Yeah, okay, they lost this week. To the Colts, who, as any Broncos fan knows, have come to be the PeytonManning-faced monkey on our back over the last few seasons. Since when? Well, probably since that ignominious moment when Marvin Harrison scored in the '03 playoffs because none of the 4 or 5 Broncos defenders around him thought to touch him after he went down--on, oh, about the Broncos 30 yard-line--and he played possum and then slowly got to his feet and then was suddenly running to the end-zone all alone. 'Twas a collective brain-fart of a highly embarassing (and costly) nature.
So yeah, sigh, we lost to the Colts, again. But, it wasn't really a mountain I expected this Broncos team to be able to climb; as such, I was able to see a lot of positive things, overall, that make me cautiously optimistic about this team going forward.
Phil Simms, working the booth for the broadcast, related a conversation he'd had with Josh McDaniels about how, exactly, you game-plan for the Colts and that clockwork offensive machine. The plan centered around acknowledging, first of all, that the Colts were going to move the ball; acknowledging this was intended to give the Broncos defense the psychological space needed to deal with that reality. Second, it was about stopping the Colts in the red-zone: if we hold them to field goals, we give ourselves a good chance.
And actually, that plan worked pretty well. The problem was two big turnovers, each of which gave the Colts (and Manning) the ball deep inside of Broncos' territory. Neither turnover was at all forced, they were both just simply sloppy mistakes, and you cannot make mistakes like that against the Colts. You cannot give them extra opportunities, because they will figure things out, and they will make you pay: this is a standard, accepted truth of current professional football.
So ultimately, those two mistakes were the story of the game, in terms of who won and who lost. But outside of that, the Broncos played some pretty good football. They racked up a ton of yards with a passing game that looked pretty versatile: a lot of different receivers, occupying a wide variety of space up and down the field. The offensive game plan looked smart; Freeney and Mathis were non-factors, double-teamed as often as not, and Kyle Orton had plenty of time to throw all day long. Beyond that, there was a clear second-half adjustment in the game-plan to the lack of success in the running game, and correspondingly to the success of the passing game. I liked seeing that a lot; I felt like McDaniels was too stubborn about "staying the course" all too often last season, and it was good to see that's not necessarily one of his firm character traits. It was important for me to see, as a true Broncos fan, that Josh learned from last season, his first as the head coach of a professional football team. That he would learn from, rather than repeat, his mistakes, and this game gave me a good feeling about that.
And: the defense looked good. Yes, they didn't stop the Colts, but no one "stops" the Colts, especially with those kind of turnovers. What I liked best about the defense was the number of strong, sure, secure tackles I saw, several of which stopped Colts receivers just shy of first downs. Tackling is an overlooked art, and it's key to the success of stopping a Colts-style offense. Tackling is also one of the things that Champ Bailey, praise be His name, does incredibly well. Champ Bailey, honest to God, makes tackles that personally inspire me. Seriously. But, too often since the wonderful/tragic Broncos AFC championship game season of 2005, Champ has been the only one on the field who can tackle at all. I think...fingers crossed, but I think that tide is turning. The Broncos defense in this game did, for me, everything that a defense should be asked to do. I am pretty sure that against non-Colts teams, this defense is going to win us some games this year.
In sum? I am, I am...cautiously optimistic. You don't want to stick your head out of the car window and whoop and holler and then get whacked by a tree branch while you're going 50 mph. A 6-0 start and a 2-8 finish, like the Broncos had last year, will teach you that the hard way. The two key elements of this season, for me, are a) I think everyone on the team has bought into it, I think they're keyed into a true sense of team, and b) I think Josh McDeezy really did learn from the mistakes of his first season. I was non-plussed and put off by Cutlergate, by Josh's imperious and clumsy handling of the whole thing. But I am a fan of the Denver Broncos, first and foremost, and I am starting to think that Mr. McDaniels, if he doesn't already know, at least has the capacity to learn what Mile High Magic actually means.
So week 4 looms, and I'm all a-tingle. Football!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Week 3: Defeat the Undefeated
The best thing about Week 3 of this NFL season was that only two teams emerged with still-unblemished records; and, that those two teams, the Bears and the Chiefs, are not going to go a whole season undefeated. I got tired of the undefeated talk of the last few seasons, the will-this-team-do-what-no-other-has-done stuff. It distracts from the focus on pure football, in search instead of some storyline that will generate more breathless media-babble. GOAT (Greatest Of All Time) talk is generally fairly silly, given that the majority of people doing the talking are extrapolating from a completely unrepresentative sampling (how many modern writers/commentators have actually seen Jim Brown play, or Johnny Unitas, or Red Grange, or Dick Butkus?). Instead of focusing on whether someone is "the greatest", I'm more interested in hearing descriptive analyses of what constitutes the fact that an individual player is deemed "great".
For example, an article about the nuances of the cornerback position that appeared in Sports Illustrated last year. One of the cornerbacks interviewed talked about the difficulty of defending Randy Moss. Not that Moss was tall, or fast, or has good hands, blah-blah-blah. What the cornerback described was Moss's level of physical control: namely, that when a ball is coming Randy's way, his eyes don't track it, his expression doesn't change, so that there's no obvious "tell" in his eyes or face that lets the cornerback know it's time to turn around and defend the ball that's headed his way. That's the kind of insight that genuinely increases my enjoyment of the game.
So anyway, my thanks to all the Week 3 smashers of undefeated dreams. Legacies shmegacies; let the '72 Dolphins crack open their case of champagne early this year.
Final note: Thursday is a bit late to be writing about the previous week's games, obviously. I am realizing I need to make more time for this blog than I thought I'd need to. So, starting next week, I'll be posting summaries of the weekend's action on Tuesdays, and will find time during the rest of the week to publish a post or two with some kind of special focus. All posts, of course, will feature an unabashed enthusiasm for this excellent, American game we call football. Football!
For example, an article about the nuances of the cornerback position that appeared in Sports Illustrated last year. One of the cornerbacks interviewed talked about the difficulty of defending Randy Moss. Not that Moss was tall, or fast, or has good hands, blah-blah-blah. What the cornerback described was Moss's level of physical control: namely, that when a ball is coming Randy's way, his eyes don't track it, his expression doesn't change, so that there's no obvious "tell" in his eyes or face that lets the cornerback know it's time to turn around and defend the ball that's headed his way. That's the kind of insight that genuinely increases my enjoyment of the game.
So anyway, my thanks to all the Week 3 smashers of undefeated dreams. Legacies shmegacies; let the '72 Dolphins crack open their case of champagne early this year.
Final note: Thursday is a bit late to be writing about the previous week's games, obviously. I am realizing I need to make more time for this blog than I thought I'd need to. So, starting next week, I'll be posting summaries of the weekend's action on Tuesdays, and will find time during the rest of the week to publish a post or two with some kind of special focus. All posts, of course, will feature an unabashed enthusiasm for this excellent, American game we call football. Football!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Week 2: And lo, there was a tumult
Week 2's posting comes on on the eve of Week 3: collective held breaths will exhale tomorrow into a big dust cloud, and when that settles we'll start to get a clearer picture of what things are going to look like. I write this before heading to bed in a few minutes; I've got a kitty in my lap and a satisfying day in my belly, and the contentment of knowing that all I have to do tomorrow in order to have a really good day is get up out of bed, because tomorrow is Sunday, ladies and gentlemen, and the titans of the earth will be smiting each other all day long. Yea, in their colored raiments, carrying their armors into the fray!
Last week: The Saints waited till the very end and then cut the Niners' throats: a swift and merciful slaying. The Colts pounded the crap out of the Giants, Robert Mathis and Dwight Freeney looked like dragons swarming the line of scrimmage, heat-seeking missiles locked on target over and over again. The Texans took one from the Redskins, they went in and took it, just finally and furiously decided it was theirs; Gary Kubiak tripped up mentor Mike Shanahan with Mike's own little sneaky field-goal timeout trick. Touche, the pupil delivers a lesson unto the teacher. But the Texans looked like a real team, with a real quarterback. They unleashed something; no, I'd say they metamorphosed into something, and it will be interesting to see what kind of havoc it wreaks. Barring injuries, I think the Texans are going to tear some teams up.
And hey, lo and behold, Michael Vick has been given the reins in Philadelphia. Huh. Imagine that.
What else? The Cowboys are 0-2, the Bears are 2-0. Y'know, people have a weird beef with Jay Cutler. I suppose maybe I get it, but at the same time I don't get it, and either way I think it's dumb. Do you like football? Do you like watching someone perform at the quarterback position, someone who can (and does) complete any kind of throw you can imagine? He was born to play quarterback; just sit back, watch and enjoy it. Barring major injuries, 'cause I think they're a bit old and not that deep; barring that, I'm calling the Bears a playoff team. Seriously; he's an artist, and I think he's finally got the tools he needs.
Finally, El Broncos. They won, they looked sharp. And they looked smart: Demariyus Thomas was unveiled, and geez...one game, it's only one game, but man, he looks like he's going to be really, really good. He was their first-round pick, taken before Dez Bryant, and it looks like the Broncos did some real homework and scored. And I realized that the defense looks interesting; I don't want to get too optimistic, I think they're still finding themselves, overall, as a unit; but they looked, well, potentially interesting.
And, more seriously, they lost somebody. Kenny Mckinley, a little-used, little-known wideout and special teams player. Suicide, shot himself in the bedroom of his own home. Sounds like it was a genuine shock; no one seems to have had any inclination, at all really, of where his state of mind was. It's sad, and it's a mystery. It's become a part of the Broncos season now. Not to be melodramatic about it, but Death has become, quite suddenly, a major thread in their 2010-11 tapestry.
But, 'tis my bedtime. Miss Meowski, purring here in my lap, has caused my leg to fall asleep. All right. The Sandman and Week 3 beckon, see you on the other side.
Last week: The Saints waited till the very end and then cut the Niners' throats: a swift and merciful slaying. The Colts pounded the crap out of the Giants, Robert Mathis and Dwight Freeney looked like dragons swarming the line of scrimmage, heat-seeking missiles locked on target over and over again. The Texans took one from the Redskins, they went in and took it, just finally and furiously decided it was theirs; Gary Kubiak tripped up mentor Mike Shanahan with Mike's own little sneaky field-goal timeout trick. Touche, the pupil delivers a lesson unto the teacher. But the Texans looked like a real team, with a real quarterback. They unleashed something; no, I'd say they metamorphosed into something, and it will be interesting to see what kind of havoc it wreaks. Barring injuries, I think the Texans are going to tear some teams up.
And hey, lo and behold, Michael Vick has been given the reins in Philadelphia. Huh. Imagine that.
What else? The Cowboys are 0-2, the Bears are 2-0. Y'know, people have a weird beef with Jay Cutler. I suppose maybe I get it, but at the same time I don't get it, and either way I think it's dumb. Do you like football? Do you like watching someone perform at the quarterback position, someone who can (and does) complete any kind of throw you can imagine? He was born to play quarterback; just sit back, watch and enjoy it. Barring major injuries, 'cause I think they're a bit old and not that deep; barring that, I'm calling the Bears a playoff team. Seriously; he's an artist, and I think he's finally got the tools he needs.
Finally, El Broncos. They won, they looked sharp. And they looked smart: Demariyus Thomas was unveiled, and geez...one game, it's only one game, but man, he looks like he's going to be really, really good. He was their first-round pick, taken before Dez Bryant, and it looks like the Broncos did some real homework and scored. And I realized that the defense looks interesting; I don't want to get too optimistic, I think they're still finding themselves, overall, as a unit; but they looked, well, potentially interesting.
And, more seriously, they lost somebody. Kenny Mckinley, a little-used, little-known wideout and special teams player. Suicide, shot himself in the bedroom of his own home. Sounds like it was a genuine shock; no one seems to have had any inclination, at all really, of where his state of mind was. It's sad, and it's a mystery. It's become a part of the Broncos season now. Not to be melodramatic about it, but Death has become, quite suddenly, a major thread in their 2010-11 tapestry.
But, 'tis my bedtime. Miss Meowski, purring here in my lap, has caused my leg to fall asleep. All right. The Sandman and Week 3 beckon, see you on the other side.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Why football, you ask? Well, I'll tell you!
I fell in love with football on October 25th, 1986, in Boulder, Colorado. My dad and I were huddled around his little old radio, listening to the broadcast of Colorado v. Nebraska. Nebraska was a powerhouse of long-standing, a team with a long and rich football tradition, and were ranked #3 nationally coming into the game. Colorado? Well, the Buffaloes were struggling, to say the least. They carried a two-game winning streak into the game, but this was after having lost four in a row to start the season. The last time they'd beaten the Cornhuskers had been 14 years prior, a veritable eternity in college football terms. The only thing anyone was expecting that Saturday afternoon was for the Huskers to steamroll the Buffaloes into oblivion.
I didn't know any of this. I was an eight year-old kid, and football had only recently begun to penetrate my sphere of active concerns. But as we listened to the game, I could tell that something surprising and exciting was going on. Suddenly my dad looks up at me and says: "You want to go the game?" At the time, fans without tickets were allowed into the game for the last 10 minutes of the 4th quarter. I didn't know this either, but that wasn't what caught my attention. It was the spontaneity of the suggestion, the sound in my dad's voice and the look in his eye: something special was happening.
We hopped in the car and drove the twenty minutes or so it took us to get into Boulder, parked the car and hurried towards the stadium. The sense of excitement wasn't just ours, it was in the air, an atmospheric effect that got richer and stronger as we got closer and closer. By the time we arrived CU was carrying a 20-10 lead, and Folsom Field was seething with energy, getting ready to explode. They opened the gates at the 10 minute mark and we and everyone else who had also come to witness poured into the general admission section behind the north end zone.
The suddenness of being there was wonderfully overwhelming, so many things to take in all at once, and the quality of the energy, the sheer electricity, was something I'd never experienced in my young life up to that point. Nebraska had the ball, was driving towards our end of the field. It was with desperation, at that point the game was probably out of reach, but they were the mighty Cornhuskers and we were the 2-4 lowly Buffaloes, it was hard for anyone to believe in what was actually happening in front of them. And then Barry Remington stepped in front of Steve Taylor's passed and intercepted it at the Buff's 23 yard-line with 3:14 to go. I saw him, less than 40 yards away from me, and felt the simultaneous surge as 40,000 people erupted as a single entity. Bedlam. Ballgame over.
What I remember is the walk back to the car: perfect fall weather, sunny and gold in the late afternoon, the crispness and the chill in the air. And being happy, joyously and perfectly happy, without really knowing or understanding why; throwing my jacket into the air, running around in circles, just because I had to do something to celebrate, had to do something with my body that expressed this electric joy.
It was the inception of a love affair that has waxed and waned over the years since: I would discover new paramours, or become disenchanted with the rampant commercialism of the modern game and the single-mindedness of athletic pursuits. But I have returned, again and again, because it is a singular rarity in this life to find something which can synchronize the emotional lives of so many disparate individuals in the same moment, something which can take tens of thousands of strangers and turn them into a single, united voice. Yes, the incredible level of artifice of football, and the extent to which it's taken seriously; from a certain perspective this is all too silly and absurd. But if something offers the possibility of participating in a collective spirit of euphoria, heck yes I'll take it! And the fact of its artificiality, of its essential meaninglessness, is an inherent part of what makes it so damn wonderful.
Football!
I didn't know any of this. I was an eight year-old kid, and football had only recently begun to penetrate my sphere of active concerns. But as we listened to the game, I could tell that something surprising and exciting was going on. Suddenly my dad looks up at me and says: "You want to go the game?" At the time, fans without tickets were allowed into the game for the last 10 minutes of the 4th quarter. I didn't know this either, but that wasn't what caught my attention. It was the spontaneity of the suggestion, the sound in my dad's voice and the look in his eye: something special was happening.
We hopped in the car and drove the twenty minutes or so it took us to get into Boulder, parked the car and hurried towards the stadium. The sense of excitement wasn't just ours, it was in the air, an atmospheric effect that got richer and stronger as we got closer and closer. By the time we arrived CU was carrying a 20-10 lead, and Folsom Field was seething with energy, getting ready to explode. They opened the gates at the 10 minute mark and we and everyone else who had also come to witness poured into the general admission section behind the north end zone.
The suddenness of being there was wonderfully overwhelming, so many things to take in all at once, and the quality of the energy, the sheer electricity, was something I'd never experienced in my young life up to that point. Nebraska had the ball, was driving towards our end of the field. It was with desperation, at that point the game was probably out of reach, but they were the mighty Cornhuskers and we were the 2-4 lowly Buffaloes, it was hard for anyone to believe in what was actually happening in front of them. And then Barry Remington stepped in front of Steve Taylor's passed and intercepted it at the Buff's 23 yard-line with 3:14 to go. I saw him, less than 40 yards away from me, and felt the simultaneous surge as 40,000 people erupted as a single entity. Bedlam. Ballgame over.
What I remember is the walk back to the car: perfect fall weather, sunny and gold in the late afternoon, the crispness and the chill in the air. And being happy, joyously and perfectly happy, without really knowing or understanding why; throwing my jacket into the air, running around in circles, just because I had to do something to celebrate, had to do something with my body that expressed this electric joy.
It was the inception of a love affair that has waxed and waned over the years since: I would discover new paramours, or become disenchanted with the rampant commercialism of the modern game and the single-mindedness of athletic pursuits. But I have returned, again and again, because it is a singular rarity in this life to find something which can synchronize the emotional lives of so many disparate individuals in the same moment, something which can take tens of thousands of strangers and turn them into a single, united voice. Yes, the incredible level of artifice of football, and the extent to which it's taken seriously; from a certain perspective this is all too silly and absurd. But if something offers the possibility of participating in a collective spirit of euphoria, heck yes I'll take it! And the fact of its artificiality, of its essential meaninglessness, is an inherent part of what makes it so damn wonderful.
Football!
Monday, September 13, 2010
Week 1: First Blood
Football!
On Thursday night my friend Brett said he didn't remember what his life was like during the non-football part of the year, that it was like a bad dream he'd had. I pointed out that he was awake, and he was watching football, so logically he must've been dreaming that there was a time when football wasn't being played. A bad dream, indeed.
We were watching the Divinely Blessed vs. the Plundering Destroyers (aka Saints v. Vikings). At some point during the telecast there was a gross, disturbing image onscreen that looked like a lumpy, purplish potato. I think it was supposed to be a picture of Brett Favre's ankle. Brett Favre has played what now, 2 million games in a row, something like that, right? I realized that he keeps playing because he's finally come to understand that he can't actually be truly injured, unlike every other football player that exists.
The Saints looked awesome again, especially considering this was Week One. The best football teams have clearly established philosophies that guide how they build their team and how they play the game. For the Vikings it's something like power, brute force; they come at you in unstoppable waves, from both sides of the ball. It's impressive, a real onslaught. The Saints, they're about speed, they throw pinpoint daggers; but more than anything, they come with a coordinated and deadly intelligence, the singular offspring of a night when Einstein and a lady cobra got down and dirty together. Other defenses carry this mindset of: We're going to stop you on every play. Anyone who's ever played Tecmo Bowl (original NES) knows things don't break down like that; there is luck in football, the offense calls a screen when you've got the blitz on, whoopsy-daisy. The Saints defense is different. They wait, they're willing to let the small things go by. They're always watching for your mistake, and you'll make it, even you Peyton Manning in the Super Bowl and my god, the Saints will take your mistake and make you eat it, shit for breakfast for you Peyton Manning and Reggie Wayne. Did you hear Tracy Porter in his post-game interview? He didn't say "Me, look at me, look what I did!", he said "The team, the coaching, the game-prep, the play-call!" Go back and watch that tape, it's what cemented my understanding of what the Saints are and why they won that game.
So yeah, the Saints look good again. But it's a long season, anything can happen; Fate is a devious and cold mistress, any real football fan knows that by now. As usual with the epic theatre that an NFL season has become, there are a vast array of questions and interesting personal destinies out there. Cowboys v. Redskins, Sunday night. Great game. Seriously, Eagles? You traded your star quarterback to your division rivals? And you did this after the aforementioned Redskins hired Mike Shanahan as their coach. Something coming out of Philadelphia smells slightly stupid these days. And as for the Cowboys, well, I'm sorry for Dallas fans. You have two excellent professional sports teams with two big, fat Meddlers for owners, and a team with a Meddler for an owner is never going to win a championship of anything. Anyone see Tom Benson telling Sean Payton who to draft, or Dan Rooney telling Mike Tomlin who to throw the ball to, or Robert Kraft doing anything but getting the heck out of Bill Belichick's way?
Redskins v. Cowboys nicely illustrated the point. The Redskins have been a talented mess for several seasons now. They hired a coach this past offseason (Shanahan) who, as the winner of 2 Super Bowls, was able to choose his own coaching destiny, and that meant choosing a situation in which he would have control. Having a guy in control of the ship means that a single controversy, ala the uber-talented and mega-pouty Albert Haynesworth, doesn't actually end up severely rocking the boat. Then we look at the Cowboys, the also uber-talented, eternally undisciplined Cowboys. Like real cowboys, these guys apparently also carry pistols, which they use only to repeatedly shoot themselves in the foot. Did you see the game? Did you see how it ended, on an offensive penalty, one of the most blatant holds I've ever seen in my life? It looked like the Cowboys' tackle was trying to hold, trying to do the best job possible of illustrating just what exactly a holding penalty looks like. If I were a Redskins fan I'd be feeling good about things: I think Haynesworth loves playing football more than he loves anything else, and as he sees the team winning I think he'll come around. Cowboys fans? Um, better luck next decade; your team will be entertaining, but it won't be a champion.
Finally, my Broncos. I didn't see the game. They lost. And honestly, thank god. That 6-0 shocker of a start last year had them all seeing stars, and when they started to lose they had no ability to conceptualize and deal with the reality of losing. It was a difficult season. They are not a Super Bowl team, let's just clear that off the table. But they play in a weak division, they've got a roster of players more clearly in line with the wants and needs of their 2nd-year coach. They got punched in the gut last year, they know what it feels like now. And they have Champ Bailey, who likes to pick off Tom Brady passes in playoff games and run 99 yards in the opposite direction; Praise be his Name.
Football is back. And it's going to be a great season, because it is football. Football!
On Thursday night my friend Brett said he didn't remember what his life was like during the non-football part of the year, that it was like a bad dream he'd had. I pointed out that he was awake, and he was watching football, so logically he must've been dreaming that there was a time when football wasn't being played. A bad dream, indeed.
We were watching the Divinely Blessed vs. the Plundering Destroyers (aka Saints v. Vikings). At some point during the telecast there was a gross, disturbing image onscreen that looked like a lumpy, purplish potato. I think it was supposed to be a picture of Brett Favre's ankle. Brett Favre has played what now, 2 million games in a row, something like that, right? I realized that he keeps playing because he's finally come to understand that he can't actually be truly injured, unlike every other football player that exists.
The Saints looked awesome again, especially considering this was Week One. The best football teams have clearly established philosophies that guide how they build their team and how they play the game. For the Vikings it's something like power, brute force; they come at you in unstoppable waves, from both sides of the ball. It's impressive, a real onslaught. The Saints, they're about speed, they throw pinpoint daggers; but more than anything, they come with a coordinated and deadly intelligence, the singular offspring of a night when Einstein and a lady cobra got down and dirty together. Other defenses carry this mindset of: We're going to stop you on every play. Anyone who's ever played Tecmo Bowl (original NES) knows things don't break down like that; there is luck in football, the offense calls a screen when you've got the blitz on, whoopsy-daisy. The Saints defense is different. They wait, they're willing to let the small things go by. They're always watching for your mistake, and you'll make it, even you Peyton Manning in the Super Bowl and my god, the Saints will take your mistake and make you eat it, shit for breakfast for you Peyton Manning and Reggie Wayne. Did you hear Tracy Porter in his post-game interview? He didn't say "Me, look at me, look what I did!", he said "The team, the coaching, the game-prep, the play-call!" Go back and watch that tape, it's what cemented my understanding of what the Saints are and why they won that game.
So yeah, the Saints look good again. But it's a long season, anything can happen; Fate is a devious and cold mistress, any real football fan knows that by now. As usual with the epic theatre that an NFL season has become, there are a vast array of questions and interesting personal destinies out there. Cowboys v. Redskins, Sunday night. Great game. Seriously, Eagles? You traded your star quarterback to your division rivals? And you did this after the aforementioned Redskins hired Mike Shanahan as their coach. Something coming out of Philadelphia smells slightly stupid these days. And as for the Cowboys, well, I'm sorry for Dallas fans. You have two excellent professional sports teams with two big, fat Meddlers for owners, and a team with a Meddler for an owner is never going to win a championship of anything. Anyone see Tom Benson telling Sean Payton who to draft, or Dan Rooney telling Mike Tomlin who to throw the ball to, or Robert Kraft doing anything but getting the heck out of Bill Belichick's way?
Redskins v. Cowboys nicely illustrated the point. The Redskins have been a talented mess for several seasons now. They hired a coach this past offseason (Shanahan) who, as the winner of 2 Super Bowls, was able to choose his own coaching destiny, and that meant choosing a situation in which he would have control. Having a guy in control of the ship means that a single controversy, ala the uber-talented and mega-pouty Albert Haynesworth, doesn't actually end up severely rocking the boat. Then we look at the Cowboys, the also uber-talented, eternally undisciplined Cowboys. Like real cowboys, these guys apparently also carry pistols, which they use only to repeatedly shoot themselves in the foot. Did you see the game? Did you see how it ended, on an offensive penalty, one of the most blatant holds I've ever seen in my life? It looked like the Cowboys' tackle was trying to hold, trying to do the best job possible of illustrating just what exactly a holding penalty looks like. If I were a Redskins fan I'd be feeling good about things: I think Haynesworth loves playing football more than he loves anything else, and as he sees the team winning I think he'll come around. Cowboys fans? Um, better luck next decade; your team will be entertaining, but it won't be a champion.
Finally, my Broncos. I didn't see the game. They lost. And honestly, thank god. That 6-0 shocker of a start last year had them all seeing stars, and when they started to lose they had no ability to conceptualize and deal with the reality of losing. It was a difficult season. They are not a Super Bowl team, let's just clear that off the table. But they play in a weak division, they've got a roster of players more clearly in line with the wants and needs of their 2nd-year coach. They got punched in the gut last year, they know what it feels like now. And they have Champ Bailey, who likes to pick off Tom Brady passes in playoff games and run 99 yards in the opposite direction; Praise be his Name.
Football is back. And it's going to be a great season, because it is football. Football!
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