An open letter to NFL Network

Hello NFL Network. I sure do hope you can actually read this blog. I have my doubts which stem from your obvious lack of technical knowledge and ability. When you were counting down to the big game last night, you seemed to have been baffled by the concept of "focusing" a "camera" on the "players" on the "field." Speaking of camera work in the pre-game show, let me recommend my ear, nose and throat doctor. He's great and he's super cute too. I say this because I worry that at least two of your cameramen have severe inner ear infections that cause them to wobble unsteadily while holding a camera. Some antibiotics should clear that (and any other lingering "issues") up quickly and help out with your cameramen's ability to stand upright and hold a camera steady.

Now, another thing I noticed during the pre-game show is that a lot of the time the people that were on camera and supposed to be talking were blissfully unaware they were on camera at any given moment. As much as I love seeing Deion Sanders looking up through the hole in the roof of Texas Stadium or seeing him catch up with buddies on the sidelines, maybe instead of that you should give him a cue and he can look into the camera and offer some pre-game commentary. It's an idea.

So then the game started. After the first field goal the Cowboys made, you decided to show us the drive using some very unique graphics. If I recall correctly, there was a golden arch that showed us completed passes. Then an odd red and black nod to Communism sort of graphic that may or may not have indicated yards gained by running. But then you knocked it out of the park with your illustration of the field goal. There was an orange streak that showed the trajectory of the football on the kick. But if that's not overt enough, you added the classy touch of giant yellow flashing letters that took up the entire end zone reading "FIELD GOAL" as if you were trying to teach the viewers the names of the most basic elements of football. Which strikes me as odd because presumably anyone willing to pay or watch something called the NFL Network probably can probably identify a field goal when they see one.

Now, I will admit that we started off awkwardly last year. Last year's Cowboys v. Falcons game featured some neat commentary by the disembodied and sickly head of Carol Channing. Oh sorry, that was actually just a miserably hoarse Dick Vermeil. So hoarse that half of his words were indecipherable and every moment that he spoke was torturous for both him and everyone forced to listen to him. You guys finally pulled him off the broadcast near halftime. Which left us with Greg Gumbel. You know Greg Gumbel, he's the guy who last night repeatedly referred to the Cowboys quarterback as Rick Romo.

But since Jerry Jones tells me that the NFL Network is the Little Network that Could (choooo chooo!) I was totally ready to be your #1 fan. Was last night a dress rehearsal? I feel like you sent out invitations to a fancy dinner party and cooked an elaborate meal to impress the boss to try to get that promotion (Time Warner and Comcast). But then when the boss showed up, you had a Crock Pot with scorched bean and cheese dip sitting on a card table and a few mismatched plastic plates. And you forgot to put on pants.

I see that the Cowboys v. Panthers game on December 22 will also be on your network. I can only imagine the tricks you've got up your sleeve for us on that one. Perhaps have Deion Sanders wear a panther-in-the-jungle themed dashiki? He will probably appreciate it if you decide to shoot him from behind and slightly below while he's talking again. I just hope you take a refresher course on the basic tenets of covering a live sporting event between now and then. Just think of it this way....

Your boss is almost here. Are you wearing pants?

Turophobia

I am often told that my list of my most-hated foods is bizarre. I disagree. Judge for yourself.

I despise the following foods:

ice cream (tastes like cold milk)

pasta (tastes like flour and play-dough that has been boiled)

chocolate (tastes literally like dirt)

olives (tastes like salty and vinegary eyeballs)

mushrooms (tastes like the fungus they are)

mayonnaise (tastes like bad eggs and vinegar that have sat in my car for the summer)

chicken wings (tastes like bony things covered in some weird red sauce)

cookies (tastes like sugary, floury crumble discs)

cakes (tastes like baked sugar goo covered in an outer layer of sugary goo)

pie (tastes like hot sugar goo baked inside hard dough prison cell)

sour cream (tastes like milk for people that think that whole milk is too watered down and weak)


BUT more than all of these things combined, I despise cheese. I stop just shy of calling it turophobia but it's awfully close. The sight of cheese makes me nervous and the smell of cheese sends me running in the opposite direction. Central Market is forever in my bad graces for building a section of the store devoted entirely to what is essentially milk that has gone bad and should have been thrown out long ago.

Which is why I am nervous about tonight's game. I am nervous that despite Green Bay's miserable running game, Brett Favre has a good arm still. And I am afraid of the bombs he may lob down the field. But more than that, I am afraid I will see assholes in the crowd with their cheese heads on.

Imagine you ate some really bad seafood salad and never want to speak of seafood salad again. Then imagine that the Seattle Seahawks decide that their fans should now be called "Seafood Salad Stars" and all you see during Cowboys v. Seahawks games is shots of humans wearing hats made to look like piles of seafood salad.

Prediction: Cowboys 31, Green Bay 28

Prediction #2: If I am wrong and Green Bay wins, the Green Bay defensive line will grab a Gatorade cooler and douse Brett Favre in queso. And I will cry. For two reasons.

Don't Worry Mr. Cheney, We Are Paging Your Cardiologist, Dr. Bob Dylan

Come You masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain

You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead

You Have Got to Be Kidding Volume 29853215654

(Image Courtesy of Perez Hilton's sister's tax attorney)

Big congrats go out to Tony Romo who is blowing my mind. Not with his skill on the field but with his fame-whorish ways. You made Perez Hilton today, Tones! You know, that's the website where anyone that can put a pencil between their teeth to type the words "FIRST BITCHES!" can have their say. You join the ranks of the only other pro football players (Tom Brady for paternity oops and Sean Taylor for getting shot) who have warranted coverage on Perez Hilton! This must be a proud day for you as a professional athlete. I can't wait until you flash your vagina at Brett Favre after the game on Thursday! God, who knew football was so STAR-LICIOUS! I may have to get cable so I can see your episode of Cribs. Because I, like so many other liquor promo girls in Mesquite, would just LOVE to see where the magic happens!

I really am trying to like you. I am trying so hard. Deep down, I think I do like you. Just how you like your older brother who keeps dating strippers with lots of kids because you think that maybe one day he will find one that doesn't steal his Social Security number and wreck his car. And also, I think part of me believes that you are smart enough to be orchestrating some sort of next-level social experiment from which you will teach us all about the frivolity star-worship and the levels of shame some will sink to in order to lay a hand on a modicum of fame even if it is for only a fleeting moment. If that is indeed the case, please let me offer up a preemptive and hearty "FIRST BITCHES! LOL! OMG! ROTFLMAO!"

YOU Go Live in Utah's University Challenge

Time to lay off Tony Romo for a bit and throw some questions out there. Any feedback is appreciated.



#1. Who will beat the Patriots?

They will not go 16-0. They came within a field goal of overtime and a touchdown of shame and humiliation. At the hands of a Donovan McNabb-less Philadelphia Eagles. Their number is about to be called. Will it be the Steelers? Will the wishes of a million virgin unicorns come true when the Dolphins suddenly learn how to play football and crush the Patriots? Actually, I don't care about the regular season. I lay in bed at night dreaming of the Patriots being knocked out in the first round of the playoffs by a wild card team. You know, where the best team in the entire league gets knocked out in the first round. I mean, maybe in football because there's always the chance that the playoff game is a fluke. But that's just in football. Any other sport with series playoffs negate any chance of a shitty team beating a Goliath team. Hold on, the 2006-2007 Golden State Warriors are IM'ing me.



#2. What's with the Mavericks and the 4th quarter?

Dear Mavericks, please realize that games are not won in the first three quarters nor are they desperately eeked out in the final minutes of the fourth quarter. You have lost two in a row and the two you won before those were by the skin of your teeth. San Antonio is off to the best start in franchise history. We hate them. Our hatred for their entire franchise and existence keeps us alive. I know I said that I wasn't concerned with the losses in the regular season, within reason, but something seems to have upset your momentum. Is Jason Terry's headband too tight? Does Avery have laryngitis? Is Mark Cuban giving the speech at halftime? You know that every time Stackhouse sings the National Anthem, the Mavs win. Just saying.

#3. How do you get a delay of game in the midst of kicking a pivotal field goal?

I've heard of rookie mistakes. But sweet baby Jesus, that's amateur. Hey, at least it gave the 49'ers a win. I let my grandmother win a game of Scrabble on Thanksgiving too. She never needs to know that "Euugh" is not actually an acceptable Scrabble word.

#4. How do I make the internet come to my house and haunt my laptop?

This has been a nagging problem for me. You see, if I had internet access at home this blog would be so frequently updated that you would never have to think for yourself ever again. One problem. No internet at my place. Now, I have long had the desire to remedy this problem. Here's where the whole thing goes pear-shaped:

- I refuse to have a land line phone. Just like I refuse to have polio. We collectively, as a society, have gotten past that. I don't care if you bundle it with every crappy service your company offers and throw in whatever you have in the prize closet. I am not buying what you are selling.

- My neighbors may or may not be involved in the mass production of methamphetamines. Therefore knocking on their door and asking them if they mind sharing their wireless password with me in a tremendous show of neighborly holiday love is not an option. Besides, the smell of ammonia makes me sick.

- Cable: see land line phone. I may eventually move into the realm of satellite television because Jerry Jones told me to. But for now, I have a 14" television made by a company called PROformance that was manufactured in 1984. Getting cable or satellite for me is the equivalent of the owner of a 1998 Dodge Neon investing in rims. And a security system. And car insurance for that matter.

- A wireless card through a mobile carrier is really expensive.

I feel like there is some Skull and Bones society that I must gain entrance into to learn the secrets of wireless internet providers. If anyone would like to meet me outside the Freemason's building downtown this afternoon, I will give you any harvestable organs I have that you may require in return for any help you can offer in my search for the internet. Thanks.

Brandon Bass = Good / Andre Gurode = AMAZING

Saturday night's Mavs game vs. Memphis may have been the final proof I needed to see of Brandon Bass' worth. I like him. And my Pau Gasol crush may be starting to fade away mostly because the look on his face when the ball is stripped from him could easily be compared to the look on Corey Haim's face when someone asks him what projects he's got coming up. I also don't like the feeling I get when Dirk misses four free throws. I'm pretty sure he gets a similar feeling. File the Memphis game under: a win is a win.

Andre Gurode is my new personal hero. Why? Wikipedia defines a center's duties as:

On most plays, the center will snap the ball directly into the quarterback's hands. In a shotgun formation, the center snaps the ball to the quarterback lined up several yards behind him. In punt and field goal formations, the center also snaps the ball several yards behind him to the punter or holder on the field goal unit. Because bad snaps can ruin special teams plays and cause turnovers, some teams have a center who is specifically trained for snapping the ball in punt and field goal formations.

Meaning that outside of some blocking, the center's JOB is to get the ball into the quarterback's hands. Now, sometimes on punts and field goals it's understandable that maybe a center is not adept at doing especially long snaps. So that's no biggie, we'll have a guy who does those special situation snaps and we'll call him a "long snapper" and everything will be wonderful.

But Andre Gurode was not content with that. For he so loves specialization that he has re-invented himself as a base-formation-only center. No shotgun formations for him. Too hard. If your name is Tony Romo and you would like the ball to arrive in your hands, you need to forget about any of your fancy schmancy special formations. I've got the base formation snap. That's it. He's like the guy who only knows how to play "The Entertainer" on piano. So play "The Entertainer" he does.

Guy at Party: "Hey, do you know any Beatles songs?"

Andre Gurode: "Nope man, I know 'The Entertainer'" [plays "The Entertainer"]

Other Guy at Party: "What about "Chopsticks?"

Andre Gurode: "Let's see, is that the one that goes like this?" [plays "The Entertainer"]

Third Guy at Party: "Why is the Cowboys center at our party? Why is he playing the piano? Isn't he the guy that really sucks at snapping?"

And Tony Romo.......

You handled those zany snaps with remarkable dexterity and agility. Good job. For the next week, I will try my hardest to overcome my Pavlovian instinct to associate your name immediately with the smell of Axe body spray. From now on (barring any further unfortunate Ghostbar sightings), when I hear the name "Tony Romo" I will think of you sitting at a card table playing quarters with your buddies under the warming glow of a black light TAKE ME TO YOUR DEALER poster. Trust me, it's just better this way. Shhhhhhhhh, no words.

Dear Tony Romo - Are you at all familiar with the jokes about New Money?

Jesus Christ! Tony Romo, why do you have to keep this doing this shit? I defend you and you give me this back in return:

STAY CLASSY, PONY BOY!

Taking your new sports groupie lady friend to the Ghostbar? Wow. Wow. I'm trying, Tony. I'm trying so hard to buy into the Tony Romo is Just an Awwww Shucks Kind of Regular Guy With a Good Sense of Humor thing. I think you say funny things. While I don't personally find you that cute, I appreciate your scrubbed-with-oatmeal-and-apple-pie All-American look. I even sympathize with your tendency to drop salsa down the front of your shirt while gorging on the couch. By the way, I've found that hoisting yourself up from a completely horizontal position lowers the possibility of a salsa oooops by like 70%.

But for the love of all things fuzzy, please stop playing into every stereotype of what a vapid jock does when money and fame come his way. What next? Maybe start betting on games? Ooooooooh, everyone LOVES a good DUI. You've probably already put in the order for the sweet custom Hummer (no, not that kind though with the way you're going....) with the bangin' system on which you can listen to all your favorite Journey hits. It may be too late. You may already be too far down the path of least resistance. That makes me sad.

I will give you that with Matt Leinart and Tom Brady both bailing on pregnant girlfriends for models or mildly retarded socialites, the bar is pretty low. But when you are making Tom Brady look kind of smart and classy, it's time to put down the Absolut Pear-tini and find the quietest corner of the Ghostbar and have a little think. Look out into the sea of ochre-colored sharks and cougars that surround you. Decide if this is really the kind of dude you are. It's not too late to get out. Just be careful to not slip in any of those puddles of hair gel, glitter bronzer, melted silicon or fame-hungry desperation on your way out. I get that you're still kind of new to Dallas and everything. If you really don't know of anywhere else to go other than Ghostbar, let me offer some alternative choices. Maybe try The Old Monk, The Idle Rich, Dubliner, Doublewide, Vickery Park, the newly opened Capital Pub. They're nice places that don't have a heavy glaze of shame and baby oil coating the entire bar and its' patrons.

I miss Steve Nash more every day.

PS - After writing this and going back to google to do an image search for "Ghostbar Dallas", one of the first ten results is a picture of you, Tony Romo. You are now the poster child for the Ghostbar. Jebus! I give up. Have fun. Do a shot of Patron off a dead hooker's ass for me, buddy.

Alright, alright already. The Mavs have warmed my heart like someone who puts human hearts in microwaves. Before this season started, a friend of mine said that he was going to try to watch only the bigger Mavs games. This is a guy whose love of the Mavericks knows no bounds so fair-weather fan he is not. He said that it was more about not getting caught up in the WE MUST WIN EVERY GAME OF THE REGULAR SEASON trap, as I and most Mavs fans certainly did last season.

But beating the Spurs has changed my mind. Beating the Spurs is amazing. If the feeling of beating the Spurs could be obtained through using an illicit substance, I would be in rehab right alongside popular drive-time sports talk DJs and Marie Osmond's son. Every Mavs starting player contributed with Devin Harris, Jason Terry, Josh Howard and Dirk all taking turns with breakout quarters respectively. And Tony Parker's Le Spurs dug themselves into the deepest Black Périgord truffle hole of failure they have in recent memory.

It's a new NBA season but Manu Ginobli still makes the "time-ah to make-ah da pizzah!" face with alarming regularity.

I know everyone will go:

"It's too early to get excited!" - Jean-Jacques Taylor

or

"Really? Radio? Really? I sure would like to be back on the television. I wonder what Brad and Mark are talking about right now?" - Bob Ortegel

But I am excited. I like beating the Spurs. I know it's just an ego thing. But I'm not a Poindexter who carries around stat charts and a graphing calculator. I like seeing Tim Duncan lose. I guess I am a bad sport.

Meh.

HEEEEEEY, AMANDA IS LAZY!!!!!!!

The nadir of my blogging "career" is probably gonna occur today because all I am going to do is post links to stuff that other people have written that is far more interesting than anything I have to say.

In local news, Jonanna Widner has been fired from her job as Music Editor of the Dallas Observer. She Dick mourns the loss.

Also a gas tanker truck has exploded on 35 somewhere north of Lewisville effectively cutting off the main trade and traffic route between Denton and Dallas.

Hey want to read the most fucked up story you will read all year?

(By the way, the parents who created the Myspace profile and basically drove a teenage girl to kill herself have been outed. Feel free to discuss the merits of vigilantism.........now)

Alright if you can get over your disgust with the entire human race after reading that, I'll lighten the mood with

Men Who Look Like Old Lesbians

With comedy writers on strike and everything, has anyone thought of calling up Phil Jackson?

If there is justice in the universe, I will grow up to be exactly like this magnificent creature

Remember when Dave Mustaine cried in Some Kind of Monster? Well, now he wants you to buy his coffee. Don't make Dave Mustaine cry. Again.

This article is titled "How Do You Have Sex with a Bicycle?" to which I respond, "Get it drunk or ride it through a GHB puddle....maybe?"

I know this is old but it's so funny that it makes me clap and do the same faces Ozzy does in the video

Blogging about Bloggers and Blogging in Today's Blog-centric World

I made the FrontBurner Blogroll today. Many thanks to Sam M. for the nod. It also provided me with a much-needed gentle nudge to blog more often. There's some funny that's been languishing in my head and no matter how much I drink, it still desperately tries to float to the surface and unleash itself upon the internets.

Those of you with jacuzzi tubs (and DEAR GOD, I WISH I WAS ONE OF YOUR BRETHREN) may have noticed something odd going on with the water supply in Dallas. It's crimson and appears to actually be the blood of one million virgins. Well, you're correct. You may have heard that the Dallas Mavericks recently beat the Golden State Warriors in a basketball game. I have to qualify that it was a basketball game since I was pretty sure the only way I would ever get to type the phrase "the Mavericks beat Golden State" would be when the entire Mavs starting lineup finally snapped and charged at Golden State with crowbars in a last ditch Nancy Kerrigan/Tonya Harding-like attempt to cripple their foes.

But bearing in mind that the Mavericks have managed to beat Golden State, we must contend with the sad (for some) fact that said victory almost certainly means that the apocalypse is near and the world will be ending before we can all get 10 stamps on our Quizno's Sub Club card.

Let me illustrate my point:

The First Seal - Religious Deception and Persecution



CHECK!

The Second Seal - War


DONE!

The Third Seal - Famine


IT'S THE FAREWELL TOUR, FOLKS. IF YOU DON'T BUY THESE AND EAT THESE, MCDONALD'S WILL NOT EVER MAKE ONE FOR YOU EVER AGAIN.

The Fourth Seal - Pestilence


LOOKING AT THIS BILL AND IMAGINING WHAT THIS SHOW WOULD SOUND LIKE AND WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE WOULD BE AT THIS SHOW IS AKIN TO ME IMAGINING WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO HAVE MY BODY SLOWLY, OVER THE COURSE OF A FEW DAYS, PRESSED INTO A McRIB AND EATEN BY SLOBBERING RENAISSANCE FAIR WORKERS.

The Fifth Seal - Tribulation and Martyrdom


I REALLY CAN'T BEGIN TO EXPLAIN THE CHERRY PIT SITUATION (AKA "GROSS PEOPLE NEED GROUP SEX TOO") BUT IF YOU ARE REPRESENTING A SEXY SWINGERS CLUB AND YOU ARE THE OWNER AND YOU GO TO CITY HALL TO FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT TO BANG FAT WOMEN WITH TWEETY BIRD TATOOS ON THEIR CANKLES, PLEASE BE "CAMERA READY". TRY TO AVOID HAVING OPEN, OOZING SORES ON YOUR FACE. MAYBE LEAVE YOUR MORBIDLY OBESE WIFE BACK AT THE PUSSY PIT (NOT KIDDING, IT EXISTS). OR MAYBE TELL HER TO TRY TO PUT ON A SHIRT THAT DOESN'T HAVE A HUGE MR. PIBB STAIN DOWN THE FRONT. I AM ALL FOR THEIR RIGHT TO HAVE SWINGING GROUP SWINGER FUN. BUT THE SIGHT OF THOSE TWO COMBINED WITH THE IDEA OF THE HUNGRY-MAN-ONE-POUNDER-COUNTRY-FRIED-STEAK-DINNER-FUELED ORGY THEY HAD ON THE CALENDAR MAKES ME WANT TO HANG UP MY GIRL PARTS AND CALL IT A DAY.

The Seventh Seal

FEEL FREE TO TAKE YOUR PICK:









special thanks to dailybiblestudies.com for providing me a list of the seven signs of the apocalypse. i was raised episcopal therefore i have no idea what's in the bible except for the stuff about babies in baskets and something about living inside a whale. i would hyperlink dailybiblestudies.com but they're pretty sure the world's end is nigh so hit counts is probably the least of their concerns right now.

People I am Pleased With Right Now (Tuesday 11/6/07 1:12pm Edition)

1. JJ Barea - From D-League special kid to 25 points against the Kings. Nice. This is usually the part where I would make some joke about an offbeat interest of yours or some zany quote you gave in an interview. But my limited internet research yielded absolutely nothing even remotely interesting about you other than the fact that you are from Puerto Rico. Bueno!

2. Jason Terry - Obviously.

3. Jason "TOLD YOU" Witten - The people who usually watch Cowboys games with me have noticed a trend. Let's say I was Wade Phillips or Jason Garrett and I was trying to figure out what plays I wanted to call. I would be bad at this because my answer for everything is "pass it to Jason Witten" no matter what the situation is. And I think that opposing teams would probably not have to watch too much film to figure out that covering Jason Witten would cripple my entire offense and lead to many interceptions. Then when Jerry Jones told me I needed to come up with ANY play that doesn't consist of throwing the ball to Witten and I meekly squeak out the phrase "quarterback sneak?" and then I would lose my job and Jerry would have security escort me to clean out my desk. And I tend to shove half eaten snack bags of peanuts into desk drawers so there would probably be ants and Jerry would have to get someone to come in and spray for ants and then dock that from my final check. So I guess I'm glad they don't always listen to my suggestions that I tell to the TV. But seriously, I say "pass it to Jason Witten" more often than I say the phrase "wait, wait for it......wait for the snap....not again, Flozell!" which is often.

4. Stella McCartney - Her new jewelry line features a necklace with a single dangling leg pendant. Linda McCartney is cackling from Vegetarian Heaven right now.

5. Adrian Peterson - He's pretty good. If he were a Cowboy, I might even re-think my strict "pass to Jason Witten" policy.

6. TV and movie writers - Admittedly, I'm having a hard time sympathizing with the $200,000 average annual salary angle being used. And when I say "hard time sympathizing" what I actually mean is "using Google Earth to find the easiest point of entrance into the residence of whomever gets paid that kind of money to write things like Everybody Love Raymond." That being said, they are right. Overpaid and hack-ish (that's aimed at whoever wrote any word ever spoken on Will and Grace), but correct to demand royalties on new media views.

Ok, I guess that will do just fine

I have a confession. I expressed my doubts on the Mavs chances of breaking their post-season curse yesterday. I thought that the burn was too bad from the Golden State fiasco. Now obviously one win is not enough to make me completely rethink my position but last night was totally impressive. Holding LeBron James to 10 points (none of which he scored until the third quarter) is admirable. Jason Terry was admirable. Devin Harris was admirable.

I'm still reserved about this season but the fact that I even watched the game last night after swearing off Mavericks games for three seasons or more after last year's seizure means I must somewhere deep down believe that this team still has a chance. And more importantly, has figured out how to not blow chances. We shall see.

God, I hope the Colts win on Sunday.