Please cue “Eye of the Tiger” before reading this … no, I’m serious. It’ll be awesome.
Welcome, proud Tampons as well as all the surrounding 727’s and even some of you 941’s way the hell down yonder in the sticks. (Sorry, that’s just a guess. I haven’t been down there much. You’re by Alligator Alley, right?) Anyway, welcome to the official unofficial Tampa Bay Buccaneers 2013 preview. That’s right, you football freaks. Sports Illustrated, ESPN, Athlon, Steele, Plato, Socrates, Aristotle? Morons. Oh, sure. They may have “credentials” and “experience” and “jobs.” But in order to get the predictions and smack-talk guaranteed to provoke confused and horrified stares at the water-cooler, you’ve come to the right place. And you thought that hot piece of ass in sales wouldn’t notice you. I believe this restraining order suggests otherwise, Casanova.
Our beloved Bucs have completed their four-game dress rehearsal and one thing has become clear. Nothing. Let’s face it, the preseason sucks hard. Starters in, starters out, jock itch puts you on the injury report, and fans walk away with football blueballs the size of Da’Quan Bower’s gut. Finally, we’re ready for the real thing and the Bucs, on paper at least, have a terrific shot at not being terrible this year.
If …
… Darrelle Revis doesn’t blow out his $96 million knee in week one. The Buc’s “sexy” off-season splash is unanimously the man whom fans call the island. Arguably the best cornerback in the league, Revis had to duct-tape his anterior cruciate ligament together last year (which I hear is a pretty important body part) and although every doctor gave him the thumbs up, he hasn’t played diddly-shit since Sept. 28, 2012 outside of practice. If he goes down, the ripple effect will rival a Shaun King cannonball in a kiddie pool.
… Carl Nicks’ tootsies get better. One reason why quarterback Josh Freeman found himself on his back more often than a working girl during Fleet Week is that the giant nasty guard has been sidelined with a giant nasty MRSA (or staph) infection; which is not only serious, but also incredibly disgusting (Google image it … tasty). Although it’s been reported that Nicks is “healing,” no definite timeline has been set for his return.
“If Carl doesn’t get well soon, it’s going to totally suck donkey balls,” said a slurry fan two rows behind me Thursday night.
Eloquently put, ma’am.
… and of course, if #5 doesn’t shit the bed. Yes, it’s time to address the 248-pound elephant in the room. I’ve heard the terms “talent” and “potential” enough to give me a perpetual case of gas. It goes without saying, where Josh Freeman goes, so go the Bucs. And until I’m proven wrong, and I soooooo want to be proven wrong, Freeman is not the answer; unless the question is, “Which quarterback looks about as comfortable in the pocket during a garden variety blitz as an epileptic hopped up on Mountain Dew standing on hot coals?” Sadly, in my opinion, my only question is how many interceptions will he throw before Buc Nation clamors for another crappy quarterback? Phone lines are open. What are you doing? Put the phone down, silly-buns.
If these three things fall into our favor, there’s no reason why this team can’t go undefeated and freeze their nuts off at the Super Bowl in New York … or New Jersey. Seriously, people, why the hell is the Super Bowl in New Jersey? Snookie, Sopranos and the Super Bowl sounds like the most brain-damaged reality show idea since The Amish Kardashians Go to Temptation Island Survivor. I made that up, but I swear somebody would green-light that turd.
Speaking of New York turds, if the Bucs don’t beat the Jets in Week 1, and I mean beat the ever-loving snot out of that train wreck of a program, this will be one long-ass painful season. But at least you folks watching at home will be spared half the games as this team will have more blackouts than Amanda Bynes on a Friday night … or a Tuesday afternoon.
Tailgate Tips: Well, not so much a tip as advice … well not so much advice as a desperate plea. If you don’t like sharks, stop chumming the water. While you’re out there sweating up a boxer-shorts stew under the September sun, chatting to your buddies about everything from the point spread to which beer goes best with beer, and some stranger with a cause invades your personal space asking for money, tell them no. Please … for the love of God. Enough with the solicitors already. It’s okay. It doesn’t make you a bad person. I guarantee, a “no, thank you” will not cause a child to smoke crack. The cheerleaders can ask their deadbeat parents if they want to fly to Biloxi for the World’s Best Splits competition or somersaults or whatever the hell they do. No, I don’t want a candy apple. I don’t know where it came from. It looks awful. Who eats candy apples anymore? Didn’t they make those during the Depression? Oh, great. You went to Sam’s Club and bought a metric shit-ton of Peanut M&M’s. Good for you. Go read a book, kid. Leave me the fuck alone.
Where was I? Oh, right.
GO BUCS!
