The Aye-Bee-Sees of 'Bloggin

[Here's how it will work. The weblog itself will have but 26 sentences, and each sentence shall start with the letter of the alphabet, starting with "A" and ending with "Z." 26 sentences, no more, no less. (BUT PUNCTUATION SHALL BE LIBERALLY--MOST-LIBERALLY-USED.) Since I just saw the Detroit Lions lose yet again, this post shall be dedicated to them, my "beloved" gridiron heroes in Blue and Silver. Without any further ado, I give you:

A LIONS RANT--A-TO-Z:]

Actually, I had thought that were going to win this one, at home, on Thanksgiving Day, versus the Miami Dolphins, led by ex-Lion great Joe Harrington. But, before I go on, please let me remind you that these are the Detroit Lions that we're talking about--rather, me writing about, you perhaps reading about.

Can I now get a round of applause, please, for the "ex-Lion great," Joe Harrington? Dude played great, as I thought he probably would, once he got his ass out the maelstrom that is Detroit Lions football. Everyone here in town was down on the guy saying things like he'll never be a winner and he might be gay and he tinkles the piano keys and he dances in the pocket like a scared little bitch. Forgive me, but isn't this the "professional" organization that drafted not one, not two, but THREE wide receivers in consectutive first rounds in the NFL draft, totally foregoing any thought of an offensive line to protect their young quarterback? Gimme a fucking break--I wouldn't even do that in X-Box football.

Here's the situation: The Detroit Lions are led by a moronic general manager, Matt Millen, and a too-loyal owner, Mr. William Clay Ford, yes, a descendant of that Ford.

I watched the game unfold and felt a brief moment of hope and hubris when the boys in Blue jumped to early lead over the fish from Miami. Just as I had gotten to the point where I was admitting to myself that this could, in fact, be a happy Thanksgiving Day game, the Lions went...well...the Lions went Lions:

Killed themselves with turnovers. Lost sure tackles and allowed a guy named Sammie Morris to run through their defense as though it were made out of Swiss cheese. Many more occurences than I care to reflect upon at this point in time, though, seriously, whom am I kidding? No one knows the emotion of Apathy better than a Lions fan.

"One of these days!" we shout, forgetting that, in the last 50+ years, the Lions have made the playoffs only once or twice, the latest being in 1990-something, a game in which they were thoroughly smoked by the Philadelphia Eagles by a score of, something like, 52-21.

Puh-lease...you know what the Lions are? Quarry, plain and simple and they should really change the name of their team from the "Lions," the kings of the jungle, to the "Mourning Doves"--it would be much more salient.

Recognize, please, dear reader, that I am still a fan and I love my Mourni--my Detroit Lions, I do, seriously, till death do we part, which will be the earliest that they make the Superbowl.

So...I watched the game in which they had led early and had soon relinquished said lead and I did the thing that many more Lions faithful need to do. There is one elixer to crappy football and I used that panacea: I turned off the TV.

Utiliatarian justice: No second-thoughts, just, click. Verily, I felt much better and I noticed my dog, Lou, huddled in my ratty armchair, searching me with wounded doggy eyes.

"What up, Lou," I asked as I skirted the distance from my couch to "his" chair in three loping steps. "Xylophones would be more intersting to watch than the Lions, dude, did you know that?"

Yes, his eyes, his scarred eyes, answered: Yes, I believe that, Master, now may I please go Outside?

"Zippity-doo-dah," I answered his silent question, "off we go!"