Why Am I Not Surprsed

I've been on vacation and have not kept up with the sports news. Too busy enjoying the quiet of New York City.

So, I came back to the Raiders fumbling the season. Why am I not surprised?

First of all: I knew from the start that they overpaid Carr. He's a worthy QB, but not at the expense of failing to sign Kahil Mack. Stupid and short sighted. This is on Mark Davis. (what kind of a son constructs an eternal flame for his father anyway?) I'll guarantee Al would have traded his eternal flame for Mack any day. Football decision, not BS.

Second of all: It is my belief that the principal of IRONY must be taken into account whenever decisions are made. When you hire a person who is presented to team fans as a season changer, "to fix thing for good" the chances are excellent that irony will step in, and the opposite will happen. It is an act of arrogance and arrogance always fails.

Third of all: John Gruden was out of the game for a very long time, a very long time. The game changes, players change. Was he really ready to take over a failed program? Really? As a color broadcaster I never thought he was that informative, but that is my bias. I will offer this, bias or not, that on air Gruden was way-over-the-top-full-of-himself. He reminded me of a puffed up little bantam rooster. I never felt he was authentic. Lack of authenticity is something pro athletes pick up on very quickly. The locker room has to be REAL. If it is not, things start to fall apart fast.

I've always loved the Raiders and Raider fans. My best friend, Bill King broadcast the Raider games for years, so I'd love to wish them success. However, success doesn't seem in the cards for the Black and White this season.

And, finally, perhaps this failure is the result of bad karma that is the result of  the team leaving their loyal Oakland fans for glitzy Lost Wages.

Or, could it be, that the fruit of the tree has fallen too far away from the tree.

Or, all of the above?

A 63 yard field goal by Graham Gano for the Panther's win deserves a kicking poem.

The Kicker's last Steps

     For Jack Driscoll

One point behind, ten seconds left,
I lunge forward

a halo of gnats around my head.
I always thought field goal kicking
should be easy,
like pushing a word
from my tongue into the air.
But the goal posts
move backward
ten yards with each step.
Foto
And alone on this field -
only the year lines like a ladder I've forgotten
how to climb, the moon's floodlight
like a stiff graduation gown,
the empty avenues
of bleachers?

When night fog clutches my ankles
like the pudgy hands of a linebacker,
I try to thin of anything but kicking
(the river beyond the goal posts,
the blank scorecards. of my parents faces),
try not to think that in an instant
my toe must dive
deep into leather
as if it's in love  with it.

From the sidelines my approach must look
almost casual, as though I hardly care -
in the silence of this last step
I hear the winds of three ducks above me
flying toward the creaking ice of the river.