Way to go, Igor Olshansky. You’ve a) managed to make Philip Rivers seem mature by comparison and b) proven you’re the only guy in America who learned nothing from Anthony Smith’s ill-advised remarks.
Though I doubt the Hooded Casanova would consider the work of the San Diego Union-Tribune’s Nick Canepa to be viable bulletin board material, the latter is a little ticked off with the suggestion the Bolts/Pats tilt isn’t as “sexy” as Peyton vs. Brady.
I’m sick of this œmarquee game manure. I’m sick of the TV networks playing the ratings game. I’m sick of the innuendo that comes when NFL officials make calls that seem to favor the celebrities. The NFL is not the NBA. The fix in The League is not in, no matter what you thought of the fool zebras making ludicrous calls Sunday in Indianapolis.
I’m sick of it all. Why play the games? Why bother? Just get those œAmerican Idol idiots to pick the Super Bowl finalists. Don’t have a regular season. Don’t have playoffs. Go straight to the Roman numerals.
So the Chargers aren’t America’s Team. They’re more like America’s Troublemakers, lippy and demonstrative, and our nation doesn’t turn its lonely eyes to them.
The Chargers are Baja West Coast. Their quarterback, Philip Rivers, gets in arguments with fans. Their players dance (even their coach, weakly). They’re demonstrative, although they weren’t the ones doing the rumba on the San Diego logo after last January’s playoff game here. I believe they were the Boston tea throwers.
All you can do is play, and what happens, happens. The Chargers were blown out by the Patriots in Week 2, but this isn’t Week 2 anymore. Anyone who has seen New England over the past month and believes it’s as good as it was in November hasn’t seen a football game.
The Chargers slaughtered Baltimore, and if the officials hadn’t screwed the Ravens, the Pats no longer would be unbeaten. It’s about playing, not image. The Chargers have developed a punk persona, which doesn’t endear them to the masses, but, once again, that’s too bad.
The Colts don’t have a punk persona. They’re home watching the Pacers.