Charlie Kelly would have loved the Erotic Smashmouthing we saw Saturday evening. Sorry for no bonus Sunday thoughts, blame demon alcohol and that RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAM IT!! loss. UGH.
They will be back, and better than ever. Your smug victory is fleeting, Balls.
On to Sunday. Good Lord, did #EvenWeekJaguras ever show up. Unfortunately, that bodes well for the P*ts (much like the sun rising in the east). But their foe was the Bills, and they also…had issues. Particularly on offense. Particularly with the Jaguras trying to murderkill their QB, eager to see the return of one J Peterman. They got it on the very last drive, after a most malicious late hit/wrestling heel move, that drew nary a stink eye from the officiating crew (storyline of the weekend). He managed a stumbling 4th and 2 conversion, then one small completion before the inevitable 6th interception of his nascent career – just over 30 minutes of shittastic play. Jags 10, Bills 3. Let us speak no more of it.
The late game was much better, though it also seemed to involve a QB concussion (that the Panthers’ staff shockingly chose to ignore). At least this one came from a fair hit, not rancid headhunting. N’Awlins pretty much led by two scores the entire way until Q4, despite Carolina shutting the run game down cold. Turns out Breesus Christ still has a few miracles up His holy sleeve. Ted Ginn even did a good! But Sean Payton wackily went for 4th and 2 at midfield (after uber-conservatively and ineffectively running into the pile on 2nd and 3rd down) with 2:00 to play, failing, and giving Cam one more chance. Newton and his Whitman’s sampler of practice squadders and white dudes made it to the 21, but fizzled after a close/controversial intentional grounding call. He was very close to outside the pocket, though in real time I thought the call justified. Then, making matters worse (for the Shield) they fucking plum forgot the 10-second runoff until Payton ran on the field frothing at the mouth to remind the refs of the basic rules of Greater Footy. One long toss to the end zone and a nicely timed blitz/sack later (former being fairly close to a winner winner, chicken dinner – thanks to uncalled OPI) and you have your final – Saints 31, Panthers 26. Fair reflection of the game on the field, but again marred by poop officiating.
It would certainly help, at minimum, to stop fucking mixing crews for playoff time. Crews that work together know where to expect each other on the field. DUH. But that’s a micro issue, downstream of the macro need for having a commissioner who’s not a national disgrace.
As for your Divisional Round – Saturday is birds in the afternoon (I like home dog Iggles, because spite), Tits/P*ts at night (don’t make me say it). Then, Sunday will bring you the #OddWeekJaguras flattening the Stillers (again) and making wise Commentists much money, followed by the clash of the titans we all want to see, Saints at Vikes. Let’s hope for no more fuckery.