This blog post title really sums up everything I have to say. In typical Bills fashion, this team let a very attainable win (and by attainable, I mean Buffalo waited until the LAST SECOND to let victory slip away) evaporate. Texans 35, Bills 34. That stings. Now we have two weeks for the wound to fester and to watch all the other fans with winning teams be all happy go lucky, oblivious to the cold cruel world of a Bills fan. No, I’m not bitter.
As you’ll see a little further down, I’m in the beginning stages of grief: denial and isolation. That’s why when I woke up this morning and was planning this post, I could still think of a positive spin. By this afternoon, though, I moved on to the next grief stage, which is anger. So, I decided to let my little brother (ok, 20 is no longer that little) offer his analysis of yesterday’s crime scene.
“Fitz is not a good quarterback. Despite one of his best career games stat wise he still managed to throw a late game interception that basically sealed the titan victory. Just goes to show what is far too obvious: even his best is not good enough. He is like Brett Favre without the athletic ability. All the risky decisions but no arm to execute. He is an overpaid backup who starts every week under a delusional head coach who insists he is the answer. Until we have an elite or even competent quarter back we have no chance. But it’s not all his fault. After spending record money on a revamped defense it has gotten worse and now sits on the bottom of the league. Mario Williams is a bust and a big baby. I don’t like his attitude and nobody wants to hear his excuses. He is soft and is not the leader or warrior that we need. [Side note: I LOL'd at those jabs. Little bro don't hold back!] All around we need a tougher team. Warriors that can be nasty and fast and mean in the gridiron and capable of playing smashmouth football. What we have are a bunch of overpaid softies who get blown out by every real playoff contender and can’t even win these pathetic scraps with the other whipping boys of the NFL. Our linebackers are incredibly weak and years of high draft picks at corner have yet to pay off. Shawn Powell’s ugly 22-yard shanked punt helped seal the Titans’ victory as well. We all miss Moorman right now.”
The logical side of me agreed with a lot of that but the I-still-love-them-regardless-of-the-weekly-emotional-abuse-side felt like it tipped the negativity scale a little too far.
I thought he was done…but he wasn’t.
“Management and coaching needs a change. I’m all for cleaning house. Chan’s 13 and 26 record says it all and most of Nix’s big decisions have been utter failures. Dave Wannstedt leads a poorly coached unimaginative defense designed to sit back and endure a beating. The only bright spot is the running game as both backs seem pretty healthy.”
Now I really expected him to be finished; he usually answers my text messages with one word answers or abbreviations of one word answers. Not this time.
“The future looks bleak. We look ahead to a bye week followed by what looks like two surefire losses to the Pats and Texans. We already got blown out by the Pats and by record proportions. Tom Brady vs worst defense in the league, no brainer. Texans are best team in AFC.”
Since I was in the anger stage of grief, I tried to counter his blunt judgements by pointing out the Bills DID score 34 points. He had an answer for that, too.
“Well 34 points against one of the worst defenses in the league doesn’t mean much. At this point the real winner of those battles are the ones who lose and improve their draft choice. Unfortunately, Bills fans probably can’t even look forward to that. We have just enough talent and an easy enough schedule to scrape out just enough wins to ruin our shot at drafting any potentially elite quarterbacks like Geno Smith. We’ll be stuck once again at the back end of the top 10 and continue our vicious cycle of mediocrity.”
Then, finally, he was done.
I had no idea that my little brother, whose world didn’t end if he missed a Bills game (unlike me), was so…football savvy. If you don’t believe me about being unable to provide a coherent game recap this week, I offer the below text message exchange with–or attack on–my father as proof.
And, if anyone knows what I’m talking about when I say that moment on Monday morning when you remember what happened between 1 and 4 p.m. the day before is the most crushing feeling ever, you’ll relate to this last one:
If anyone wants to join me in a two-week recovery program so we can properly continue Billieving (because I do), please let me know.