I hate this fall.
Normally fall is my favorite season. There’s a chill in the air, the oppressive humidity of the Virginia summer is nothing but a distant memory, and football is back. Sure, I have to go back to school, but let’s face it, I’m a nerd and I groove on having new stuff to learn.
I can’t remember a fall I have looked forward to more than this one. Having worked 60-hour weeks during the summer, my workload was actually going to be lessened once school started back up. More importantly, this was going to be my Texans’ season, the one where we finally burst out of mediocrity and into the national consciousness for a reason other than leading the race for the first overall draft pick.
Matt Schaub looked ready to lead. After three years honing his NFL instincts as Michael Vick’s backup in Atlanta and one more getting comfortable with the offense in Houston that pro-level talent was expected to blossom this year. With the double-Andre wideouts (Davis and Johnson), an elite tight end in Owen Daniels and a legit backfield stable of Ahman Green, Chris Brown and Steve Slaton, we were actually going to be able to move the ball.
What’s more, we were actually going to be able to stop it too, with three first-round draft picks on the defensive line: Travis Johnson from 2005, Mario Williams from 2006 and Amobi Okoye from 2007. Super Mario had grown from a controversial number one to the dominant rush end the boys in the front office had hoped for, leading the team with 14 sacks last season. His play had changed the course of late-season wins against Denver and Indianapolis at the end of 2007, and there was every reason to believe he’d pick up wreaking havoc right where he’d left off.
And like a fool, I bought into it. I was giddy when ESPN the Magazine ran a full-length article on why this was our year. I set the magazine’s cover photo of Mario Williams as the background on my desktop. I picked Matt Schaub as my backup quarterback in my fantasy leagues. I checked the team Web site to watch video updates on training camp every single day. For a while there, I probably would have bled steel blue and battle red.
Then we actually had to play some games.
First Pittsburgh took its chance to stomp all over my heart and soul. Houston took the opening kickoff, moved the drive up the field, got gypped on a fourth-down conversion at midfield and proceeded to crumble defensively for the next 50 minutes. Final score: 38-17.
After Hurricane Ike moved back the Week Two tilt against the Ravens, we were taken to the woodshed at Tennessee. Even without Vince Young, it was another Grand Ole Blowout in Nashville, 31-12.
Apparently Jacksonville resented what we did to them in Week 17 of 2007, a 42-28 romp over their backups and second-teamers. After a back-and-forth affair, with the lead changing four times, we tied it up and took it to overtime with a fourth-quarter field goal. It was the best game we’d played all season. Schaub had thrown for three touchdowns and more than 300 yards. But of course, since we wouldn’t want to buck a trend, we lost, 30-27.
I can barely talk about what happened this week. I know that talking it out is supposed to be healthy, and that I shouldn’t keep things bottled up inside. But did you watch the game? Did you see what happened? You didn’t? Crap.
Schaub didn’t play, but that gave no reason to panic. Sage Rosenfels had played brilliantly in backup situations last year. For 52 minutes, he did so again, staking us out to a 27-10 lead on the great and mighty Colts. For three quarters, Peyton and Marvin and the rest of them looked, at best, average.
But that was before Fumble Fest 2K8.
In three minutes, Rosenfels turned the ball over three times. The first one, he scrambled on third down, then tried to channel his inner high jumper. Problem is, high jumpers don’t have to carry footballs. Big hit, ball on the ground, Colts recover, Colts score, 27-24.
Next possession, since he didn’t learn his lesson the first time, Rosenfels scrambled again, dangling the ball behind him like a steak in front of a lion. Gary Brackett channeled his inner pickpocket, swiped the ball from Rosenfels’s hand like it was Granny’s purse, and before you know it, 27-24. On the last drive, our final shot at salvaging a, Rosenfels threw a pick into what I believe was the one spot on the field with all 11 Colts defenders.
Four games, four losses. Not once have we surrendered fewer than 30 points. I think I’m going to hurl.
But no matter how bad it gets, I’m going to keep watching. Growing up the son of a Bills and Orioles fan, I’ve learned to take my lumps in stride. Maybe my Texans will circle the wagons and eke out a .500 season. The sky is always darkest before the dawn.
Right?
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