulking off to Seattle, whose team plays as far out of the national spotlight as is possible in this oversaturated media environment, and where expectations are so low that he can’t possibly fail to meet them. It seems very telling that though he has had all manner of NFL offers every year for at least the last five, he has chosen the worst year USC had under him since his rookie season to finally accept one. He has run out on Southern Cal and left us with a half-finished story. Before we could find out if he was destined for a drop back to the pack or another return to glory, he pulled the plug and ducked the responsibility in favor of a no-lose situation.
I admit that have never really liked Carroll. I thought his time in New England was wasted and just left Belichick with more work to do. I never bought into his surfer-dude rapport; the way he got tanner and his speech and manner got younger and more “California” as he got older. I resented that he had free run of every recruit on the west coast while the Noles had to battle two other powerhouses and a few up-and-comers every year for recruits in their own state. But I had to respect what Carroll did. The excellence his teams achieved in his tenure has not often been exceeded or even duplicated, and part of me is sorry to see him give all that up. Nonetheless, I feel justified in my disdain if this is what he does in times of crisis (even a minor one). If these are the times that tried his soul, then he is a summer soldier indeed. Good coaches can take a good program and make them successful, but great coaches survive the dark nights as well as the bright days, and sustain programs through feast and famine. I never wanted to admit Pete was a great coach, and now it looks like I won’t have to.
First of all, the simple fact of the matter is that the documented statistics related to coaches who make the jump from college football to the pro game are heavily stacked against Carroll. For every Jimmy Johnson there are four or five Nick Sabans or Bobby Petrinos or, well, Pete Carrolls. Pete had moderate success (or at least not abject failure) in his first NFL forays, at his best taking a Super Bowl squad and turning it into a .500 team on the playoff fence, but still he is eager for this new “challenge” for some reason.
The tragedy of this for Pete is not just the fact that he is statistically unlikely to succeed. It is that he is giving up a position at the top of his game to try his hand at an entirely different game. Carroll has held USC at or near the top of the college football heap ever since he arrived in L.A. It was then that he found his niche. He has been coaching since the seventies, according to rivals.com, and half of it has been in the NFL, but the step from assistant coach and coordinator to head coach is a doozie, and I think we can all agree that Pete found a home not by making that step in the pros, but by heading to USC, and that he was at the apex of his profession there almost from the start.
That is where the difference lies, between what he did at USC and what he is attempting to do in Seattle. Being a head coach in the League and in the NCAA are as different as Luge and bobsledding. Sure, they take place on the same surface and the goal is to get down the hill fast, but how you get there is vastly different. There is no recruiting in the pros, and there are no salary caps in college. The NFL is structured for parity and fairness, and every head coach has to build and shape his team with only slight edges in talent and ability to exploit. In stark contrast to this is the college game, which is built to favor the haves at the detriment of the have-nots. Pete had forgettable experiences on the level playing field of the League, but he is extremely talented at building a powerhouse and constantly reloading the best new talent into his machine. Where will this skill come into play in the NFL? How does his ability to get verbal commitments in living rooms in any way qualify him to manage and guide an NFL team to victory? In this light it is clear why coaches so often have a hard time making the transition between the professional and collegiate levels of the sport. For head coaches, it’s literally a different game. Frankly, I think Pete is out of his mind to leave a dynasty for a foundering pro team with a bleak immediate future, and I can only think of one reason why he would suddenly do so with such zeal.
As we all know, Carroll’s Trojans failed this year to appear in a BCS Bowl for the first time since about 1946. It is in the wake of this “failure” that Pete has skedaddled. Today in his speech to all his stunned and disappointed fans (Southern Cal fans don’t get heartbroken, they don’t care enough) he alluded frequently to the USC expectation “to win every single game.” He says he loved it, but the way he repeats it, and focuses on it, I think Pete was starting to feel like he could no longer live up to such high hopes.
When he arrived in 2001 he found a program that had seen some prominence but was on the decline. He took some flak for a poor season that first year, but the turnaround came rapidly. Almost 100 wins and two national championships later, USC became the Team of the Decade, and dominated the college football landscape, à la the Florida State Seminoles of the nineties (ok, they weren’t quite as good as the nineties Noles). But in the past couple years the Pac-10 has started to close the gap a bit, and even Pete’s cross-town rival is no longer content playing second fiddle in recruiting, with Coach Rick Neuheisel of UCLA doing a lot of saber-rattling (but not yet enjoying any tangible results). This year, as the climate got a bit more hostile, the Men of Troy lost four times, all of them within the conference, and failed to make their preordained BCS bowl. Perhaps Carroll’s success was obtained too cheap and esteemed too lightly, for in the wake of this first disappointment, he shrinks.
He can say all he wants about new opportunities and how he can’t resist a challenge, but there are plenty of challenges ahead at USC. They have a ways to go to get back to the rarified heights they once knew, but Carroll doesn’t feel like leading them there anymore. So he is skulking off to Seattle, whose team plays as far out of the national spotlight as is possible in this oversaturated media environment, and where expectations are so low that he can’t possibly fail to meet them. It seems very telling that though he has had all manner of NFL offers every year for at least the last five, he has chosen the worst year USC had under him since his rookie season to finally accept one. He has run out on Southern Cal and left us with a half-finished story. Before we could find out if he was destined for a drop back to the pack or another return to glory, he pulled the plug and ducked the responsibility in favor of a no-lose situation.
I admit that have never really liked Carroll. I thought his time in New England was wasted and just left Belichick with more work to do. I never bought into his surfer-dude rapport; the way he got tanner and his speech and manner got younger and more “California” as he got older. I resented that he had free run of every recruit on the west coast while the Noles had to battle two other powerhouses and a few up-and-comers every year for recruits in their own state. But I had to respect what Carroll did. The excellence his teams achieved in his tenure has not often been exceeded or even duplicated, and part of me is sorry to see him give all that up. Nonetheless, I feel justified in my disdain if this is what he does in times of crisis (even a minor one). If these are the times that tried his soul, then he is a summer soldier indeed. Good coaches can take a good program and make them successful, but great coaches survive the dark nights as well as the bright days, and sustain programs through feast and famine. I never wanted to admit Pete was a great coach, and now it looks like I won’t have to.
11 January 2010
The Patriots Era, May it Rest in Peace
An Obituary for a Dynasty
The Patriots ruled the decade that has just come to a close. They fielded the greatest team of that decade, and came within one chewed piece of strategically placed bubblegum of unprecedented perfection with that team. They began the Aughts as hopeless underdogs and by the middle years were a juggernaught, a force of nature. During their run they put together an iconic offense once, but other than that 2007 passing attack (which was ultimately exposed for its lack of balance), they never relied on memorable casts of characters. There was no Steel Curtain defense for them, no Monsters of the Midway. They didn’t even have the Quarterback of the Decade. That honor would more than likely fall to the prolific Peyton Manning, since he did get his Lombardi Trophy to go with all his records. No, the Patriots fashioned their triumphs as a monolithic Team with a capital T, switching in and out interchangeable parts like a cotton gin and living a mantra of unquestioning belief in The System and The Coach (even the great Brady was replaceable: a high school quarterback came in for him and won 11 games). Me-guys routinely came to the Pats and turned over new leaves, and they were rewarded with a trip to the Super Bowl. The System is what gets us there, and The System is what will be remembered about this team.
But now, as I sit here watching the opening round game between my Patriots and the Baltimore Ravens, the decade is over, and the spare parts shelf is getting sparse. Hardly a player is left from the championship teams. Sure, they are back in the playoffs where they belong, but they are up against a team that actually did have the iconic defense of the decade, though they only have one trophy to show for it. The way they are playing, book-ending the last ten years of dominance by this Ravens D seems more than possible. The Ravens if nothing else have their emotional leader from their 2000 Super Bowl season, who is still a dangerous threat and around whom they have built and rebuilt. In contrast, all the leaders of the Patriots’ championship defenses are network analysts these days. The rebuilding effort is in progress, but it is a rebuilding effort.
The game has barely begun, and already I am in a frothy rage. The Pats are flat-footed, slow, and losing every battle on every side of the ball. Right now there is a minute left in the first quarter, and we are down 24-0. Twenty-four to nothing! Brady looks like a kid who had his blanky taken away, which he very well might be, and besides the indomitable Kevin Faulk, the entire team looks lost and already beaten. This is a humbling experience. The arc of the Patriots’ success appears to be coming back down to earth in a hurry.
The Ravens haven’t even thrown a pass. It is now five and a half minutes into the second quarter, and it is 24-7, our points only coming off of a BS muffed punt recovery. The offense looks like it is only hoping to succeed, and as my father always says, hope is not a strategy.
Well, Flacco finally threw, and he was picked. Naturally, the Pass-Happy Pats can’t do a thing with it. Throwing on third and two does not win playoff games. It should be noted that I was not going to write a “running diary” -style article at first, but it was the only way I could keep from disturbing the neighbors with my screams of pain and frustration.
Hey kids, it’s Junior Seau! I love it. That’s Belief in The System personified. Junior came out of retirement to New England to be part of something special. That’s why they all come. I’m just not sure that we are all that special anymore.
Our defense got a stop, but they don’t have a choice, and with that big lead the Ravens aren’t going to do anything crazy. The punt return by Edelman was good. He caught our touchdown (third and goal from the 6, we threw. I wanted to run it twice but, you know, results) and is one guy who wants to win. Faulk does as well; he was rallying the troops on the sideline. Good to see. 5:23 left in the half.
The O sucks. They can’t run, they can’t block, and Tommy is far from sharp. It used to be that it didn’t matter what the other defense did, Tom could make the reads and get the ball out of his hands quickly, with pinpoint accuracy and just where the seam was. Now, he’s been hurt, he’s had to get back into form, and he has had Wes Welker open on every play, so he hasn’t had to be as good as he was when he was actually winning super bowls. I know that an inconsistent running game doesn’t help, but they have gotten by with that before. I loved the days of running for 0 yards once a series just to show that we would. Now we need to run, because we don’t have that surgical passing game, and when we can’t the screen and short passing games get blown up and we are left sitting on our hands.
There is than a minute left in the second quarter. We are blowing our chance for a shot with the ball at the end of the half because we can’t stop the run on short third downs. Well, we can’t stop it at all. When the Ravens need to move it, they do so at will. The halftime score will be 24-7. Jim Nantz can hardly say it, he seems so excited.
We didn’t roll to these playoffs. We won more games last year and missed them. Last year we had an easy schedule but didn’t really ever win when we needed to, but that was without Brady. This year we had two big tester games, and lost them both, as well as virtually every game on the road. We are only here at all thanks to our weak division. It would seem that the Patriots truly are a shadow of their former selves. Nearly all the heroes of championships past are gone, so many coaches and assistants are gone, the GM who built those Super Bowl teams is gone. Even the Belief might be gone. No one, besides Faulk, who is one of the few current players left from the Championship teams, and Edelman, who is rising to the challenge of being Baby Wes as best he can, seems to want to win this game, and I include Brady in that latter group even as I sit here in his jersey, honestly believing that he will bring us back and win this game.
The second half is underway and we get a good runback. As the drive begins its once again painfully clear that the Ravens are tacking well, and the Pats aren’t; at least not when they need to. Tom misses a third and long pass to Edelman badly. He makes that throw if we are going to win the game. He makes that throw when it’s Our Year.
There’s still time. It is three and a half minutes into the second half. There is a ton of time. If anyone can do it, it is Tom and the Boys. In Belichick We Trust.
As I say that Brady throws another pick. Baltimore is in the red zone. I will make no more prognostications about the results for the rest of the piece.
The Ravens get a field goal. 27-7 Baltimore. Jim Nantz declares “a win for the Patriots Defense.” The fact is that the Pats don’t have a single decent drive. They are losing the turnover battle handily, they are losing the big play count, they are losing the battles in the trenches, and they are losing the battle in the offensive secondary. Oh, and Tommy, our Knight, has done all the turning over, with three picks and a lost fumble. I guess it’s time to go to work.
The Patriots go 55 yards for a touchdown. 27-14 Ravens, with less than 17 minutes remaining in the game. The Ravens offense will come out with purpose on this drive, and the Pats have not stopped them when they have come out with purpose. Time to go to work.
The “time to go to work” karma did not pan out. A long kick return and a steady, methodical, and balanced drive, more balanced than any other today, might be the dagger. Flacco scrambles for a first down (though a challenge of the spot was required to get it). I would like to say that I saw a clear block in the back on that play, but no one seemed to notice in the broadcast booth or on the refereeing crew, so I acknowledge the possibility of bias. Three plays later and Willis walks in untouched. Phil Simms points out how obvious the offensive play call was. I concur. Untouched anyway. “My advice to you is start drinking heavily.” Thanks, Bluto.
They went for two and they got close but failed. A second challenge followed and though looking at the replay I believe Willis probably made it, if the referee follows the rules he has to uphold the ruling on the field, for there is no indisputable evidence to contradict the original call. The ref is back, and that’s how it went down. Good on him. Some good news about this game is the refs. They aren’t calling any BS roughing the passer calls on hits on Brady, who is getting tattooed by the way, and they are calling a fair game and letting the boys play.
The Pats run another kick return close to midfield. Both teams have covered kicks poorly all day. Tom has a short field again. 3 unanswered touchdowns win the game. There are nine minutes left. Is it sad that I still think this will happen?
God dammit, just as I sing the praises of the referees and they call a block in the back on the Pats that looked exactly like the one I mentioned on Flacco’s scramble. They called it, no less, on a truly unbelievable play by Edelman. It was fourth down and seven, he caught the pass in the flat and was dead to rights 5 yards short, but somehow, some way, fought his way past the whole defense and beyond the first down mark, breaking at least five tackles on the way. It was an incredible effort, and it made me realize that if everybody wanted it as badly as Edelman we would win this game. It was called back however, and we faced a hopeless fourth and 17, but Edelman refused to be denied again and the Ravens gave Brady the time, and they hooked up for a twenty yard pass. I love that kid. I can’t wait to see him on the field with Moss and Welker next year. And there it was, we were on our way. But no, the drive stalled promptly, and was capped by a missed 44-yard field goal. Vinatieri makes that kick easy. Easy. That is the first time I have missed him since he left.
With seven minutes remaining, the game is over, and Nantz is reminding me that when the clock is zeroes a lot of New England home winning streaks will be over as well. He says a lot, it’s really two. Home playoff games, and overall home games (it is Tom Brady’s first home playoff loss as well), both of which I have been conditioned not to care about. The Patriots have changed my whole outlook, spoiling me rotten in the course of their brilliant run through this decade. Nowadays I only care about the games played on neutral sites, and I am not talking about London. The rings are what count, now that we have some, right?
As the game, the football decade, and the last vestiges of dynasty all give way to the irresistible march of time, I can see a faint light through the devastation. It is a vision of hope, which I have not known for some time. I hope, not “know” or “expect,” that we can rebuild, that we can get stronger, draft well, drill, coach and train well, so that we will play well and win games. The feeling that championships are a birthright has been obliterated by the Ravens today, and as a sports fan it is strangely liberating. The disappointment and heartbreak is complete, but it comes with a realization that I have been blessed with an incredible decade, to which I have borne witness and have celebrated. Most fans are not so fortunate, and haven’t been for some time. I mean, hell, I could be my girlfriend, the Bills fan, for sobbing out loud. I’ve had a great run with this team, and in the stark contrast of today’s annihilation, I am grateful.
So the decade is dead, and with it has gone the Patriots’ Era. But gone as well is an era of obnoxious entitlement, of which I was a guilty party. The Patriots face seasons ahead as just another team, much like they did in 2000 and 2001. But we have Tom Brady, and we have Bill, In Whom We Trust, and the future, while uncertain, still looks bright. Rest in peace, Aughts. Bring on the Teens.
The Patriots ruled the decade that has just come to a close. They fielded the greatest team of that decade, and came within one chewed piece of strategically placed bubblegum of unprecedented perfection with that team. They began the Aughts as hopeless underdogs and by the middle years were a juggernaught, a force of nature. During their run they put together an iconic offense once, but other than that 2007 passing attack (which was ultimately exposed for its lack of balance), they never relied on memorable casts of characters. There was no Steel Curtain defense for them, no Monsters of the Midway. They didn’t even have the Quarterback of the Decade. That honor would more than likely fall to the prolific Peyton Manning, since he did get his Lombardi Trophy to go with all his records. No, the Patriots fashioned their triumphs as a monolithic Team with a capital T, switching in and out interchangeable parts like a cotton gin and living a mantra of unquestioning belief in The System and The Coach (even the great Brady was replaceable: a high school quarterback came in for him and won 11 games). Me-guys routinely came to the Pats and turned over new leaves, and they were rewarded with a trip to the Super Bowl. The System is what gets us there, and The System is what will be remembered about this team.
But now, as I sit here watching the opening round game between my Patriots and the Baltimore Ravens, the decade is over, and the spare parts shelf is getting sparse. Hardly a player is left from the championship teams. Sure, they are back in the playoffs where they belong, but they are up against a team that actually did have the iconic defense of the decade, though they only have one trophy to show for it. The way they are playing, book-ending the last ten years of dominance by this Ravens D seems more than possible. The Ravens if nothing else have their emotional leader from their 2000 Super Bowl season, who is still a dangerous threat and around whom they have built and rebuilt. In contrast, all the leaders of the Patriots’ championship defenses are network analysts these days. The rebuilding effort is in progress, but it is a rebuilding effort.
The game has barely begun, and already I am in a frothy rage. The Pats are flat-footed, slow, and losing every battle on every side of the ball. Right now there is a minute left in the first quarter, and we are down 24-0. Twenty-four to nothing! Brady looks like a kid who had his blanky taken away, which he very well might be, and besides the indomitable Kevin Faulk, the entire team looks lost and already beaten. This is a humbling experience. The arc of the Patriots’ success appears to be coming back down to earth in a hurry.
The Ravens haven’t even thrown a pass. It is now five and a half minutes into the second quarter, and it is 24-7, our points only coming off of a BS muffed punt recovery. The offense looks like it is only hoping to succeed, and as my father always says, hope is not a strategy.
Well, Flacco finally threw, and he was picked. Naturally, the Pass-Happy Pats can’t do a thing with it. Throwing on third and two does not win playoff games. It should be noted that I was not going to write a “running diary” -style article at first, but it was the only way I could keep from disturbing the neighbors with my screams of pain and frustration.
Hey kids, it’s Junior Seau! I love it. That’s Belief in The System personified. Junior came out of retirement to New England to be part of something special. That’s why they all come. I’m just not sure that we are all that special anymore.
Our defense got a stop, but they don’t have a choice, and with that big lead the Ravens aren’t going to do anything crazy. The punt return by Edelman was good. He caught our touchdown (third and goal from the 6, we threw. I wanted to run it twice but, you know, results) and is one guy who wants to win. Faulk does as well; he was rallying the troops on the sideline. Good to see. 5:23 left in the half.
The O sucks. They can’t run, they can’t block, and Tommy is far from sharp. It used to be that it didn’t matter what the other defense did, Tom could make the reads and get the ball out of his hands quickly, with pinpoint accuracy and just where the seam was. Now, he’s been hurt, he’s had to get back into form, and he has had Wes Welker open on every play, so he hasn’t had to be as good as he was when he was actually winning super bowls. I know that an inconsistent running game doesn’t help, but they have gotten by with that before. I loved the days of running for 0 yards once a series just to show that we would. Now we need to run, because we don’t have that surgical passing game, and when we can’t the screen and short passing games get blown up and we are left sitting on our hands.
There is than a minute left in the second quarter. We are blowing our chance for a shot with the ball at the end of the half because we can’t stop the run on short third downs. Well, we can’t stop it at all. When the Ravens need to move it, they do so at will. The halftime score will be 24-7. Jim Nantz can hardly say it, he seems so excited.
We didn’t roll to these playoffs. We won more games last year and missed them. Last year we had an easy schedule but didn’t really ever win when we needed to, but that was without Brady. This year we had two big tester games, and lost them both, as well as virtually every game on the road. We are only here at all thanks to our weak division. It would seem that the Patriots truly are a shadow of their former selves. Nearly all the heroes of championships past are gone, so many coaches and assistants are gone, the GM who built those Super Bowl teams is gone. Even the Belief might be gone. No one, besides Faulk, who is one of the few current players left from the Championship teams, and Edelman, who is rising to the challenge of being Baby Wes as best he can, seems to want to win this game, and I include Brady in that latter group even as I sit here in his jersey, honestly believing that he will bring us back and win this game.
The second half is underway and we get a good runback. As the drive begins its once again painfully clear that the Ravens are tacking well, and the Pats aren’t; at least not when they need to. Tom misses a third and long pass to Edelman badly. He makes that throw if we are going to win the game. He makes that throw when it’s Our Year.
There’s still time. It is three and a half minutes into the second half. There is a ton of time. If anyone can do it, it is Tom and the Boys. In Belichick We Trust.
As I say that Brady throws another pick. Baltimore is in the red zone. I will make no more prognostications about the results for the rest of the piece.
The Ravens get a field goal. 27-7 Baltimore. Jim Nantz declares “a win for the Patriots Defense.” The fact is that the Pats don’t have a single decent drive. They are losing the turnover battle handily, they are losing the big play count, they are losing the battles in the trenches, and they are losing the battle in the offensive secondary. Oh, and Tommy, our Knight, has done all the turning over, with three picks and a lost fumble. I guess it’s time to go to work.
The Patriots go 55 yards for a touchdown. 27-14 Ravens, with less than 17 minutes remaining in the game. The Ravens offense will come out with purpose on this drive, and the Pats have not stopped them when they have come out with purpose. Time to go to work.
The “time to go to work” karma did not pan out. A long kick return and a steady, methodical, and balanced drive, more balanced than any other today, might be the dagger. Flacco scrambles for a first down (though a challenge of the spot was required to get it). I would like to say that I saw a clear block in the back on that play, but no one seemed to notice in the broadcast booth or on the refereeing crew, so I acknowledge the possibility of bias. Three plays later and Willis walks in untouched. Phil Simms points out how obvious the offensive play call was. I concur. Untouched anyway. “My advice to you is start drinking heavily.” Thanks, Bluto.
They went for two and they got close but failed. A second challenge followed and though looking at the replay I believe Willis probably made it, if the referee follows the rules he has to uphold the ruling on the field, for there is no indisputable evidence to contradict the original call. The ref is back, and that’s how it went down. Good on him. Some good news about this game is the refs. They aren’t calling any BS roughing the passer calls on hits on Brady, who is getting tattooed by the way, and they are calling a fair game and letting the boys play.
The Pats run another kick return close to midfield. Both teams have covered kicks poorly all day. Tom has a short field again. 3 unanswered touchdowns win the game. There are nine minutes left. Is it sad that I still think this will happen?
God dammit, just as I sing the praises of the referees and they call a block in the back on the Pats that looked exactly like the one I mentioned on Flacco’s scramble. They called it, no less, on a truly unbelievable play by Edelman. It was fourth down and seven, he caught the pass in the flat and was dead to rights 5 yards short, but somehow, some way, fought his way past the whole defense and beyond the first down mark, breaking at least five tackles on the way. It was an incredible effort, and it made me realize that if everybody wanted it as badly as Edelman we would win this game. It was called back however, and we faced a hopeless fourth and 17, but Edelman refused to be denied again and the Ravens gave Brady the time, and they hooked up for a twenty yard pass. I love that kid. I can’t wait to see him on the field with Moss and Welker next year. And there it was, we were on our way. But no, the drive stalled promptly, and was capped by a missed 44-yard field goal. Vinatieri makes that kick easy. Easy. That is the first time I have missed him since he left.
With seven minutes remaining, the game is over, and Nantz is reminding me that when the clock is zeroes a lot of New England home winning streaks will be over as well. He says a lot, it’s really two. Home playoff games, and overall home games (it is Tom Brady’s first home playoff loss as well), both of which I have been conditioned not to care about. The Patriots have changed my whole outlook, spoiling me rotten in the course of their brilliant run through this decade. Nowadays I only care about the games played on neutral sites, and I am not talking about London. The rings are what count, now that we have some, right?
As the game, the football decade, and the last vestiges of dynasty all give way to the irresistible march of time, I can see a faint light through the devastation. It is a vision of hope, which I have not known for some time. I hope, not “know” or “expect,” that we can rebuild, that we can get stronger, draft well, drill, coach and train well, so that we will play well and win games. The feeling that championships are a birthright has been obliterated by the Ravens today, and as a sports fan it is strangely liberating. The disappointment and heartbreak is complete, but it comes with a realization that I have been blessed with an incredible decade, to which I have borne witness and have celebrated. Most fans are not so fortunate, and haven’t been for some time. I mean, hell, I could be my girlfriend, the Bills fan, for sobbing out loud. I’ve had a great run with this team, and in the stark contrast of today’s annihilation, I am grateful.
So the decade is dead, and with it has gone the Patriots’ Era. But gone as well is an era of obnoxious entitlement, of which I was a guilty party. The Patriots face seasons ahead as just another team, much like they did in 2000 and 2001. But we have Tom Brady, and we have Bill, In Whom We Trust, and the future, while uncertain, still looks bright. Rest in peace, Aughts. Bring on the Teens.
06 January 2010
Bobby Deserved Better
The last sports-related post I made was a steroids argument laden with premises that turned out to be spoon-fed into my mind by Bill Simmons. The man is good at what he does, but I don't like being his mouthpiece, and luckily, this topic is way off his radar. I write today concerning the end of an era, the end of Florida State football as we have always known it.
The entire season was plagued with rumblings of Bobby's being unfit for command. Every loss would bring renewed vigor to the arguments that he should step aside or be pushed. Throughout this I was outraged, because as usual Florida sports fans were demonstrating their pathetic "what-have-you-done-for-me-lately" attitudes to an entirely new and classless level. Even talking about forcing out the man who single-handedly brought the program from complete obscurity to two national championships and more than a decade of unrivaled dominance simply because the team's performance FOLLOWING that period of unrivaled dominance has been an unavoidable downturn was unconscionable in my eyes. Yet here we are, weeks before the Gator Bowl, the 28th bowl in a row to which Bowden has led us (longest active streak in the nation), and the unthinkable has happened. The university, one that holds its storied reputation and national prominence ONLY because of Bowden, has forced him out, a single year shy of the coach's own professional aspirations. This lack of grace and appreciation was met with the unflappable dignity to which Bowden responds to all things, but I was and am in a state of outrage. I ask you, how many wins will Bobby's departure lead to next year? 4 more wins than last year would give us a 10 win season and a shot at the ACC title. But is that even likely? And is it worth it? Are 4 extra wins worth marring the close of an unprecedented career that has spanned over 350, the lion's share of which were for the previously anonymous Seminoles? I'm at a loss.
I have read plenty of arguments that it was time for Bobby to step aside. Most of them are readily apparent and obvious, and there is no need to mention them, mainly because they are all true. But that is not the point I am arguing. I don’t claim that Bobby had outlasted his abilities. I only claim that Bobby had earned the right to decide for himself when and how he would like to end his storied run, even if it cost us a couple wins every now and then. The fair-weather fandom in Florida shocked me when I first encountered it, and pained me every one of my years at State, but this latest act by the athletics department and the boosters against Bowden is an atrocious lack of gratitude and memory. It is unforgivable.
And yet even though I spent more than my fair share of time in the Doak screaming my lungs out for Bobby and the Noles (and sometimes being told to be quiet and sit down in the process), I feel almost like I am on the outside looking in at this tragedy. After I left Virginia Tech following my freshman year, a relative infant and now an orphan in the realm of college football, I arrived at Florida State and was taken in by Bobby and the Noles. I gave myself over to them completely and lived and died by their exploits, all the while only learning of their former glory after the fact, often spoke of as if it was ancient history, even though the 2000 season was only 3 years before my arrival. Without possessing a historical context for my loyalty to the Noles, I thought that they would not take possession of my emotions the way that some teams have. But I was wrong. I was there when Bobby was lifted up on the shoulders of his victorious team when he passed Jo Pa as the all-time winningest coach in D1A history, and I was crushed when he fell back behind. I have exulted in the miracle wins and stayed for the last seconds of the most bitter home losses. I did not have the time put in as a fan of Florida State to appreciate just how stunning and incredible the history of my team is. And yet I seem to be the only one who appreciates it now.
The entire season was plagued with rumblings of Bobby's being unfit for command. Every loss would bring renewed vigor to the arguments that he should step aside or be pushed. Throughout this I was outraged, because as usual Florida sports fans were demonstrating their pathetic "what-have-you-done-for-me-lately" attitudes to an entirely new and classless level. Even talking about forcing out the man who single-handedly brought the program from complete obscurity to two national championships and more than a decade of unrivaled dominance simply because the team's performance FOLLOWING that period of unrivaled dominance has been an unavoidable downturn was unconscionable in my eyes. Yet here we are, weeks before the Gator Bowl, the 28th bowl in a row to which Bowden has led us (longest active streak in the nation), and the unthinkable has happened. The university, one that holds its storied reputation and national prominence ONLY because of Bowden, has forced him out, a single year shy of the coach's own professional aspirations. This lack of grace and appreciation was met with the unflappable dignity to which Bowden responds to all things, but I was and am in a state of outrage. I ask you, how many wins will Bobby's departure lead to next year? 4 more wins than last year would give us a 10 win season and a shot at the ACC title. But is that even likely? And is it worth it? Are 4 extra wins worth marring the close of an unprecedented career that has spanned over 350, the lion's share of which were for the previously anonymous Seminoles? I'm at a loss.
I have read plenty of arguments that it was time for Bobby to step aside. Most of them are readily apparent and obvious, and there is no need to mention them, mainly because they are all true. But that is not the point I am arguing. I don’t claim that Bobby had outlasted his abilities. I only claim that Bobby had earned the right to decide for himself when and how he would like to end his storied run, even if it cost us a couple wins every now and then. The fair-weather fandom in Florida shocked me when I first encountered it, and pained me every one of my years at State, but this latest act by the athletics department and the boosters against Bowden is an atrocious lack of gratitude and memory. It is unforgivable.
And yet even though I spent more than my fair share of time in the Doak screaming my lungs out for Bobby and the Noles (and sometimes being told to be quiet and sit down in the process), I feel almost like I am on the outside looking in at this tragedy. After I left Virginia Tech following my freshman year, a relative infant and now an orphan in the realm of college football, I arrived at Florida State and was taken in by Bobby and the Noles. I gave myself over to them completely and lived and died by their exploits, all the while only learning of their former glory after the fact, often spoke of as if it was ancient history, even though the 2000 season was only 3 years before my arrival. Without possessing a historical context for my loyalty to the Noles, I thought that they would not take possession of my emotions the way that some teams have. But I was wrong. I was there when Bobby was lifted up on the shoulders of his victorious team when he passed Jo Pa as the all-time winningest coach in D1A history, and I was crushed when he fell back behind. I have exulted in the miracle wins and stayed for the last seconds of the most bitter home losses. I did not have the time put in as a fan of Florida State to appreciate just how stunning and incredible the history of my team is. And yet I seem to be the only one who appreciates it now.
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