Barry,
Greetings from Columbus. Sorry I missed you last week, but it was holiday
travel season, and I was too busy feasting upon roasted Ratbird. No, wait, that
was the Browns. Rather, I was too busy feasting upon turkey, which is preferable
to Ratbird because turkeys are full of stuffing and not full of s***.
The aftermath to The Baltimore Bankshot was one of the most enjoyable aspects
to this exceptionally joyous season. When the referees conferred and correctly
called Phil Dawson’s cartoonish boot a valid field goal, and then the Browns
carved up the Ravens’ overrated defense for the winning score in overtime, it
set up a daily string of Brian Billick blubberings and Ratfan meltdowns that had
the whole nation laughing at them and telling them to either shut up or drown
themselves in the harbor.
You have surely discussed the Ravens game ad nauseum by now, but there’s one
thing that still sticks with me. When Dawson’s overtime field goal sailed
perfectly between all bounceable yellow objects, Romeo Crennel simply took off
his headset and walked toward the middle of the field. He did not raise his
hands in the air. He did not high-five players. He did not even smile.
Romeo was determined to show humility in victory, because he knew the Ravens
were going to be stung by this defeat after assuming (incorrectly) that they had
won the game. His team won fair and square, but he was not about to rub
Baltimore’s face in it. No matter how many people, myself included, crack on
Romeo, I think the one thing that 100% of Browns fans can agree on is that Romeo
is a class act.
Romeo’s reaction to the winning field goal in Baltimore served as another
testament to his character. Fittingly, Sooper Genius Billick’s repeated bleats
of blame-shifting victimization in the days that followed served as another
testament to his own.
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After three consecutive weeks of last-second drama, the Browns wrote a new
chapter in their inexorable march toward becoming The Worst 12-4 Team In NFL
History by offering their fans a relaxing and comfortable 27-17 victory over the
suddenly-respectable Houston Texans. It’s a good thing too. After all that
turkey and pumpkin pie, our bellies were too full to chew on our fingernails.
Some thoughts on the game…
* Now that teams are focusing on Braylon Edwards and his 74.8 yards per catch
average, Kellen Winslow has become and indestructible force underneath. I read
the reports about how he hobbles around like old Yoda the other six days of the
week, but come Sunday, he’s too quick to be covered and too strong to be
tackled. It’s to the point that I’d be willing to wager on Winslow winning a
demolition derby without the benefit of a car.
* Football can be full of chicken-an-egg conundrums. In past weeks, did the
Browns’ offense score so quickly because they knew they had to put points on the
board to outlast the defense? Or did the defense give up so many points because
they were always on the field after the Browns scored so quickly?
And against Houston, did the Browns run the ball and throw underneath and
bleed the clock because they knew the defense was going to hold Houston to well
under 30 points? Or did the defense hold Houston to 17 points because they were
well-rested due to the offense’s long drives to control the game?
Everyone’s been hard on the defense this year, but maybe it’s true that if
you give the guys on the defense a chance to sit down, rehydrate, and scan the
crowd for hot chicks to impress, they play better.
* Is it just me, or is Jamal Lewis one of those Jake Westbrook guys who, on
any given day, either has it or he doesn’t? Some weeks, Lewis seems slow to the
hole and never really gets going, but then other weeks, he zips past the linemen
and spends his afternoon knocking linebackers on their asses. I’m sure injuries
have played a part in that, but just like when Westbrook has his A-game going on
the mound, I get excited when Jamal looks like he has it. I’m sure the Houston
defense wasn’t nearly as excited as I was on Sunday.
* How about that Brandon McDonald kid at cornerback? What a game he had
against Houston’s top receiver, Andre Johnson. He knocked down four passes,
intercepted a ball, and held Johnson to the Northcuttian totals of just 3
catches for 37 yards.
That performance shocked a lot of casual (and not-so-casual) observers and
put Brandon McDonald on the map. We can examine how much McDonald’s life has
changed recently by examining the results of the following polls, which asked
1,964 Cleveland-area sports fans, “Who is Brandon McDonald?”
Poll results from November 24, 2007:
- Left winger for the Lake Erie Monsters---0.1%.
- Anderson Varejao’s delusional agent---1.5%
- That guy who used to back up Omar Vizquel---98.4%
Poll results from November 26, 2007:
- The f***in’ MAN! ---100.0%
* We have already gone over my obsession with sports uniforms before, and I
am still livid that the Browns keep wearing brown socks with their classic white
unis, but Sunday’s game reminded me of something else--- the Browns need to go
back to their traditionally thinner pants stripes. Al and Carmen gave us those
fat, Chicago Bears stripes upon our return to the NFL, but those thinner stripes
are vintage Cleveland Browns. And so are the sock stripes for that matter. Why
do people keep messing with our classic look?
Don’t get me wrong, the stripe thickness issue is nowhere near as bad as the
brown-socks-with-the-white-unis issue, or those two years when the pants stripes
were in the completely opposite order, or even the Indians’ current use of some
funky shade of semi-dark blue instead of their traditional navy. But going from
Bears thickness to Browns thickness on the pants stripes would be another
improvement in terms of getting back to Cleveland Browns basics.
Every time I consider buying a plane ticket to England to talk this over with
Randy Lerner, I have to remind myself that the misdemeanors committed in
relation to the Browns uniforms are mild compared to the felonious ocular
assaults perpetrated against the Bills, Seahawks, and Broncos, whose classic
identities were mercilessly whisked away and replaced with revolting,
eye-melting crap.
I mean, all in all, we have it pretty good. We haven’t gone down the brown
helmets, brown jerseys, brown pants, brown socks route or anything like that.
Okay, I’ll shut up now. If someone at NFL HQ reads this letter, they might
start leaning on Randy to make some “modern” updates, including a
“revolutionary” new hybrid jersey color called “browrange.”
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Art Modell once again failed to make the cut for the Pro Football Hall of
Fame. No matter what I may attempt to write on this subject, it would be doomed
to forever pale in comparison to these words from my friend Bill Archer:
That's OK, Art. Up here in NE Ohio, our revenge is knowing that we're the
ones keeping you out of the HOF. There's nothing the league would like better
than to enshrine your old ass before you croak, but they know that 100,000
people will descend on the ceremony and heckle, boo and throw things (beer cans,
police cars, whatever) and create a huge embarrassment for the league.
In fact, it would not be at all surprising if it turned into a riot.
There's nothing of value in Canton anyway, so nobody would mind much, but having
the Pro Football Hall of Fame burned to the ground in a week-long orgy of hatred
for one man is more than the NFL's PR flacks want to have to spin.
And if they were ever able to quietly get your bust into the Hall, they'd
have to buy them by the truckload as NE Ohio Browns fans made sacred pilgrimages
to Canton to spit on, deface, and damage it with baseball bats. It would become
a rite of passage, like going to Mecca once in your life. Fathers would take
their sons once a year to observe the honored "throw paint at the Modell bust"
ritual.
So you're never going in, Art. Rot in hell.
I’ll be the first to admit that I can’t compete with that. I think you’d
agree that it was best that I just stepped aside and let Bill have his say.
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The office Stiller fans are trying not to sound nervous, but with each Browns
victory, they know they are one step closer to finishing behind The Worst 12-4
Team In NFL History. They like to point out that they own the tie-breaker by
virtue of sweeping the Browns, but I am fond of pointing out that their
tie-breaker does them no good since we own the REAL tie-breaker: The Browns have
already lost to New England. The Stillers still have another loss coming, so
they cannot afford to lose another game this year, or they will finish 11-5, and
in second place.
They scoff at this, and suggest that their team might be the one to knock off
the Patriots. I simply remind them that they only scored 3 points against the
worst team in the league. Then they say the only reason the Dolphins game was
close was because of the field. Then I say that if that’s the case, maybe the
Stillers shouldn’t let Cousin Eddie empty his RV sh**ter into their stadium.
‘Round and ‘round the arguments go.
Barry, it has long been our mission to tell people The Truth about
Pittsburgh. We have often described it as a craphole, and on Monday Night
Football, the rest of the country finally got to see that craphole with their
own eyes. Watching the Stillers flop around in the overflow of the Three Sewers
was the most fitting visual in a prime time football telecast since that time
the Ravens had their power turned off because Art Modell forgot to pay the light
bill.
For those who missed it, here are some photographs from the Stillers’
dramatic 3-0 victory over the Miami Dolphins this past Monday night at Ketchup
Koliseum.
Game photos:
At halftime, the Stillers’ Unwed Teenaged Incest Mother “Fan of the Year” was
honored on the field, along with her baby daughter-cousin:
Also at halftime, the Stillers’ cheerleaders gamely attempted to look sexy while
braving the elements at midfield:
Looking at the condition of the parking lot, it was quite apparent that some
Yinzers were going to have trouble getting out…
….and sure enough, some did.
And those Yinzers who did manage to make it out of the parking lot and onto
the highway found it tough to drive in traffic after drinking kidney-killing
quantities of Arn City.
Okay, so last Monday night was a mess. What’s done is done. The important
thing is that, as you read these words, the Stillers’ grounds crew is hard at
work preparing to re-sod the field for this week’s nationally-televised Sunday
Night Football game against Cincinnati.
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Well, that’s all for now, Barry. Before I go, I should also mention that my
Ohio Bobcats bounced Miami of Ohio 38-29 last week. That’s two in a row against
the vile RedHawks!
Frank Solich: Oxford :: Jim Tressel: Ann Arbor.
Anyway, we have a big weekend ahead of us. The Browns have a showdown with
Arizona, who I have learned not only still have a football team, but they “have
real uniforms and everything.”
Then on Sunday night, the Bengals have entered the Marvin Lewis Special part
of the season, where they win games now that it doesn’t matter. So look for them
to possibly upset the Stillers on a freshly-laid bed of liquefied elephant
feces.
And then on Monday night, the Ratbirds are 56-point underdogs to the
Patriots, to whom I will give a one-week grace period on running up the score,
just so I can see how Sooper Genius Billick reacts to it.
I am sure it will be something condescending and YouTube-able like, “This
comes back on me. When you sit down with your team in training camp, you try to
go over every scenario, but I never thought to go over a scenario whereby we
were down 73-3 with 14 minutes to play, and a Super Bowl MVP was still heaving
long passes toward Randy Moss on first through fourth downs. So that’s my fault.
And for the record, the ‘heave the ball down the field and let Randy Moss jump
up and catch it’ play was first diagrammed on my laptop in 1998, so it’s my
fault for conceiving such a play, and the Patriots’ fault for stealing my laptop
and learning about it. That theft allowed the Patriots to use my own brilliance
against not just me, but those men in my locker room. Now I have to apologize to
them for inventing such a great play.”
Until next week,
Sirk
Steve Sirk, once Art Bietz’s co-conspirator at the TruthCenter, has taken
to sending a weekly letter to “home base” about life as a Browns fan struggling
in the NFL mixing pot of Central Ohio. At some point in life, Sirk determined
that suffering through the nexus, dips, valleys, and various low points of being
a Cleveland sports fan within geographic proximity of Cleveland itself did not
create sufficient emotional pain. Sneeringly dismissive of even basic survival
instincts, Sirk elected to reside in Columbus, Ohio, so that he could better be
surrounded by fans of winning franchises who could mock his very existence. If
you wish to contact an individual of such clearly questionable judgment, you may
do so at
sirk65@yahoo.com