They tell me the Buccaneers have seven wins. The ESPN scorebox during Monday’s night game against the Rams said so. The standings pages say so. The NFL definitely wants you to believe it. But no, it’s a conspiracy. It’s the wool pulled over your eyes to blind you to the truth. That’s all it can be. We’ve certainly had enough looks on the big stage for Tampa Bay, and we can be fairly sure they blow chunks now.
It was yet another game where we watched Tom Brady thrash around, throw some bad INTs, and then have to endure broadcasters bending over backwards to excuse it because if Brady finds out you actually said he sucks on air he’ll send his Scientology-like security force after you to erase your brain or something.
But we saw the interceptions and the sitting duck he was in the pocket, and once again even a half-decent team was able to keep him relatively bottled up.
The question everyone was asking before this season, and really for years, was whether it was Brady or Belichick who was responsible for the Patriots’ outrageous success over nearly 20 years. Maybe the answer we’re finding is that they just aren’t good apart. It was both all the time. They’re their own cocktail, and you can’t reconstruct it without either ingredient. They’re like two old dogs who have lived together for their entire lives. Once one goes, the other one just doesn’t have any idea what to do with himself. But in this case, we get to watch both mope around the house, occasionally looking for the other but knowing they won’t find them, and mostly lying by the window staring off into space longing for the end.
Oh, the Bucs will probably make the playoffs. The Falcons are on the schedule twice, so are the Lions, and the Vikings at home. Hell, maybe the Bucs will even draw the ace and get to play the NFC East winner in the first round. They’ll use that as evidence that they’re really close, just need another season, as Brady extends his career merely to keep his fitness guru/snake oil salesman in business, or attract more people to their future cult, or both.
But you can tell there’s a playoff hiding in the offing for Brady, just like last year. Perhaps that’s a beacon of light in these dark times that we can look forward to, to hold onto.
Like anyone does, you probably spend some time wondering what you’d do if you had millions of dollars. And maybe you’re one of those who get offended when you see someone with bad taste gets to waste more money than you’ll ever know on something that offends your senses. Well, here’s Connor McDavid’s house:
If you’re thinking this is a setting for a St. Vincent video directed by David Fincher, that’s certainly one aspect. It’s certainly sterile enough where the doorbell probably just says, “Hello, Clarice.” At some point you have to believe that McDavid has hosted a party there, and every guest must’ve been petrified every moment. This house is specifically built and designed to immediately erase evidence.
In more safety theater, the NFL has updated its protocols for the sidelines during games, where everyone will be required to wear a mask. It was always somewhat farcical that only coaches were forced to wear masks, because that didn’t really protect players. This comes on the heels of more positive tests for the Ravens yesterday.
The NFL obviously wants to take every precaution it can so the end of the season, and particularly playoffs, don’t get irretrievably fucked up. Or at least look like it did everything it could. The more theatrical the rules, the easier it gets to shift the blame to players when it has to sideline them or even make teams postpone games. Or ignore players’ complaints when they’ve lost an important game thanks to a quarter of their roster being quarantined.
Follow the dancing COVID-safety monkey.