A Dirge For The End Of Football Season

When the clock runs out at the end of today's pro bowl game, football fans can officially bring out the sackcloth and ashes.

Football is over.

There, I said it. I've been in denial for as long as possible, but consider this piece my formal adieu.

So what parting knowledge did I take away from the 2007 season? Well, I'm still not entirely sure what a fullback does, but I've learned that the underdog always comes out on top.

It's an American thing, I think. Every since a ragtag band of minutemen trounced the mightiest army in the world, Americans have pulled for the little guy.

It would be easy to skip ahead to the obvious analogy, (hint: 17-14), but let's start with the best team in the National Football League, The Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

We walked away with the division title and a winning record, a good sight better than our abysmal 4-12 record last year.

Sure some plays were groaners; heck, even some entire games had me pounding my sofa at the lousy play calling.

But there were plenty of highlights that made up for it. No sense in saving the best for last. Let's start with Michael Spurlock.

We had just sat down to Sunday lunch and I had mouthful of red beans and rice when the ball landed in Spurlock's hands. He juked to the right and began his long, long journey up the sideline to the end zone and franchise history.

After quickly swallowing my hot food and thereby cauterizing my trachea, I let loose with a whoop and jumped out of my seat. That's what football is all about.

Against all projections, my Bucs shook off the critics and the injuries to march all the way to a playoff game.

I've also learned this season that there's a statistic for everything. Sometimes this is useful, but usually it's inane trivia that's completely useless.

For example, the commentators will say, "Oh, well this is the first time since the '02 season that this team ran for five yards or less when facing a team with a winning record when playing in temperatures 75 degrees or higher in a month with 28 days or more and the coach scratched his nose two minutes and 58 seconds before kickoff."

I often find myself muting the television altogether because the commentators drive me crazy. It's very peaceful, but then you miss the enjoyable crunch of helmet-to-helmet contact.

This is usually followed by the player staggering over to the wrong bench and his teammate gently guiding him in the right direction.

In conclusion, I'm not quite sure what will happen now that my Sunday afternoons are free. There are two small children that run around my house and eat at my table that bear an uncanny resemblance to me. Maybe I'll take the time to get to know them.