I heard a lot of folks talking about how we’d hit rock bottom after the week one disaster, how we’d fallen about as far as possible. I was secretly hoping we had, to be honest. And yes, when I say ‘we’ I mean the Packers.
But no, like the cold drizzle of September which soaks to the bone, the suffering has only begun, it seems. And this seasoned columnist finds himself wondering - why must you twist my sunny soul, you cruel, cruel numbskulls? I just can’t take it like I used to. One can only sink so far into the cozy depths of their favorite rocking chair.
Even my good wife’s finest egg sandwich and peanut-butter cookies could not pull me from my post-whip-saw doldrums.
It would be one thing if they would just lose and be done with it, but these Packers just had to go and open up a decent first-quarter lead. Perhaps Mr. Kampman is the devil with his wonderful false hope, grizzly-bear power rush and jaguar-esque swipery.
Oh my, just look at what I am saying! This losing makes an old man insane about the head.
I’m sorry Mr. Kampman. My apologies. You played spelendidly. I should not have lashed out at you like that. Goodness.
Surely, there is blame to go around for this second sad display at Lambeau in as many weeks, but I where to begin? I don’t want to say anything further that I will regret, but was a game that should have been won, and therefore, I feel obliged to put somebody in the Union Dog-House - someone who deserves it truly.
That person is Mr. Poppinga. This second year ram-foot has shown promise, and he sure deserves some respect for overcoming that nasty knee injury, but for his second straight week, he has given up monstrous attacks, allowing our defensive middle to be stung repeatedly by sub-par quarterbacks. And then, as he appeared ready for redemption with a gift interception felled unto his arms like a rotten pine teddy bear, he blew another one, dropping the gift chickadee like a thorny biscuit slathered in poisonous preservatives. Oh, the dagger. Or one of many, I guess.
Other notable numbskulls of the week include Mr. Collins (another self-foot-shooting defensive performance) and Mr. Franks (what happened to your butter-ey hands, former pro-bowl tight-end?). Coach McCarthy wins the Numbskull Turtle Award for his ultra-conservative second quarter play-calling which allowed the momentum to shift as we retreated into our 13-point (but ultimately, soft) shell. If I knew what noise turtles made when they are angered, I would make that noise right now. Probably something like “rhu-moinkle-ee-oh!”
Yikes. I’m getting carried away again.
Anyways, Brett seemed to be hammering more efficiently this week, but then again, the Saint’s defense ain’t the Bear’s.
Coming up we have a fellow bottom feeder in the Lions of Fort Ponchartrain du Detroit. Seems like we should have a decent chance, but at this point who knows. Have we hit rock bottom yet, or is there still levels of cruelty which remain unknown?
In what is sure to be a low-scoring duel, and with great trembling and effort, I call for a victory. Green Bay - 10, Ft. Detroit - 6.Until next week, then.
F.G., circa 1929
