A View from the Tombstone
by Mike A.
What is left to say now that the curtain has unofficially fallen on the 2009 Winnipeg Blue Bomber season? What discussion points could be worth flushing out in any detail whatsoever? What is the point in paying attention at that hapless and clueless “who me?” face of Mike Kelly at one more press conference this year? After last weeks’ brutal and absolutely shocking dismembering at the hands of arch enemies, the Saskatchewan Roughriders in front of a sold out home crowd, I find that a numbing and quiet state of grief has replaced last weekends’ overwhelming anger and rage. I was turned into one of those foul-mouthed drunken animals you heard about that showed up to Canad Inns stadium last week to get tarred, feathered and pick-pocketed to the glee and jubilation of melon heads that came, saw and conquered. And then flayed, filleted, decapitated, and set afire before being vaporized at the molecular level by 432 size 43 steel-toed jack boots.
At this point, a lot of the positive aspects hinted at all season long appear to have simply vanished off the radar as the team has failed to develop into a competitive and focused entity. The storied D that has prevented so many games from turning into blowouts appears to have run out of gas against offenses who are increasingly able to run right through us. A defensive corps can simply not spend as much time on the field and stave off disaster like ours has week after week. One begs to mention recent exploits of the teams’ leading Rusher, Fred Reid, however without any indication of a viable game plan week after week; his accomplishments and promise will be overshadowed by the song that remains the same. There is no offensive coordination. There are no cohesive elements bringing this team together. The defense has sputtered out and the conditions are right for a second huge blow out at McGill stadium this afternoon against the 8-2 Allouettes.
It only makes sense to place blame where it belongs. I saw Mike Kelly conduct an interview after last weeks’ Banjo Bowl massacre. I haven’t paid much attention to Kelly’s press scrums all season focusing instead on the action on the field. Yet there I was desperately seeking answers for all that money flushed down the toilet that permitted me to be in attendance with other Bomber faithful. After looking at his face stained with confusion, pride and contempt towards basic queries about his “master plan”, I can suddenly appreciate the non-stop howling for his head that has been rising out of a bog as black and thick as an eternal nightmare. After last weeks’ thumping, Mike Kelly appeared to be ridiculing me and all of us long suffering fans. Week by week as he fails to step down as Coach of a team that is now 3-7, people begin to openly wonder if the Bombers have even one more victory in them this year. Is it possible to end the season at 3-16? I’m not so much of a defeatist to offer a resounding yes, however we live in a cruel and punishing world and it brings me no joy to offer a sense of dread looking forward to what appears to be an unstoppable pandemic of mediocrity that will stretch far into early November when this disaster of a season is mercifully brought to an end.
It’s comedic to consider what Michael Bishop has to do to overcome Anthony Calvillo and that Als. Winnipeg needs to get on the board early. Bishop needs to complete passes, obtain first downs and play a safe, disciplined game. In other words, Bishop needs to manage the game for four quarters of football. With Michael Bishop’s main expertise of turning over the ball when not going two and out, Winnipeg’s time of possession has been non existent. Rising above painful and costly inconsistencies on the field remains rocket science, the fictional work of some far off fantasy world where offensive lines stay on the field for over twenty minutes a match. Frankly, Bishop is in the twilight of his career and will not improve over time. He is what he is: unimpressive an inconsistent. In other words, part of Kelly’s master plan.
It all matters so little now. Beleaguered die hards like yours truly will spend this afternoon quietly slinking out of sight to the basement television far away from loved ones to take in this afternoon’s game like a free streaming sleazy skin flick. It’s what we do in these dark days when no one wants to come over anymore and throw six in the fridge while digging into the seven layer dip. The team has failed to gel as promised by a coach that you really don’t want to Google, and in this uncontrollable downward spiral fronted by a fucking hack with another two and a half years of contract left, watching Winnipeg football for the foreseeable future promises to be a horrifyingly brutal task that can only strip years off ones’ life in displays of breath-taking misery and shame.
Als by at least 25, probably more like 33…maybe 37….
