| I WISH
IT WERE NEXT YEAR ALREADY!
I was
brunching Sunday morning in the Mirage Hotel, Las Vegas, Nevada, telling anyone
within earshot that the number-one-can't-miss-bet-the-farm-on-it play was
betting Pittsburgh over Cleveland + 6.5. No way could Pittsburgh not beat that
puny spread. As gametime approached, my head said Steelers. But my heart asked,
"How can I pull like gravity for my Brownies while betting on
Pittsburgh?" Of course, I lost the bet. And the game broke my heart.
Those of you new to this column please be advised. It is not dedicated to
cheerleading. I love the Browns. Always have. Always will. But all is not
sweetness and light. And when the lights went out in Cleveland Browns Stadium
Sunday night, I could only hope that Coach Palmer was not completely in the
dark. I'm just not sure.
Retelling the horror of that game--one of the worst defeats in Browns
history--serves only to pour Bertman's Ball Park Mustard into your wounds. The
guys resodding the field between breaks gained more yardage than the Browns.
And after such a heartbreakingly long hiatus, the pain stabbed sharp and deep.
So, what to do about it? Where does one begin? The offense, the defense,
and the special teams all stank up the joint. So the only thing I can do, and I
do so with much twisted pleasure, is send Coach Palmer into my doggie dungeon
of damnation. Yes, the head coach takes the blame for this fiasco, and he
slurps from THE DAWGHOUSE puppy dish until he delivers a competitive team. You,
the loyal stalwart fans who made this second incarnation of the greatest team
in the history of professional sport possible, deserve nothing less. And
believe me, THE DAWGHOUSE is watching Duh-wight very closely. Verrrrry closely.
Bow-Wow, baby.
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