erod
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I understand the pessimism about Sunday. I share it deeply, in fact. Got that feeling of a final exam looming in mere hours after getting home too late and with more than the intended buzz from that kegger I should have avoided.
But this is one of those weeks when you have to look around and take it all in. Just smell the football in the air and be glad we're not stuck in June purgatory, waiting for a season that can't seem to get here. It's here alright, right in our 2-2 faces.
Football Perfection Incarnate will soon board a plane for Dallas. Actually, I think the Broncos will get on the plane, while Peyton is escorted personally by the Football Gods, notably Zeus, Steve Sabol, Ernie Stautner, and Gus, the football-kicking mule.
But before you scratch that tick in the "L" column, ask yourself a question or five.
Are the Broncos really going to go 16-0? Has Peyton ever beaten Romo? Does the Bronco defense look impenetrable without Von Miller and Elvis Dumervil? Do the Cowboys lack character to respond? Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?
No, no, no, no, and I don't remember because I was at the kegger.
We all had grand hopes and predictions of being 4-0 about now, but we also had no idea 2-2 would be alone in first place either. Even a loss Sunday, crazy enough, wouldn't take Dallas out of first place, though the "alone" might evaporate if so.
I feel like I do know this. There's a game somewhere in the soul of this team that would wow us all. They've done it before in seemingly impossible circumstances, albeit without the needed regularity. And this is at home, out of the oxygen vacuum of Mile High, and with still a whole season ahead to win this smelly division. They shouldn't be tight.
I expect a good game Sunday, but a loss. Denver 35-31, dripping in woulda's, coulda's, and shoulda's to ponder come Monday. My unstated hope is to play these butt-kickin' Donkeys better than the rest of the dadgum division at least. Beyond that would be gravy, based on the still-ripe carnage of San Diego and the merciless public stoning of Philly in Denver.
But they put their pants on one leg at a time just like Dallas, except for Peyton, who has the Papa John's guy do it for him. (Sorry, low hanging fruit.) He doesn't like to go downfield much anymore, so gotta press up and take chances.
I'm just going to enjoy the week. Big-game atmosphere is always fun in the stadium. Let'r rip, tater chip!
No matter what, I'm determined to hit the sack Sunday night calm, sober, and worry free. No test for me on Monday.
But this is one of those weeks when you have to look around and take it all in. Just smell the football in the air and be glad we're not stuck in June purgatory, waiting for a season that can't seem to get here. It's here alright, right in our 2-2 faces.
Football Perfection Incarnate will soon board a plane for Dallas. Actually, I think the Broncos will get on the plane, while Peyton is escorted personally by the Football Gods, notably Zeus, Steve Sabol, Ernie Stautner, and Gus, the football-kicking mule.
But before you scratch that tick in the "L" column, ask yourself a question or five.
Are the Broncos really going to go 16-0? Has Peyton ever beaten Romo? Does the Bronco defense look impenetrable without Von Miller and Elvis Dumervil? Do the Cowboys lack character to respond? Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?
No, no, no, no, and I don't remember because I was at the kegger.
We all had grand hopes and predictions of being 4-0 about now, but we also had no idea 2-2 would be alone in first place either. Even a loss Sunday, crazy enough, wouldn't take Dallas out of first place, though the "alone" might evaporate if so.
I feel like I do know this. There's a game somewhere in the soul of this team that would wow us all. They've done it before in seemingly impossible circumstances, albeit without the needed regularity. And this is at home, out of the oxygen vacuum of Mile High, and with still a whole season ahead to win this smelly division. They shouldn't be tight.
I expect a good game Sunday, but a loss. Denver 35-31, dripping in woulda's, coulda's, and shoulda's to ponder come Monday. My unstated hope is to play these butt-kickin' Donkeys better than the rest of the dadgum division at least. Beyond that would be gravy, based on the still-ripe carnage of San Diego and the merciless public stoning of Philly in Denver.
But they put their pants on one leg at a time just like Dallas, except for Peyton, who has the Papa John's guy do it for him. (Sorry, low hanging fruit.) He doesn't like to go downfield much anymore, so gotta press up and take chances.
I'm just going to enjoy the week. Big-game atmosphere is always fun in the stadium. Let'r rip, tater chip!
No matter what, I'm determined to hit the sack Sunday night calm, sober, and worry free. No test for me on Monday.
