Tag Archives: Monday Night Football Saints
No Prime Time, No Problem
No, not that “Prime Time” silly…the NFL prime time! The league finally released the prime time schedule for opening and Thanksgiving weekends of the 2009 season and it would appear the Saints are no longer “sponge-worthy.”
So which teams are the NFL’s new golden guys? Opening weekend will feature match-ups between the Titans and Steelers, Bears and Packers, Bills and Patriots, and the Chargers and Raiders. The NFL will once again make it hard to keep our dinner down on Thanksgiving by forcing us to sit through another lopsided Lions game, this time versus Green Bay. Also on tap, a snoozefest known as Raiders at Cowboys and a potentially good match-up between the Giants and Broncos. (Hmmm…let’s hope Jay Cutler won’t still be crying into his cereal bowl by then.)
Game 5: A Bush Among Thorns
It’s 12:10 am on a Tuesday morning. I come to you today painfully sober and devastatingly aware of what just happened over the course of nearly four emotionally charged hours of Saints football. It is a game that began with me doing a cheerleader high kick in my living room (that I haven’t accomplished since 9th grade) after the Saints scored an easy 7 on their opening drive. Turns out, I’d be the only “old fogey” to come through in the kicking clutch for the Saints tonight. We’ll get to Gra-mendment #1, which calls for the immediate dismissal of Martin Gramatica, in a moment. First…I want to ask one simple question of our offense: what the hell happened to you after the first quarter?
You see it would be easy to lay this game at the feet of “Gramati-can’t”…but the truth of the matter is, he didn’t work alone to get us in a 20-10 hole against a team with less than 50 yards of offense. He had some help in the form of disastrous miscues. Sure his blocked field goal essentially sent 10 points in the direction of the other team. But what about the turnovers, the countless offensive penalties, and the dropped balls? Oh no my friends, “Fartin” didn’t work alone to stink up the place.
On a night when we all held our breath every time Adrian Peterson touched the ball, no one suspected it would be our own offense ultimately giving us the shakes. No matter what the stats say, we couldn’t produce squat that mattered after the first quarter and every opportunity that seemed to put us within reach of the end zone, we squandered by effectively pulling out a 9mm and shooting off our toes one by one before handing our blood soaked foot over to a rabid dog to finish the job. Oh yes…it was a slow and painful kind of misery.
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