Since the defense and I are not on speaking terms right now - despite their four forced turnovers, and their decimated front four, I don't understand why they must persist in blitzing only to have Tarvaris Jackson (Tarvaris Jackson! The Lost Jackson!) pick them apart over the middle, where, hey, weren't there supposed to be LINEBACKERS there? - I'll favor Mr. Ron Turner with my scorn today. The same man who, at Turner family gatherings, has to hear about how great the Chargers are doing, how smart and successful brother Norv is. Is it fair for me to heap my own rage onto this potential powder keg?
Screw fair. This guy can't coach genetically modified superplayers, let alone the sad sack that calls itself the Bears offense. Adrian Peterson the Lesser lives up to his name once again, and runs for insignificant yardage, and wait, who is that behind Olin Kreutz's increasingly overpaid ass? Why, it's the Neckbeard himself, Kyle Orton! There's the Sex Cannon on the sidelines, not even suiting up, so ashamed is he. Although while walking around trying not to look illiterate with his little clipboard, Rex did accidentally impregnate some Vikings cheerleaders. So he still had the most completions on the day (ZING!).
Here's a teensy little thought, Ronny. If you have an offense built for a quarterback with a magnificent, if inconsistent, arm, then you put someone in there who has accuracy troubles outside four yards, maybe - just spitballing here - you should call fewer long passes. Just a thought. Chew on it, get back to me.
Once again I reiterate my suprise, my disgust: Tarvaris f-ing Jackson! Even Poppa Joe, busy convincing Michael he'd be better off white, didn't have time to beat little Tarvaris. Marlon needs some tough love, too, you know.