I often have this dream. In my dream, I'm sitting inside the tent of a fortuneteller. I want to know what the future holds for me and my loved ones. The setting: very cliched--old tomes, musty animal skulls fill the shelves. There is a dry ice machine running for effect. The seer looks suspiciously like my high school French teacher--so I, the sleeper, aware but powerless to alter the proceedings, know that mostly bad news is coming. She (the seer) looks deep within the leavings of her tea leaves, all at once sighs and then just as quickly gasps. I sit, bolt upright in my chair. "What is it?" I ask.
"I have good news and bad news."
Of course. "Well, I know how this scene usually goes. What's the bad news?"
"The bad news is that in successive weeks, you will have the occasion to lose to BOTH versions of the Cleveland Browns."
Aaaghh. A cut to my very quick. Haltingly, I ask, "And the good news?"
"Soon after, you will invent a device by which you can travel back in time and unbirth yourself."
So, in my dream, a few quick twists of my umbilical cord and the pain is gone. For The GIbbs, life is painfully different.
For a good portion of the Washington-Baltimore tilt, billed, strangely enough as "The Battle of the Beltway" (and, I guess, since Baltimore won, they can takle responsibility for it), resembled the football game I began my weekend with: Texas-Oklahoma. Powerful defenses and struggling offenses--you waited for one of the two teams to break through and start moving the ball. Up 10-0 at the half, I was naive enough to think that was going to be us.
However, The Gibbs was introduced to a personality trait that has long dominated our team--we're cautiously confident for as long as we play without error--but at the first mistake, we find a way to compound glitch with catastrophe. After Ed Reed bashed in Mark Brunell like a pinata and put himself and the ball in the EZ, I had a bad feeling. Then, to my horror, the punt cover team bit down on a Deion Sanders fake-reverse as if he were a luscious, custardy eclair of deception. We were only down 14-10--but to these Skins and the little green monsters that terrorize their confidence when something goes wrong, I knew that four points was an insurmountable lead.
The questioning of the Gibbs has already began. Last night, the ESPN crew pointed out at several occasions, that they were of the opinion that the game had nevertheless not passed Gibbs by. That means people are wondering: has the game passed GIbbs by? I maintain that the offensive live is like a porous sieve of Belgian girls armed with cottage cheese and few kind words--and because of this, Mark Brunell is not getting the half-hour he needs in the pocket to find an open receiver and Clinton Portis is getting blown up at the line of scrimmage. Until that is fixed, we'll have no idea how good this team could be. But it's not getting fixed anytime soon.
Amazing to think that a month ago, I thought the Giants were the division train wreck. Now they look like the team of the future. For the time being, the Skins are stuck in the present.