I feel like I’m trapped inside a giant yo-yo this pre-season. And it’s making me queasy as a water-logged duck on a choo-choo train. Come to think of it, this train doesn’t even have a bag of bread crumbs!
Monday night’s game sure soiled this columnist’s rosey spectacles with a dash of what-in-the-heck and a whole mess of juicy jeepers creepers, let me tell you.
But for as bad as the green and gold looked in the Oh-Hi-Oh river valley, I was surprised to find myself staying relatively calm at my cousin Walter’s place (he’s got them fancy cable television channels). Of course, with the rain delay and the already-late game-starting time, maybe I was just sleeping at the wheel, or rather, beneath a warm quilt. Seriously - who is scheduling these games so damned late? Don’t they know how comfortable recliner chairs are these days? Or how sleepy I get when sitting in them? Honestly. How’s a fellow supposed to stay awake through it all? Geesh.
Anyways, like I said up top, there was a golden lining to all of this butt-whupping and embarrassment: Mr. Rodger’s pronounced haberdashery.
That’s right! Did anybody else just go loon-bird crazy when they saw that snazzy moustache on the happy upper lip of number twelve? I must say, I wasn’t too hot on this kid last year, but with the improved play and the common sense shift to the ol’ pushbroom style of olden days, I’ve got to admit publicly my newfound admiration for the California Kid. But who knows, eh?
Aside from Mr. Rodger’s dapper grooming techniques, however, there wasn’t a whole lot to chatter about.
I’ve been a pretty big Tony Kornheiser fan as far as sporting-colunists-turned-television-personalities are concerned, and I was pretty impressed with his peculiar work on the prime-time show. I especially liked his thoughts on the celebration rules changes. What a joke. Also, he made a comment about the Oakland Raiders signing Jeff George over the weekend, which got me to thinking. If there is a market for senior citizens playing in the league, perhaps I should dig up the old pigskin and start warming up the Union Artillery, as my right arm has been previously called. You never know. Bang, bang! Still got it.
Back to the game, though.
I noticed a troubling trend from last year revisited (aside from losing miserably): Our receivers’ hands must be made out of some sort of invisible, ticklish dynamite. Seems like half the time Brett throws it too them, the ball explodes off their combustible hands or bodily thoraces, up into the air, making easy pickings for the vultural defensive backs. Lord knows half of his interceptions last year occurred due to this poppycock phenomenom, and don’t you know, it happened again last night! Ka-BAM! And all I can think is ‘come on Donny!’ Sure, it did appear slippery as an oily penguin out there, but if somebody paid me a million dollars to catch a ball, I’d expect that of myself.
Overall, and whiskers aside, the effort was a real stinker. The defense looked like a bunch of nit-wit bo-hunks, the running game went no-where, and the all-too-familiar turnover problem bit us in the be-hind once again. More than anything, the team has to reduce those fumbles and interceptions if they are to have any chance of winning in the regular season.
Anyhoo, getting near the end of the page. Coming up on Friday, our final practice run against the Oilers before the opener against the over-rated Bears. Oilers - 3, Packers - 27.
Hopefully, we can avoid any serious injuries and end the practice season on an upbeat note. As is the case with yo-yos, I expect an upswing on Friday.Until next week, then.
F.G., circa 1929
