A New Failure

11 Dec

Hey, I’m a little late again this week.  My apologies.  In my own defense, it’s hard to put the fantastic nature of the latest Saints self-destruction into words in just a lunch break or two, you know?

If you came here for statistical analysis and deep insight to the existential drama of a coachless team, the answers to the questions of life, the universe, and goddamn soul-sucking failure, go here instead.  He’s got it covered, and he has done it well.

I need to bitch.  I think you need to bitch.  Let’s bitch together.  Here’s the thing: I’m disgusted.  This is as homer a blog as probably exists on the entire Saints Internet.  But this loss – this one was different.  It was different from the Niners, this year or last; it was different from the Falcons; it was not the same fucking thing that we saw against the Panthers and the Chiefs.  No, folks, this one stands alone.  Only 10 days after I complained that the Falcons loss would be one of the hardest to get over that I can remember in my life as a Saints fan, the Saints got me over it. 

Because, for the first time in over 6 years, I couldn’t help but notice that the Saints just didn’t really give a fuck.

Most of what we’re getting from the media (Legitimate and Illegitimate alike) is some form of this autofellatio:

2012 was, after all, a test – not of the players or the staff, but of a theory – the very idea of the importance of coaching in a true team sport.  We see now that the influence at the top of the football organization is, rightly, a revered position.  We see that a great coach is truly worth as much as any player – verily, more than the sum of the entire lot of them.  We know now how important coaching is in the NFL, and if we didn’t before, all we needed was the grand experiment in leadershipless athletics that was the 2012 New Orleans Saints.

Eat my asshole, you pretentious fucks.

This wasn’t some fucking grand experiment, and it proved absolutely nothing about the principles of coaching or the need for leadership in an organization.  It would have done so had the Saints only been victims of insufficient game planning, play calling, and in-game adjustment.  It would have made sense had a pile of coaching errors amassed half of the losses.  That didn’t happen.

Or, more accurately, all of those things happened but they weren’t the only things that happened.

What we really proved in 2012 was this: the Saints – not football teams, not team sports, not the NFL specifically, only the Saints – maintain a roster fucking riddled with pussies.

I don’t have a problem with a slew of kick returns.  I have a problem with a pretty damn good coverage team giving up their own territory more times than I can count on one hand in a single game against a mediocre return team.  Because that demonstrates not giving a fuck. Sean Payton’s absence doesn’t – or shouldn’t – explain those kickoff returns.

I don’t have a problem with terrible defense.  Hell, we knew we’d experience that bit of perennial frustration, with a new coach and not a whole ton of defensive talent.  What we didn’t (and had no reason to) expect was the particular terribleness of this team through the first few games.  Even given that information, we shouldn’t have expected the great turnaround (and, for the most part, it was pretty impressive) that they experienced through the next few games, only to be overshadowed by the most mediocre offensive effort we’ve seen through three games since Aaron Brooks taunted us weekly with his uniquely infurating shit-eating grin.

Hey, speaking of grinning at failure, Lance Moore: fucking stop it please.  You know what smiling after a third down incompletion during a battle for your playoff lives says to the fans?  That you don’t give a fuck.  I get that it’s a game and I get that you have to have fun.  It’s still okay to fucking frown for a bit after you commit a very dumb mental mistake.  We’re frowning.  Frown with us, dick.

“Jed Collins went to the sideline after his fumble and nobody yelled at him!  See?  That’s the difference.” – All of Twitter

Which brings me to my point.  The reason I have a problem with the “coaching really does matter” crowd.  That is, it shouldn’t.  Not in this circumstance.  A coach like Sean Payton that is a football genius will be missed on the field.  He shouldn’t be missed in the players’ heads.

You’re telling me that this guy made an NFL roster, is living the dream many of us can only, well, dream about, he’s making a big fat pile of money to compete at the highest level, and he needs someone to yell at him in order to comprehend the magnitude of a fumble in his own territory?

He sounds like a pussy.  And, you know, I really don’t think Jed Collins is a pussy.

No, he knew he fucked up.  So did Marques Colston.  So did Drew Brees, and so did Drew Brees, and so did Drew Brees.

But, watching the game Sunday, I got that feeling, that one I haven’t felt in the better part of a decade now.  I felt like I cared too much.  I felt like I was investing too much goddamn energy into a silly game when the players didn’t care nearly as much as I do.

And hell, that was before the defense finally gave up.

“That’s why we need Sean Payton!  He would have fixed things!  He would have motivated the defense to keep playing until the offense got in gear!”

That dreamcrywish bullshit is probably one hundred percent truth.  But why?

The defense played its ass off for two and a half quarters.  Spotted half the field on all but one first-half possession, the opposing offense scored two touchdowns.  Two.  And the defense countered with one of their own.  That’s admirable given the full-on shitbeating that the offense took.  But you can only ask so much, right?


They gave up too, and the Giants scored more points than they have in a single game since 1894 (unverified stat). 

Why?  Because the defensive players, like the special teams and the offense, didn’t have Sean Payton to berate them into not letting the other guys score or something?

Get the fuck out.

That run. You know what I’m talking about. Shades of Marshawn fucking Lynch. Except, you know, it wasn’t Marshawn Lynch. It looked, to me, instead like a rookie just gashing a defense that didn’t have a care left in the world.

2012 is not a football narrative.  It’s not a sports narrative.  It is only a Saints story.  It proves only that the Saints – in this isolated, team specific case study – are powerless to stop that tiny little snowball of suck and bitchery as it gains mass and speed and whine on its way down the precipice until we, the innocent fans, find our living rooms and sports bars and man caves buried in a fucking avalance of piss and miserable defeat.

The loss doesn’t suck.  That old feeling of caring more than the team itself: that shit sucks.

“Only 15 percent of football players are self-motivated.  The other 85 percent need someone to get them going.  It’s human nature.” – Bobby Hebert (paraphrased and translated by Angry Who Dat)

Fuck off, Bobby.  That’s not human nature.  Humans are fucking competitive.  That might be entitled bitchy football player nature, but it’s not human nature.  Human nature is the reason someone like me dreams sometimes that maybe in another life I could have been granted just a shred of talent and had a shot at what these guys get to do every day of the week.  Human nature is why the dunces on the local message board cheer for the Chris Ivories and the Walter Thomases and the Mike Haases and the Onome Ojos of the world.  Because if those guys can make it, then maybe even we might have a chance in another fucking parallel universe.  We want to believe – we have to believe – that the underdog can make it if he works hard enough.  Human nature is the reason Rudy is a cult classic.

Human nature is the reason sometimes fanhood isn’t enough to overcome the disgust at watching people do things we’ve always wished we could have had a shot at doing, and doing it half-heartedly.  It’s the reason we turn off the TV at the beginning of the fourth quarter because it’s just too hard to watch someone who doesn’t give a shit compete at something you care deeply about.

It’s that time of the year again, when we revolt in horror at the absolute fuck-it-all we’re watching on our TVs and in our Dome.  It used to be an annual tradition.  It wasn’t anymore. 

Until this year.

“Good news!  5-11 is a high draft pick!  Go Bucs!”

One more example of absolute, unadulterated bitchery right here.  As disgusted as I am right now, I hope that the entire team gets their shit together and realizes that their fucking mommy Sean Payton is watching every move they make.  I hope they realize that someone in power is taking notice of their half-assed play (and I hope beyond hope that someone actually is).  I want nothing more than an 8-8 finish.

But you know what?  I think your high draft pick is probably more likely than my 8-8.  So there’s that.


2 Responses to “A New Failure”

  1. arcjones December 12, 2012 at 10:17 am #

    Yep, that about sums it up….. I didn’t even make a mess or cuss out anyone, although that pick six was pretty sweet!

  2. CajunGumbo December 13, 2012 at 1:09 am #

    You have a great take w/ what’s going on w/ this team. And your solution to the problem is correct and clear as the nose on your face.

    The fans need to start holding the players and coaches accountable. SP did that (and the DVD, “Super Bowl XLIV Champions” shows several instances of just that) and he got results out of his team.

    Let’s face it, the talent of 2009 is still on the team, mostly, it’s just not showing on game day. It’s as if the players think they have an excuse to slack off, so they are not trying or hustling to make plays.

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