The dust has settled.
With heavy hearts, we return quietly to our own small corner of the world and try to be content with the comings and goings of those in our lives.
Even those of us who love the game of football are having trouble showing any interest in the remaining games.
Countless blogs, talk-shows, and newspaper articles have dissected the lost battle against Baltimore and while the record is replete with missed assignments, bone-headed plays, tired arms in cold weather, turnovers, and bad luck, I believe that our ignominious defeat can be tied to one overriding factor: Fear.
“Fortune Favors the Bold”
--Publius Vergilius Maro
When bold strokes and courageous acts were demanded, the Broncos took the safe road while a clearly inferior Baltimore team relentlessly took the fight to us.
When Prater worm-burned that 52 yard field goal near the end of the half, John Harbaugh did not say, “Well I’d sure hate to throw a pick here and give em the ball back with so little time on the clock. We’d better run up the middle 3 times like a bunch of pansies and go inside to lick our wounds.”
Instead, they drove 58 yards in 3 plays, put the ball in the end zone, and tied the game.
We got the ball back at the 20 with all 3 timeouts and 36 seconds on the game clock. If we can get the same 58 yards Baltimore did in 7-8 plays (not 3 as the Ravens did) we kick a 39 yard field goal and Holliday’s TD on the ensuing kickoff puts us 2 scores ahead making this a totally different ballgame.
What message does this surrender send to your team?
“Hey, you’ve got a Hall of fame QB and plenty of time on the clock but you guys really look cold and frightened. In fact, I think you are more likely to vomit on the sideline benches and turn the ball over than to move a few yards up field. We’d better go inside and reflect upon the first half and warm our tootsies.”
“Success is the child of audacity”
--Benjamin Disraeli
Amazingly, despite despairingly ill-timed penalties and obvious tightness, we had the ball in our hands with 2:26 on the game clock and a 1st and 10 after 2 strong runs from Ronnie Hillman (though I contend a play-action on 2nd and 2 would have yielded huge gains). 1 more first down and the game is over.
Baltimore throws 8 men in the box in desperation and then crowds the line, daring us to do something, anything, other than run the ball up the gut.
Tragically, the Ravens coaching staff foresaw the quality of our mettle and we obligingly plunged right into the teeth of their defense 3 straight times, even using the plodding Jacob Hester (runs a 6.9 40) on 2nd and 8 to ensure that there would be no chance of a big gain. Baltimore lives to fight another day.
What message does this surrender send to your team?
“Hey, I know that these guys are completely ignoring the possibility that we will pass the ball here but I think you bunch of dipshits will do something stupid. Let’s just give em what they want and prepare for next week’s ass-kicking at the hands of the Patriots.”
“L'audace, l'audace. Toujours l'audace!" (Audacity, audacity. Always audacity!)
--Danton
A no-brainer right? You can’t let this game go into OT. It should never have come to this to begin with. You go out there, try your collective butts off to scrape, steal, beg, or cheat your way down field with the 5-7 plays you have before time expires. You need 50 yards and then even the erratic Prater should have a decent shot at winning the game.
If you succeed, the game is over and we can all talk about what a close call it was. If you fail, then at least your team can head out for the OT coin flip secure in the knowledge that they took the fight to the Ravens to the bitter end and the coaches still have confidence in everyone who takes the field. to continue the struggle.
We took a knee.
We took a freaking knee!
I don't know how John Elway didn’t leap out of the box and pistol-whip the coaching staff. I do not believe for a minute that #7 (despite his public insistence to the contrary) would ever have happily thrown in the towel with 31 seconds and 2 time outs left. In fact, I guarantee he would have punched Shannahan in that red little face of his until he relented and allowed him to go down and win the game.
You could feel the souls get collectively sucked from the entire offense as the 3rd vote of no confidence came in from the sidelines. The chill of the frigid mountain air entered the hearts of the Broncos and even Baltimore’s mediocrity in OT was not enough to rekindle any hope. With despair (and a grim feeling of the inevitability of the final result) lingering over the field long after Tucker’s field goal split the uprights, Denver’s magical season ended not with a bang, but with a whimper….
--Virgil
I despise the Patriots. I may, in fact, dislike them more than even the Raiders and Cowboys.
However, after this weekend, I see clearly now that their SOB coach will keep them at a level of excellence for many more years to come.
The Patriots innovate. They run trick plays and college offenses just to be arse-holes. They don’t look at the numbers and odds but instead look to the men on the New England sideline.
They realize that scared money never wins, and morale is king on the battlefield.
Belichik will see a 4th and 2 at his own 35 and go for it, because he knows that even if his Hall of fame QB can’t pick up the 2 yards, then at least the men will know that their leader believes in them. If they lose that game, then the coaching staff in Cheaterville knows that the benefits of investing in morale will pay dividends for many games and, perhaps, even season to come.
If he has a lead and the opponent recklessly flings his defenders into the line, he’ll go ahead and throw it, running up the score a bit. He takes the battle to his foes, and if the enemy wins, then they were better that day but they sure as hell had to earn it.
I despise New England. And I am envious.
We have purchased an aging but still blindingly fast stallion in Manning and then saddled him with an overweight jockey who is scared of horses. We’ll still win a few regional races, but the big day will always see us lagging tentatively behind, afraid to use either the carrot or the whip wondering when our steed will finally need to be put out to pasture.
Somewhere, an aging Marty Schottenheimer is smiling……
No comments:
Post a Comment