Metrosexual Tomfoolery: The Plight of Jake Delhomme

At approximately 6:47 pm this last Sunday, I had an overwhelming feeling I haven't had in a very long time, a feeling that I knew very well.

Actually, it was a mixture of feelings - that is what made it identifiable. It was the same feeling I had, at 16, when I had smoked "Special Pot", only to find out that my morally challenged best friend had decided to lace it with God knows what. It was the feeling in The Secret of my Succe$s when they find out Carlton Whitfield is just a mailroom clerk pretending to be an Ivy league graduate, after he had basically saved the company, preserved free enterprise, and banged the hottest chick in the office. It was the feeling when you turn on your favorite show, after brutal 4 month Hiatus, only to see your favorite, and the most popular character, shot in the neck 45 seconds in. You just have to throw your hands up, let out a sarcastic giggle, and say What the Shit is going on here?

It is not like I didn't see this coming. I had just watched Jake Plummer conveniently return to his former "You can't believe you bet on me, can you?" self, and slide back in his familiar poses of disappointment which he looked way too eerily comfortable in.

I thought J.D would be different. I though he would rise to the occasion, I really did. On the same token, I have always been somewhat quixotic when it comes to underdogs. I thought Hulk Hogan would pin Andre the Giant, even after he was pile drived into a folding chair and the referee was knocked out. I thought the Mets, down 3-0 to the Braves in the 1999 playoffs would come back to win, even after they were down 5-0 in game six (for the record - they did come back, only to lose in even more heartbreaking fashion when Kenny Rogers walked in the winning run in the 11th inning). But we are talking about J.D. I mean, his quarterback rating in his 5 previous playoff games was Tom Bradyesque. He was facing a secondary-secondary who had yet to prove all season that they could shut down a Star receiver, let alone a pissed off and heavily tattooed Steve Smith. He had just picked apart the best defense in football, on their field, in cold ass weather, exclusively using Smith.

So, of course, just as most things which are too good to be true, it happens. J.D. is overmatched, out thunk, out hustled, stepped on by an inspired Seattle defense. I mean he didn't even have a shot. It wasn't even remotely close. Even when someone was dumb enough to let Steve Smith touch the football and he promptly returned a punt for a T.D, bringing
them within 10 in the 2nd quarter, I still knew. When you are hitting D-backs in the helmet with screen passes in an NFC championship game, you know you are a cheesburger short of a happy meal.

That being said, can we really blame Jake? He really had no time to throw all game. His first interception was clearly his receivers fault, the second he was being hit as he threw (which actually resulted in the 2nd ugliest pass in NFL history), and by the time he threw the third one I was already watching Troy on HBO.

So can we really blame J.D? Yeah, I'll blame him. I'll blame him because of his awful, uncomfortable celebrations in Chicago. I'll blame him for fooling us into believing the Panthers, or any team, can win a third consecutive road playoff game against an opponent who hasn't lost at home all season (actually Pittsburgh did it about a half an hour before the start of this game, but for the purposes of this argument, nevermind that). But most of all, I will blame him for being Jake Delhomme. I blame him for being a farm boy, turned awful quarterback, turned mediocre - overachieving quaterback, turned disappointing savior of overmatched Carolina Panther team.

In the end, I feel duped. I feel like Lamar Odom waiting for a pass from Kobe Bryant. I feel like myself standing in front of my mother who convinced her 11 year old son that he should wait in line for 4 hours to get Kevin Maas' autograph because "It will be worth a lot of money someday". I guess that sums it up. You can't predict sports, just like you can't predict Hogan gets pile drived into that chair, it is utterly unpredictable. But just like Cole Trickle in Days of Thunder... Who doesn't want to control the uncontrollable?

Here is my stab:

Superbowl Pick:

Steelers 31 Seattle 24



Phong Tron, January 25th, 2006