by Owen Tre
Sunday unfolded like a napkin of despair that was placed in the lap of degradation to catch the drippings of loathing that fell from chicken wings of ineptitude. Not even the bleu cheese of hope could dowse the spiciness of failure that gathered on lips of any given Sunday optimism.
I went to my home state of Michigan over the weekend to visit family and ended up at a sports bar with my nephew on Sunday to watch the Browns and Lions. They were on TV side by side. Laurel & Hardy. Braylon Edwards and Calvin Johnson. Crennel and some coach whose name begins with an "M". Martz? Mariucci? Millen? I can't keep the names straight anymore in Detroit. Who are these people? Why am I calling out Tommy Hudspeths name after four beers? Time to watch Cleveland on the other TV.
The Browns called their usual one screen pass to Jerome Harrison. You know the one, the one that is always successful and on Sunday resulted in a touchdown. And just like every Sunday, Harrison was benched and never to be seen again. Why would you call another screen pass to a quick scatback against a blitzing defense? Put the ball in uber playmaker Andersons hands and let it fly! Why give the ball to Jamal Lewis or Jason Wright or Jerome Harrison? No swing passes, no draws, no more screens. Just stupid stupid passes to double covered receivers.
Cleveland got the ball on the second half kickoff with a 10-7 lead and decided to throw three straight passes, one was intercepted. 14-10.
After one of the worst passes since Joey H. strapped it on for the Lions it was 21-10.
Time to watch Detroit on the other TV. Ugh.
Time to merge the two teams and exile them to Alcatrazz.
"We are having a going away party for Matt Millen!" yelled one patron to another who he called "Coach". Later in the 4th quarter Coach held up a Lions schedule high in the air, let it fall to the ground and proceeded to wipe his feet on it. Like a door Matt.