Rock Bottom - The Broncos & The Road

I don't know that I can waste much more time blogging about the Broncos this season. I watched the Lions game today and while Tebow was bad, the team was terrible. The O-line just got raped. The defensive secondary is pitiful, Champ can't do everything. Its just bad right now. I'm not sure I can articulate how awesomely bad the situation is. But let's try this:

I got a text message from my mother-in-law today after the game: "Sorry for ur loss."

Wow.

This is a woman whom I've know for 12 years. I don't think we've discussed football more than once for more than five minutes. And yet, here she is offering her condolences for the death of my franchise or perhaps my inner-child (she is a shrink).

I've just created a new test for the badness of your team: When the mother-in-law bothers to offer condolences.

I recently listened to The Road, by Cormac McCarthy in the car. This is an incredibly well-written, but terribly depressing tale of a father and small son trying to survive without hope through a post apocalyptic nightmare. Sounds just like me trying to guide my inner Broncos-child through the wasteland that Josh McDaniels left behind. Here are some chilling quotes from the book that fit my situation well.

"He pulled the boy closer. Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said. You might want to think about that.You forget some things, don't you? Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget. 

He walked out into the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of an intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground-foxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it. 

He walked out into the road and stood. The silence. The salitter drying from the earth. The mudstained shapes of floating cities burned to the waterline. At a crossroads a ground set with dolmen stones where the spoken bones of oracles lay moldering. No sound but the wind. What will you say? A living man spoke these lines? He sharpened a quill with his small penknife to scribe these things in sloe or lampblack? At some reckonable and entabled moment? He is coming to steal my eyes. To seal my mouth with dirt."

Once again, I give the Broncos Tombstone. I originally had in a prior post from 8/14/2009. http://fletchword.blogspot.com/2009/08/impending-doom-with-quotes.html. Yes, my predictions have come to pass and I cannot bear the truth of it.