Same Old Same Old

My 10-year old daughter and I were watching the second half of the Green Bay-NY Giant game Sunday after I dejectedly returned home from the Browns game. Early in the fourth quarter Greg Jennings caught a 20-yard in from Aaron Rodgers, feinted toward the sideline and then took off up the left hash mark for another 20 yards on top of the throw. My 10-year old tuned to me and, my hand to God, said, “How come we don’t have any guys that can do that dad?”

Naturally, I slapped her mouth, screamed at her and sent her to her room for being insolent.

Actually I looked at her and said honestly, “I really don’t know Kacie.”

And I really don’t know why we don’t have guys that make those plays or whether it’s the game plan that doesn’t call those plays or allow the talent that is on the roster to run them.

I don’t know anymore whether I’m watching a team play really hard for their coach or if I’m watching a few talented guys lead some other dedicated guys through 60 minutes of play despite their coaches.

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The gift I’d truly like to give Clevelanders is to buy LeBron James passage on a booze-cruise that ends tragically with the Whore of Akron shipwrecked on a sun-soaked island without a hat.

But short of that, I’d settle for the Browns doing the right thing and bringing back Eric Mangini for one more season. I know the guy came in like a douche bag and botched a draft like he was Dwight Clark, but once he was limited to doing what he knows best his teams responded. Look at the roster he runs out there every week and tell me which guy on this squad that other teams fear. Which guys on the Browns offense makes opposing defensive coordinators sit up and take notice? Which offensive linemen in the league get scared shit-less or request double team help when they know they’ll be staring down Brian Schaefring?

Come on. I know we’re the same people who cheered when Charlie Frye was banished from the field and traded just one half into the first game of the season and  I know we’re the town where the guy we’ve got in any spot isn’t as good as someone else might be.

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‘Twas the night before Christmas
And all through Nationwide
Not a fan was stirring
‘Cause no one was inside

The jerseys were hung
In the locker with care
In hopes that
A winning team soon would be there

The players were nestled
All snug in their beds
While visions of .500
Danced in the heads

And Howson in his suit
And Arniel in his cap
Had just settled down
To discuss the standings gap

When out on the rink
Arose such a clatter
Both men sprung up
To see what was the matter

Away to the window
They flew like a flash
Praying that nothing happened
To Captain Rick Nash

The arena lights beamed
On the rink of frozen snow
Giving the luster of a season
With an outcome they did not know

When, what to their wondering eyes should appear
A phallic cannon mascot and a negative fiscal year

With a little zamboni driver
So lively and quick
They knew in a moment
It must be St. Nick

And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name
Now Garon, now Tyutin, now Moreau, now Nash
On Umberger, on Klesla, on Mason, on Brass

To the top of the Central,
To the top of the West
Now dash away, dash away all
Before this franchise gets completely repossessed

So there’s my Christmas wish for this team. Success. Without a doubt, the Blue Jackets are in dire financial straits and need to start putting together a winning product and getting the fans back. That would be a present to us all.

Merry Christmas to Rich Swerbinsky, the man who made TCF possible, to my fellow writers, and to all you readers and your families out there.

In his triumphant return to the huddle, Colt McCoy's play was one of the few bright spots in the Brown's latest defeat, the other bright spots being Terrell Owens not playing, and the fact that I got to watch the game at all.

For that I have to thank (or blame, depending on how you look at it) Amazon.com's prime membership that allowed me to ship the rest of my Christmas shopping to my house by Wednesday, therefore saving me a trip to (shudder) the mall. Instead I got to sit in front of my TV and attempt the superhuman feat of not yelling anything that could get me in a lot of trouble if my son should repeat it when he sees grandma and grandpa today.

The Browns defense was faced with an almost impossible decision yesterday on how to defend the juggernaut Bengal's offense. Given a choice of either not tackling Cedric Benson, or not covering any receivers, the Browns played it safe and decided to do both. They must have done both because I have no idea how to explain Bengals receivers running wide open 15 yards downfield and at the same time allowing Benson 5 yards on every rush before even touching him. And, this was all being done without even the hint of a pass rush. It's quite impressive, actually.

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