Well, turns out we suck on pretty much whatever continent we choose to play. The UK game came and went, the NFL finally got to force itself down the throats of the Brits while having their sport showcased on a field that matched the shittyness of the teams playing on it, and a jolly good time was had by all. Meanwhile, the Dolphins got to fly a total of 16 hours to and from London just to get their asses handed to them for the eight straight time. So, in the end -- for them and for us -- it was a complete and total waste of time and resources. Why fly half way round the globe when they can conveniently suck ass here in the States without all that bothersome jet lag and sleep deprivation?
And while I can speak of the tough play of Jesse Chatman (aka Pocket Thunder) and while I can talk about the solid showing by our defense, and while I can triumph in my hang-my-balls-out-there prediction that Ted Ginn would score his first career TD in this game … I won’t. Because we lost. And we are now 0-8 and officially globally shitty.
The defense, who entered this game giving up an average of 400 points, were finally able to hold the opposing team to a mere touchdown and a couple of field goals. And wouldn’t you know it. On the one week they’re finally able to do that, the offense decides to play like Dave Wandstedt was back for an encore performance of calling the plays, smirking with his wispy mustache and running his hands through his hair while pacing the sidelines.
And let me say this again, just to be sure we’re all clear where I stand: Cleo. Lemon. Sucks.
If his single-handedly handing the game over to the Giants on a platter with fries on the side isn’t what finally has his ass benched… if he remains the starter come week 10 instead of The Mormon, then you can officially welcome me onto the Fire Cam Cameron Bandwagon Brigade. Because there’s stubbornness. There’s doing things your way. There's wanting to be wise with your rookie players. And then there’s retardation.
But, in the end, the tall glass of warm urine goes to kicker Jay Feeley, whose missed chip-shot field goal during the Dolphins’ very first drive of the game set the tone for the rest of the day and utterly destroyed the thinnest slither of hope for a win we might have held onto coming into the afternoon.
Here’s the thing, NFL kickers. Every time you feel the need to talk trash, don’t. Because you’re a kicker. Talk trash and, inevitably, you’ll end up fucking the game up somehow. So just strap on your helmet, take those frivolous one step back, two steps to the side thing you all do, kick the ball, sit back down and have a cold one. And that's it. Got it, Jay?
As for the whole UK experience, it was cool I guess. The big Jason Taylor, the pomp and circumstance, the packed stadium, the shitty weather, the nakedness. The game was played in Wembley stadium, which apparently has a retractable roof that no one knows how to work. The sod on the field is thin and slick and built for kicking soccer balls and not built to take the abuse of dozens of 280 pound dudes running and falling and spitting and sweating all over it. The crowd made a nice effort to show enthusiasm, although they had no idea when to cheer and when to get up to take a piss. They also booed the Giants' game clinching kneel-down, which I found particularly amusing. There was also a streaker. The English fucking love running around naked in public. There were a good number of Dolphins fans there too, which was great. I did spot one dude with a Patriots jersey on. How do you say “douchebag” in Cockney?
All in all, it was an unmitigated disaster. This is an absolute abomination of a team that is finding newer and more creative ways of losing. 0-8. We're halfway home. Destination: Shitsville.
Ah, bloody hell.