Oh that’s the stuff.

That…that’s what Daddy needed.

Ok, that got weird, but stay with me, gang.

Not every game was what you might call a Barn Burner. And I’m sorry to my Iggles brethren and sistren. The Universe had to balance the scales after giving us the gift of three quarters of Mad Jerry (sorry Horatio).

But overall, it has been a Very Exciting Week since we talked.

-Bill Belichick and Handjob Bob agreed to a conscious uncoupling, whereupon Kraft gets to start losing with a new coach and Darth Hoodie gets to take his talents to Long Beach (presumably) to ruin Justin Herbert.

-Pete Carroll finally got the axe in Seattle after a second straight 9-8 campaign. Ostensibly Carroll will remain with the team as an “advisor,” although given his personality and comments, I expect this will boil down to “I advise you to go fuck yourself.” Look for Dan Quinn as a leading candidate here.

-Kraft promptly hired from within, promoting linebackers coach and former player Jerod Mayo. In retrospect, it does seem inevitable:

-Belichick, meanwhile, interviewed with Atlanta. I have to assume he was just on his way through to play a round at Augusta, as the Falcons have almost none of the characteristics Bill prefers in a team: settled QB, good line play on both sides of the ball, more grit than flashy talent.

-Two head coaches, both alike in dignity (none)
 (In the shitty NFC East, where we lay our scene),
 From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
 Where uncivil blood makes uncivil hands unclean.

Despite both team making the playoffs and having stretches of apparent invulnerability, there is loud baying from both Dallas and Philadelphia for the heads of their respective head coaches. Now, given these two fanbases, baying is about the highest level of communication one can reasonably expect. But Dallas (again) shat the bed and rolled back and forth in it on the big stage at home, against a seventh-seed rebuilding Packers team that looked like a baby deer taking its first steps for much of the year. And Philly, who was trending toward disaster for the last seven weeks, completed its crash landing against the spiritual seventh seed Buccaneers in prime time, looking like a semi-pro team that had accidently wandered into Raymond James Stadium on the worst night possible.

The post-mortem isn’t complicated here for the Cowboys: Dallas remains Late Stage Dallas, struck with both crippling arrogance and a fascinating sense of ennui, like playing this week was somewhere between a formality and an insult. Green Bay punched them early and often, and Dak went back to being the player people questioned re-signing. By the time they got off the canvas in the fourth, they were way too far behind in the judges’ scorecards. I don’t know how to apportion responsibility for a total collapse like this- how much is on Mike McCarthy and his staff, how much on Stephen Jones, how much on the players and how much on the filthy souls of the Cowboy faithful that God’s redeeming steel wool is trying to scour clean.

And frankly, I don’t want to know. I want Jerral to continue to grope blindly for the key to success in the salary cap era, with his dick in one hand and a paternity suit in the other. He’s going to try to fix the problem of hilarious flailing losses in the playoffs, and the solution will be “suck badly in the regular season and don’t make the playoffs.” The league is a better place when the Cowboys suck. The old Sideshow Bob rake gag isn’t funny if he stops after the second rake. I want to to see Jerry Jones hit in the face with a thousand rakes, die, and then have his eight hooker pall-bearers each step on another rake.

The Eagles…well, it’s easy and perhaps reductive to blame Matt Patricia and Nick Sirianni.

And I will.

An immensely talented football team forgot how to play football after Week 10.  All the parts were there on paper, and in spite of some squeekers it looked like those parts mostly fit together in spite of losing both coordinators in the offseason. I don’t buy the “49ers and Cowboys broke them” narrative, although Sirianni’s panic decision to hand the defense over to Fat Grima Wormtongue after losing to two very good (regular season) teams may have contributed.

I am certain undisclosed injuries will be part of the story, like AJ Brown was playing the last seven games with an evil spirit from the Phantom Zone trying to control his body, and Jalen Hurts developed hemorrhoids from too many tush pushs. But ultimately, they emphasized measurables over talent on defense and talent over scheme on offense. The only way to protect that defense was to have a great (not good) scoring offense that also controlled the ball. Once other teams had enough tape, the jig was up- yesterday was just the final summation of that process.

-Mike Tomlin, despite never having a losing season in 17 years as a head coach, is still having to deal with fuckheads asking him about his contract. And he’s getting shit for walking away from that question in the aftermath of a tough playoff loss.

Leaving the podium as soon as one of those fuckheads opened his mouth was about the most appropriate, diplomatic response he could give. No coach is above either criticism or economics, but if there is one who has earned the benefit of the doubt, it is Mike Tomlin. He has dragged the corpse of this team across the line for at least the last three years, miracles qualifying him for sainthood under Catholic doctrine in line with raising the dead and making them walk. And as long as I’m blaspheming, he has a better winning percentage than either St. Cowher or St. Knoll.

Pittsburgh fans (non-DFO contingent): drive him out of town and he will be hired before Belichick, before Jim Harbaugh, before Jesus Christ Himself (unless the Lamb of Hosts coached wide receivers under Sean McVay). Enjoy trying to win the lottery four times in a row.