Vaya Con Dios, Stan Kwan. Vaya Con Dios.

Well . . . bye.

Indeed. The long awaited news that Stan Kwan had been dragged to the gallows and hung from the neck until dead came on Friday, and hopefully that means that the Lions are serious about finally turning around the dumpster fire that has been the special teams play over the last several seasons.

It's been a while since the Lions were any good at either returning kicks or covering them, but believe it or not, once upon a time this was the one area of the team we had to be proud of year in and year out. Whether it was the steady punting of Jim Arnold or the almost unfathomably long kicking career of Jason Hanson, the kicking game always thrived. That hasn't fallen off all that much since Kwan replaced the dearly departed Chuck Priefer, but the kick return and coverage games certainly have. Ohhhhhhh LORD, have they ever.

We used to take an absurd amount of pride in our kick returners, from Mel Gray to Desmond Howard to Eddie Drummond. It was sort of sad really, but we don't have much to get excited about as Lions fans, and so we held these dudes up as one of the few things that we got right. They were ours, they were better than your dudes, and everyone else could go to hell. It was easy to take that for granted, the same way we have done for years and years and centuries and centuries with Hanson, but Stan Kwan wasn't having any of that shit. Hell no! Excellence is overrated and gaudy, flashy and the sure mark of a prima donna. We would win with Aveion Cason and rejects from The Lennie Small Memorial School for the Retarded. And win we did . . . not.

I know, shocking, right? It's hard to win a race when you downgrade from a Ferrari to a goat pulling a wagon missing its wheels, and that probably mitigates Kwan's tomfoolery a bit. But, you've got to remember, he was the one who hooked that goat up to that dilapidated wagon, slapped it on the ass and told it to run. He may not have been the biggest problem, but he sure as hell wasn't the solution either.

But aside from the lack of explosiveness in the return game (And really, let's be honest, a lot of times, these dudes weren't even competent. Remember that game a few weeks ago when Brian Witherspoon bobbled the ball, went back and grabbed it in the end zone and started running around like a confused and frightened gerbil before finally just taking a knee, and for a second everyone was terrified that the dude just took a safety? Yeah. I haven't mentioned that before because, honestly, I think elves sensed my pain and delved into my brain and mined that fucker out. I am guessing that an evil elf, let's call him Clyde, decided to torture me by sticking that image back in my head just now. Fuckin' Clyde. What an asshole. Wait . . . where am I? What's going on? Whoa, are you serious? This is all taking place within a parenthetical digression that has completely destroyed the flow of this sentence? Who am I talking to? Clyde, is that you, you sneaky bastard?), the kick coverage teams were also routinely terrible, running around aimlessly while opposing kick returners danced their way to six. It was an awful situation, and again, even if the talent wasn't really there - let's not forget that because the Lions have sucked so egregiously that a lot of their special teams gunners like Paris Lenon have been yanked off of the special teams and forced to start on defense - Kwan certainly wasn't doing anything to make the situation actively better, and really, isn't that kind of the point of a special teams coach?

Okay, one last memory and then we'll get the hell out of here. The Lions lost to the Rams this season. You know the Rams, the one team with a shittier record than the Lions? The one team with only one fucking win? Yeah, those dudes. Does anyone remember how they beat the Lions? On a fake field goal - a play which their players said after the game they knew would work because they studied the Lions tendencies all week long and knew that that side of the field would be wide open - they scored a touchdown that was really the difference in the game. That has nothing to do with personnel. That's all on Kwan, may he rest in peace.

Okay, so Stan's dead. Where do we go from here? Well, the popular and obvious choice would be to throw tons of money, whores and booze at Buffalo's recently departed super-coach, Bobby April. April is responsible for turning Buffalo's special teams into world beaters season after season. He's the top dude in the league at what he does, and really, this is pretty much a no-brainer. Unfortunately, the Lions haven't exactly shown over the past fifty years or so that they actually have a brain, so who knows what will happen? Perhaps things really are different now with Mayhew, Schwartz and Co. calling the shots at Ford Field. And perhaps they will do what I, along with many of my esteemed blogging colleagues, like Steve over at Detroit Lions Weblog or the dudes at The Church of Schwartz, really, really want them to do, and hire April.

Of course, April is coveted by every other team in the league, and when you realize that in the dating pool known as the NFL, we are the equivalent of a 350 pound shut-in with cheesecake smeared all over her face, the idea of April ending up in Detroit starts to feel a little far-fetched. Still, we have other things going for us. I mean, obviously we make a hell of a cheesecake and our slam poetry is hot shit. Sure, we might disappear for a couple of hours into our rooms where we will sob and cut ourselves, but we will be devoted and really, you can't put a price tag on that, right? RIGHT???

Anyway, vaya con dios, Stan Kwan. May you have a coin to pay the boatman before he ferries your shameful ass out of this world. And look here, Bobby April. You see us batting our eyes? That's for you, my man. Ignore all those other sexy ladies. They are all whores and will give you The Clap. We are clean, and need a good man to steer us in the right direction. I know, we can be a little strange, but these are strange times, and our love will rock your world.

Well, That's That, I Guess

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Time To Put On A Happy Face!

It occurs to me that my last post might have been a tad too negative, even for me, and with that in mind, and in the wake of the sad departure of my dear Patriots loving colleague, I have decided to be more positive. Indeed, for this post, I am determined to only see the bright side, to grab hold of a rainbow and frolic with it in the dewy meadow under a bright morning sun. Forget the fire and the brimstone, the threats of suicide, the strange digressions and depraved imagery. For the rest of this post, I will do my best to be Grantland Rice on goofballs, Fred Rogers on laughing gas, Richard Simmons on Ben&Jerry's.

Okay, here we go. Oh, and from here on, there will be no foul language, no dastardly cussin', because cussin' is wrong, and as someone very wise once told me, cuss words are the sign of an uncreative mind, as is sarcasm, so let's get creative!!! And fun!!!

This week, the Chicago Bears jaunt into town, fresh off of an exciting and invigorating win over Brett Favre and the Magical Minnesota Vikings. Behind the scintillating play of that Four Star Field General, Jay Cutler, and the piston like running of that jackrabbit in cleats, Matt Forte, along with a suffocating and spectacular defensive eleven that gave up a mere 30 points to Wonderboy Favre and his Purple Powerhouse, the Ursine Warriors from the Windy City turned their season around and gave Bears fans everywhere the Christmas gift of a lifetime!

But fear not, fellow Lions fans, for while the growl of the grizzly is indeed an intimidating sound, it cannot compare with the full throated roar of the noble lion. No, indeed! And our Lions will have plenty to roar about when the Bears march into Ford Field, which has seen it's share of big games - Super Bowls, Final Fours, Chris Benoit's last Wrestlemania match before he retired to tend to his family - but none will be bigger than this titanic showdown between two of the NFL's most renowned and tradition laden franchises. Yes, folks, Ford Field will be the scene for a thunderous encounter between these two behemoths, and we can only hope that the roar on the field matches the cacophonous Lion's roar produced by the 968 fans in the stands.

But fear not, folks, because with two teams like this, the game couldn't possibly be anything other than SPECTACULAR! While the Bears have Cutler, that magician whose ball skills make him the Houdini of Halas' Heartthrobs, the Lions have Drew Stanton, a local boy with the heart of an actual lion, a fierce and proud modern day Spartan who would make ol' Leonidas weep and drop to his knees, genuflecting before the pure grace and raw courage and grit of such an elegant and perfect warrior. Any quarterback can throw a measly touchdown, but not every quarterback will be the first man on the scene to tackle the defender after he intercepts a perfectly thrown ball. And yet, there is our man, The King of Grit, The Lord of Pluck, Drew Stanton, valiantly hurling his body against the walls of his Leviathan of an opponent, putting his mortal body in harm's way so that his immortal spirit carries on in the mouths and hearts of generations of Lions fans. God Bless You, noble warrior!

But it's not all Drew Stanton for the Lions. No, sir. Not by a long shot! The Motor City Maulers also have a fleet footed deer of a receiver in Calvin Johnson, who is reputed to have once outrun a cheetah and outjumped Superman! In fact, one fella even remarked that Calvin Johnson was none other than renowned super hero, Dr. Manhattan! WOW!!! EXCLAMATION POINTS!

But even if somehow those noble and fierce Kings Of The Jungle are stopped by the Monsters of the Midway, the Lions Great Wall, led by beloved veteran Jeff Backus and fan favorite Dominic Raiola, should open holes for the spectacular crazy legged running of that wild hare, Maurice "Mercury" Morris. He will elegantly glide in and out of every hole faster than you can say Jack Robinson. And that's pretty darn quick! And, you didn't hear it from this fella here, but I wouldn't be surprised to see Kevin Smith make a miracle recovery and lope onto the field with the spirit of Barry Sanders in his heart and the support of those hundreds of fans in attendance spurring him on.

Indeed, the Lions Perfect Playmakers are on pace to exceed the wildest hopes and dreams of an entire fanbase! There will be times when it will seem like Bobby Layne, Barry Sanders, Herman Moore, Lomas Brown, and the cast of 300 are out there running and throwing and catching the ball. I know it will be tough, but try to remember that these are real Mortal Men! UNNECESSARY CAPITALIZATION!!!

Defensively, the Ford Field Fanatics will be treated to quite the show indeed, as the collection of playmakers general manager Martin Mayhew has assembled, building off of the fine, groundbreaking work of that trendsetter Matt Millen, will call to mind the ghosts of Lem Barney, Joe Schmidt and Chris Spielman. Their spirits will echo around the crowded confines of Ford Field, filling that wondrous hall with the power of a thousand angels! WOW!

But even if somehow the Mighty Men of the Midway keep pace with the Boys in Honolulu Blue, don't you worry your silly little heads, because the Lions have a secret weapon. Indeed, Jim Schwartz, that modern day Lombardi, that incarnation of Alexander the Great, that man who led the Jews out of bondage in Egypt, will call upon every bit of power inside of his vast soul, and then he'll reach down beyond that and call upon the magic of the greats that came before him, men like, uh, Wayne Fontes, and he'll dial up a Whiz Bang Golly Gee Willickers play that will KNOCK YOUR SOCKS OFF!!! Seriously, they will just fly right off!

It's a grand time to be a fan of the Detroit Lions. Yes, indeed! Their third win will be a magical moment, a moment that all Lions fans across the world, fans from Timbuktu to La Paz, can be proud of. It will be a moment that will live in the record books forever. Three Wins!!! Can you even imagine such a thing??? I'm getting chills just thinking about it!

But fear not, Lions fans, for even if the Lions somehow don't come away with that unprecedented third win, they will find themselves the envy of the league. That's right, THE WHOLE LEAGUE!!! And that's because the Lions will once again have the pick of the litter, the cream of the crop, the cliché of the cliché, in the upcoming NFL Draft, and that will mean they can draft Ndamukong Suh, that Man Mountain from the Plains of Nebraska, and if nothing else, that will give me a chance to work even harder on my spelling of Ndamukong. HOORAY!!!

Well, folks, this is the last game of the season, and it's been a blast! But don't you worry, because the Lions that live in our heart will go on even when the pigskin has stopped being snapped. I only wish that we could somehow extend the season another month. There's still so much more to do, so much magic to experience, so much talent to enjoy. I mean, after all, we will only get one more chance to enjoy the once in a lifetime show that is Drew Stanton, and after it's all over, we won't even get to see that First Ballot Hall of Famer, Daunte Culpepper anymore. And that's a shame. His talent and drive is even more remarkable when you consider that in the off-season, he is rumored to be a Boat Captain. I am not entirely clear on the details, but apparently it is a Love Boat of some sort, and isn't that fantastic? I will be sorry to see him go.

But let's just turn that frown upside down! That's the spirit! The 2009 season is drawing to a close, and with it, another magical Lions season is almost in the books. I have heard rumors that they sometimes play football all the way through January, but I don't believe them because if they did then surely the Lions would keep on playing every year. Silliness!!!

Well, alright, I have to go now, because the sedatives the orderlies shot me full of a while back are wearing off. I'll see you all in Narnia, where we'll frolic in the Gumball fields and pick Lollipops off of Candy Cane trees! Wheeeeeeeeeee!!!

PREDICTED FINAL SCORE: BEARS 24, LIONS 7

This Might Be The Most Ridiculous Post I Have Ever Written

The story is old - I KNOW
But it goes on

That game felt like it was 148 hours long. Look, I love football - as evidenced by the billion words I have written about it over the past two years - but GOOD LORD, right now it just feels like I am strapped to a chair week after week with my eyelids held open by sadists while I watch death images scream across the scene. I am becoming dehumanized by the ruthless misery of it all and by the third quarter, I was ready to lope out onto the street, knuckles dragging, while I screamed at the moon and Baby Jesus wept.

The end of this season feels so pointless without Matthew Stafford, without Kevin Smith, without Brandon Pettigrew, without hope, and without reason. It is like watching a terrible foreign film where the characters all eat shit for two hours and then the main character hangs himself from his shower head while his girlfriend sits on the toilet, shaves her head and just stares at the camera and mouths the word why over and over and over again before the movie abruptly ends and a sad clown plays the violin before shooting himself. Horrible, just awful.

The sad desperation with which the Lions have played large chunks of the last two weeks just somehow makes it that much more intolerable. It is a futile effort, utterly without reward, and yet the defense is playing its ass off, hoping against hope that whatever turd is taking the snaps will somehow be able to put up more than six points. It is heartbreaking to watch, mean and cruel, and I wish I could say I was getting some satisfaction from it all, that there was some small solace in watching the team try so damn hard, but right now, it just feels like I am watching the tiniest, wimpiest ant standing up against the hordes of hell after the rest of the world has been overrun. It's a noble effort, but it still doesn't change the fact that the poor son of a bitch is just going to get squashed and that no one will ever remember him for his brave and foolish stand.

This is what this Season of Hope has come to, wild ranting and strange morose gibberish, depressed wails and tired pain. We have wandered so long - so damn long - in the wilderness of despair, and yet here we are, stranded there once again, while the vultures circle over head, and all we can do is keep staggering along, hoping that the end will come swiftly and without pain. But it never does. Instead, we just keep trudging along, beaten and wrecked, while we wait for the world to end.

JESUS. This has gotten out of hand, and I apologize. It's just so hard to watch these games, these terrible games, knowing that no matter how hard my dudes fight, in the end it won't be nearly enough because they have been mortally wounded. They are outgunned even on the best of days. Now, they just stagger into every gun fight naked, with only their broken fists and their bloody feet to kick and punch with while the other dude hauls out a cannon.

Our guns are gone, left in the wreckage of terrible battles that have been mostly lost. We can reload but we have to reach the end of this terrible road first. Unfortunately, there are dudes waiting with spiked paddles lining the road the rest of the way, waiting to savagely beat us as we crawl home.

This is a depressed post, ugly and disturbing, wild and stupid, filled with a billion different confused analogies and dumbfounding imagery, but this is what these times, strange and terrible as they are, drive even the best of us to. I haven't even discussed Drew Stanton, and you know what? I'm not going to. At least not today. In a couple of days, maybe, sure, why not? But for right now, I will not savage Ol' Plucky. His people have suffered enough, and there are days when the only grace you can give yourself is to be merciful to the wicked and the foolish, for they have suffered mightily too, and perhaps in the ugly void between the cacophony of rage that has wrecked so many of us and the bitter silence of terrible death, we can find common ground in our pain. There is no rest for the weary in these terrible days, no solace for the tortured. We are all stupid and dazed, and sometimes we even devolve into delusional grandeur and stupid hyperbole, as evidenced by the entirety of this whole Godforsaken post, and I don't even have a point anymore. And maybe this is appropriate, because neither does my football world.

But hey, Jason Hanson made both of his field goal attempts. That's something, right?

This post has been sponsored by the National Ennui Council and has been ghostwritten appropriately enough by the ghost of Ian Curtis after listening to 100 straight hours of Morrissey.

Just Two More Whippings to Go

It's Christmas this week, which is why you're getting the game preview today instead of later in the week. It's also why I will probably get a bunch of dumb shit wrong because injury reports, who's going to play and not play, etc. are always sketchy in the middle of the week. But fuck all that, I'm not about to spend Christmas writing up a game preview for a 2-12 team. I may be insane, but I'm not that insane.

Anyway, I suppose I could do a Christmas themed post, but you and I are both above all of that nonsense and it would inevitably just lead to disturbing gibberish involving Santa Claus running naked through the streets anyway, so we will not go down that route. Unless, of course, I get bored and just head off in that direction anyway, which as you should all know by now is a distinct and terrifying possibility.

But enough nonsense, we have a game this weekend. And fortunately for us, Detroit's opponent, the 49ers, are not the same 49ers team that inspired mass hatred and outright disgust for oh so many years. Unfortunately, as you can all see thanks to my man, P.B., in his post right below this one, the 49ers are also a team on the way up. Sure, sure, there are some hopeful idiots - including me if I am being honest - who believe that the Lions are a team on the rise too, but the 49ers rise to mediocrity is a far cry from the Lions own immortal rise from Worst Team Ever to Merely A Horrible Team.

Indeed. It seems as if the 49ers are finally knocking on the door of respectability once again, although perhaps a better way of saying that is Mike Singletary is screaming at the door and whipping it with his pants, which he has ripped off in a fit of rage. Singletary's legendary intensity seems to be the defining story surrounding the 49ers these days, which is unfortunate because it obscures the fact the he is kind of shitty as an actual coach, and it also takes away from the fact that the 49ers have a solid core of young, talented players who are carrying this team on their backs.

For the first time in a while, the 49ers have some real, live playmakers on both sides of the ball. On offense, Frank Gore is only a breath away from yet another 1,000 yard campaign, and Vernon Davis has finally emerged as a go to target at tight end. Meanwhile, Michael Crabtree finally apparently realized that the last high profile wide receiver to sit out a whole season in between college and the NFL was named Mike Williams and he got his ass to practice, giving the 49ers a legitimate weapon at wide receiver. Unfortunately for the Niners, they are still looking for a legit NFL quarterback. Sure, sure, Alex Smith is having his best season as a pro, but that's like saying that Hitler had a better 1944 than 1945 or that Rod Marinelli had a better year in 2007 than in 2008. Yeah, it's technically true, but in the end, there were still many tears and there was much bloodshed. Millions of people died and when it was over, all that was left was for the world to remake itself under a banner of . . . okay, perhaps I have carried this thing a little far. The point is, is that although Smith hasn't been an outright disaster since taking over as starter part way through the season, he's still not that good of a quarterback, having amassed a ho hum passer rating of 78.5.

Defensively, the 49ers have an absolute stud in Patrick Willis. He might be the best linebacker in the NFL. Like the offense, there is still a ways to go before it is a championship caliber unit, but there are some pieces in place, led by Willis, and if they get continued improvement from Ahmad Brooks along with an improved pass rush, there could really be something worth getting excited about here.

Yes, it's not a bad time to be a 49ers fan, and thankfully . . . oh, wait, what? Oh, that's right. Shit. Apparently, I am a Lions fan and that's what I'm supposed to be writing about. Damn it all. I was getting all excited about the future of the 49ers too. And why not? I mean, it's certainly better than having to focus on the Lions thirteenth loss of the season on Sunday.

You want analysis? Okay, fine. The Lions defense will make a couple of big plays, but for the most part, they won't be good enough to stop the 49ers attack. Meanwhile, the Lions offense will score in between 0 and 7 points as Drew Stanton tries in a futile effort to prove that he can be a viable NFL quarterback.

Wait a minute. Drew Stanton? Indeed, voice inside my head. Ol' Plucky himself will apparently start for the Lions at quarterback this weekend, and while that is certainly better than the alternative who goes by the name of Daunte Culpepper, so is being hung by your balls from the ceiling like some form of disturbing mistletoe. Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle's monkey, that was a Christmas reference!

Anyway, that bit of grotesque dipshittery aside, it will be kinda painful to watch as Drew Stanton stumbles his way around the field, throwing terrible interceptions and leading the team to an inevitable loss, because it will shatter the dreams of his die hard fanbase, those who think the poor boy only needs to be given a chance in order to succeed. I know, I know, this is essentially every Lions fan other than me, and as usual when I start writing about Ol' Plucky, I can just see my boy Ty shaking his head in mild disapproval, but what can I say? I just don't want to see you get your hearts broken. I am a humanitarian and a gentleman after all.

This season is now in its final death throes, and the Lions are crawling on broken glass to a finish where they will be mercifully beheaded and then fed to the dogs. That is not a happy story, nor is it a story that really lends itself to much intrigue or excitement. Sure, it might be interesting in a macabre way to see how many little cuts they get from the broken glass, and it might be perversely funny to watch them scramble around at the end trying to avoid that terrible axe, but in the end, that axe is going to fall, that head is going to come off and then we can watch the body get torn to shreds by wild dogs and hope that next year's journey has a happier end.

By the way, I think that's like the third or fourth post in a row in which I have gone on about someone getting beheaded. I swear, this is not intentional, and I'm not sure what the deal is. I think it might have something to do with me watching the second season of The Tudors on DVD, which featured practically half the cast getting their heads cut off. The best was when Anne Boleyn's jackass brother got it and he was trying to talk to the crowd like Sir Thomas More did. For Sir Thomas, the people were all quiet and respectful but they just screamed obscenities at poor ol' George Boleyn. Although nothing was as heart rending as King Henry VIII's reaction when his old mentor, Sir Thomas, got the axe. Heartbreaking shit, no doubt, heavy and pregnant with terrible emotion. You could feel Henry's . . . sigh. Okay, fine, the Lions.

The Lions will likely lose to the 49ers on Sunday. Without Matthew Stafford in there, it feels like the season is almost pointless, like each game is just another dumb exhibition, a showcase for the coaches to evaluate who gets to stick around next year and who will get stuffed in a trunk with Daunte Culpepper and dumped out of a plane into the Indian Ocean when the season is done. That is what will happen, right?

Oh well, these are the days that no fan wants to have to have to experience, but we are Lions fans, and this is the way it must be. Resignation is the only emotion any of us have left that won't leave us withered and beaten, reaching for a cocktail of Xanax and Motor Oil. There is football still to be played, but really it is just an echo of reality, the foul whispers of ghosts whose earthly bodies have already been decapitated and left at the gates of hell. Okay, I am getting ridiculous and melodramatic now, and so I'll just leave you with the immortal words of the sages Bill S. Preston Esq., and Ted Theodore Logan: Be excellent to each other. And in the thunderous words of Abraham Lincoln: Party on, dudes.

PREDICTED FINAL SCORE BECAUSE I DON'T FEEL LIKE DOING FIVE PREDICTIONS THIS WEEK BECAUSE IT WOULD ONLY RESULT IN ABSURD RAMBLINGS ABOUT MONKEES AND PROBABLY CHEETAHS AND GIRAFFES SINCE THE IDEA OF FOCUSING SOLELY ON THE LIONS AND THE NON-ACHIEVEMENTS OF THEIR PLAYERS IS ENTIRELY TOO FRIGHTENING: 49ERS 24, LIONS 16

Misery?

It's hard to know how to feel after a game like the one against the Cardinals on Sunday. On the one hand, it sucked, obviously, to lose, and the first half felt like the Bataan Death March combined with every one of the Saw movies and an episode of The Benny Hill Show. It was a miserable experience that warped and deformed all who were forced to witness it, and in the end all any of us could do was laugh and run around, chasing scantily clad women in fast motion and rubbing the head of old bald British dudes. Okay, so maybe it wasn't exactly like The Benny Hill Show, but what the hell, there were tears and there was laughter so close enough.

On the other hand, the second half was exactly the sort of thing that all of us needed to see. After an extended excursion into the terrible jungles of failure, the second half finally saw us emerge, led by none other than the Lizard King, Cinnabon, Lord of the Apes, Ernie Sims along with his cohort, the Prince of (insert goofy nickname here), Louis Delmas. It was awesome to see those dudes, along with the rest of the defense, decide fuck this horseshit, and then proceed to wreck the Cardinals throughout the third quarter. The fans loved it - oh man, did they love it - and the team looked completely different. They looked confident and focused and desperate to win. Perhaps Gunther Cunningham powerbombed a midget at halftime or Jim Schwartz threatened to kill a box full of puppies, I don't know, but whatever they did worked, because those dudes looked liked dudes that I could be proud of.

Unfortunately, you still need a quarterback to win, and, well . . . yeah, about that. Daunte Culpepper has finally been mercifully executed - let's hope so anyway - and it wasn't like one of those executions where everyone kinda feels bad for the dude up there getting his head chopped off and all the villagers are praying for his soul and screaming mercy or anything like that. No, this was one of those executions where the villagers were all spitting on the poor fool, screaming obscenities and then cheering wildly when his head was lopped off and then tossed into the crowd to be used as a soccer ball by the village children.

Everyone was happy to see Daunte benched. At least, I hope so. I mean, there could probably still be some idiot hold out screaming that we need to give Culpepper a better chance, to remember 2004 like it was the fucking Alamo and other assorted dumb bullshit. It's possible someone like this exists in a world where there are a growing number of people who think we should trade Calvin Johnson so we can move up one spot in the draft. But that is another maddening and ridiculous topic for another day. All I will say for now is that people are humongous idiots, and so I'm sure there were a few people bemoaning the fate of the poor misunderstood Sex Boat Captain.

But the sad reality is that Culpepper's replacement, Ol' Plucky, Drew Stanton, well, uh . . . well, he sucks. His arm is astoundingly weak - whenever he has to throw to a receiver on an out route, it is almost painful to watch. Every one looks like a potential pick six. That would be tolerable - mildly anyway - if he proved to be a good game manager, but he isn't that either. Instead, he thinks he's a play maker, and that results in retarded throws that are intercepted and scrambles that go nowhere and pain, terrible pain. Look, I know that most Lions fans love Ol' Plucky, and while he may be a fantastic grit merchant, he's not much of a quarterback. The comeback in the second half was all defense and field position, along with one gigantic run by Maurice Morris, who dare I say it, was kinda sorta awesome.

Indeed, Morris was the offense for the Lions on Sunday, and for a large chunk of the second half I just kept thinking we could win this game if we only had a quarterback. Sadly, we did not. The good news is that we do have one, ready and waiting. The bad news is that he is currently living in a plastic bubble, guarded by ninja monks with bazookas and pit bulls with venomous snakes for teeth. He's sealed up and we likely won't be seeing him until next season, which means that we have to sit here and watch either the Sex Boat Captain or Ol' Plucky try to win games for us, which, uh . . . I hope you were watching on Sunday. Thankfully, none of that should matter next year. It just means we have to get through the next two games without engaging in mass suicide.

I am so happy with the way that the team performed in the second half. I don't get a chance to say that often, but when I do get that chance, I will say it. I am not all mass hangings and drain cleaner chugging, after all. There are those that may be too dull to realize this, and may get caught up in the ridiculous imagery of it all but what the hell, the world is full of idiots and all the rest of us can do is stand above them with torches and keep them at bay for as long as we can. That is, after all, the heart of what being a Lions fan is all about - just trying to stand above the fray and keeping the failure of it all from overwhelming you. Sometimes it is ugly and sometimes it is mean and sometimes it is utterly ridiculous, but it's also real.

I love the Lions. I love watching them, I love reading about them, and I love writing about them. That may be completely mystifying to some people, but who gives a shit? You are missing out on the point of it all, which is that when my team does win, it means something to me in a way that you can't quite understand, because while you may show up for a game and cheer when the team is winning, and then disappear for the rest of the week, I show up when the team is losing, and I don't stop caring when the clock hits zero. I show up when all you can do is hope and pray that it might get better one day. I have been to hell. It sucks. But I also know that the only way I will ever appreciate heaven is to know what hell feels like. Perhaps that is too faux-philosophical, and really, it's kind of clichéd, and I generally hate clichés, and I am really, really considering deleting all of this gibberish as it feels entirely too corny and ridiculous, but what the hell, let's dive all the way to the bottom of this rancid pool. There are some people who will never understand why we follow the Lions, why we care the way we do, but you know what? Fuck them. We are champions in our hearts and the world will know us before it is all said and done. That is good enough for me.

Anyway, this post has kind of had a more stream of consciousness feel to it than I expected - or than I normally like. It kinda feels all over the place, but I suppose that is appropriate in this strange, schizophrenic season, and it feels especially appropriate in the wake of what was an incredibly schizophrenic game. It was a game filled with the highest highs and the lowest lows. It was a beautiful game and it was also incredibly ugly. It made me wonder why I was a fan of any of this bullshit and it reminded me of why I somehow love it all. It was the failure of the past and it was the promise of the future. It was the Detroit Lions, and in the end it was 2-12, but for now anyway, it doesn't feel quite so terrible.

I May Have Gone Insane While Writing This

The season is almost over, and once again we find ourselves trying to climb out from underneath the apocalyptic wreckage of yet another miserable season. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Sure, we knew the record would be bad, but we also thought that by the time the year wrapped up we would be filled with hope for next season. Instead, everyone is hurt or dead and we are all lying naked at the bottom of a vast chasm, weeping and howling at a moon that we can't even see because it's covered by smoke rising up from our burned out dreams. It's a terrible thing, just awful, and it is stunning how bad it has become.

It sucks to have to put our dreams of, well, adequacy on hold for yet another season because the failure demon has risen like a fucking Colossus out of the earth and started dragging player after player back down to hell with him. Our star quarterback, the future of the franchise, has had his knee annihilated and his shoulder ripped out and eaten by the failure demon so far this season, and it has reached a point where most fans are crying out for mercy for poor Matthew like they were spectators at a medieval execution. QUIT TORTURING THE POOR MAN AND JUST CUT HIS HEAD OFF ALREADY.

But The Passion of the Stafford is not the only horrific show in town. No, instead, we've had to watch as our superstar wide receiver and only playmaker has had seemingly every bone and joint and muscle in his body torn apart like that dude in Hellraiser. Poor St. Calvin might actually be up for sainthood when this is all over. After all, the very first saints were martyrs.

But at least we have a strong running game to take the pressure off of . . . oh shit, really? Indeed. Kevin Smith's knee saw what was going on and sat in the garage with the car running rather than put up with the freak show bullshit that is the Detroit Lions. So, yeah, he's gone, maybe for good.

And then there's Brandon Pettigrew, who's on his way into surgery any minute now to repair his torn ACL and there's Louis Delmas who has been banged up this season and . . . AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sorry. I, uh, well, it's been a long season. Anyway, everyone is hurt, the team sucks right now, and the biggest news all week long has been the coaches threatening to execute everyone on the team for gross incompetence. This wasn't supposed to be the way this season unfolded. And yet, here we are. Again.

Hang on a minute. I'm going to go listen to Morrissey for a while and then jump off of the pier into Lake Michigan. By the way, it's December, so I'll just thrash about for a while before I slowly freeze to death and then drown.

I mean, GOOD LORD. Has it really come to this? Before the season started, I was excited to see the development of our young skill players. They could be our Aikman, Irvin and Smith. Hyperbolic? Certainly, but that was the kind of excitement I allowed myself to believe deep down. Instead, I got to watch our quarterback struggle through the season like he was the first dude off the boat on D-Day, our playmaking wide receiver get drawn and quartered for his faith, and our running back's knee explode and leave him laying like a piece of road kill. I am tempted to just type the word WHY over and over and over again and then rummage for my finest hanging neck tie. By the way, I think that's at least the third different suicide reference I have made in this post. Lions Fever! Catch it!

The 48-3 loss to the Ravens was the Lions worst loss since 1991. Yes, given everything that has happened in the past decade of terrible pain, and given everything that went on last year, last week's game was still the worst game the Lions have had in 18 years.

I'm just going to let that stand on its own for a while. I want you to stop and just think about that for a minute. Just think about what that means.

Okay, if you are still here after thinking that one over, congratulations, you have an iron will and/or are a masochist. Everyone else is probably running naked and afraid through the streets right about now, tearing at their flesh and scaring the holy hell out of old people and small animals.

Oh Lord, why? How has it come to this? I feel like I am just going around in circles now, trapped on an endless circuit of misery that always begins and ends the same way, with me asking that awful question. Maybe there is no answer, and maybe this is just the way of things and maybe our perpetual misery somehow balances the universe and oh my God, the gibberish I am spewing is just absurd now. I have been broken, beaten and whipped by this horror show. I suppose the only thing I can do is try to force myself to keep looking forward.

Alright, that's what I'll do. Okay. Here we go. So, what's next? The Cardinals are coming to town? You mean the team that went to the Super Bowl last season, has a Hall of Fame Quarterback and three different receivers who went over 1,000 yards last season? Insert random suicide reference number 11,368 here.

I mean, come on. Things are already bad enough. Now I have to watch my team's league worst pass defense get absolutely shredded by the dude who is Mike Martz's own personal Viagra. This is horrible. I don't care what happened on Monday against the 49ers, Kurt Warner is going to beat our defense down like they are a gang of Satanists trying to steal his family Bible. Good God. This is going to be brutal and ugly and mean, and . . . I need a moment here.

Okay, I'm back. I will try to rationally get through the rest of this, but I wouldn't get my hopes up. I suppose I could look at the bright side, which is that Larry Fitzgerald is questionable and might not play following his knee injury against the 49ers, but one Cardinals receiver out, even one as good as Fitzgerald, doesn't exactly tip the scales in our favor, especially when we have added 10 different defensive backs to the roster since September. At this point, the Lions are basically pulling in dudes off the street. It is now like that stupid show Pros vs. Joes or whatever the hell that thing on Spike TV was called that featured pro athletes whipping the shit out of delusional fans.

Thankfully the Cardinals are a one dimensional team, and . . . oh wait, you mean they're not anymore? Well, that's just super. Indeed. The Cardinals have become a team capable of mixing in a power run game with their prolific aerial attack, meaning that even if by some gigantic miracle the Lions stop the Cardinals passing game(maybe St. Calvin will be able to teleport around the field and grow wings and play all four defensive backs, thus fulfilling the miracle requirement for sainthood. If this happens, we need to petition the Vatican.), the Cardinals should still be able to run the ball down the middle of the field, especially on a team like the Lions who appear to have had their spirits broken and then had those broken spirits stolen by the failure demon and dragged down to hell.

So, yeah, the Lions defense is going to be massacred here. They should just dress up Larry Foote like General Custer at this point and let nature take its course. But things aren't all bad. I mean, the Lions have a bona fide Pro Bowl quarterback in Daunte Culpepper, who . . . (is there a way to type the sound of a life support machine flat lining?)

Yes, Daunte the Terrible is back at quarterback with Matthew Stafford being kept in an oxygen tank or plastic bubble or confined to a monastery where he is protected by martial artist monks for the rest of the season. And, well, Daunte is a shitty quarterback. End of analysis.

Meanwhile, St. Calvin is still banged up and although he might make a go of it against the Cardinals, at this point they might as well just strap a cross to his back while he runs down the field. I guess they could just feed the ball to Maurice Morris all day, but really, what's the point? He'll just be beaten and then eaten by Darnell Dockett anyway. I guess Aaron Brown could make something happen, but now I am just randomly throwing shit out there. The sad reality is that the offense will be lucky to even crack double digits. Seeing as how they are going against an offense that could probably score 50 if they felt like it, this is kind of a problem.

Look, the rest of the season is just going to feel like one extended execution. It will be horrible and utterly without merit or reason. It will just be play after play of watching our guys strung up and screaming for mercy while their opponents whip them with chains made out of poisonous snakes and hatred. It will be a terrible thing to watch and we will all be forever scarred as fans by the experience.

FIVE PREDICTIONS

1. Culpepper throws for 26 yards on 5 of 38 passing. He fumbles on the first play of the game, shits his pants and then somehow manages to throw an interception even while sitting on the bench. Drew Stanton is still deemed by the coaches to be worse than this.

2. Calvin Johnson tries to play, but ends up getting torn in half by Adrian Wilson on a crossing route. The top half of his body crawls to the sidelines while his legs kick about uselessly on the field. No one will want to admit it, but the sight will be kind of funny.

3. Maurice Morris will have his legs eaten before the game by an escaped lion from the zoo. He will be depressed until he is reminded that this means that he gets to sit out the rest of the season. He and the lion will have a touching reunion on Oprah where Morris will publicly forgive the lion. The lion will respond by eating the audience.

4. Kurt Warner will throw for 1,010 yards and 18 touchdowns. After the game he will lead a public exorcism of Ford Field but will flee when he realizes that he is actually in hell.

5. Sadness.

PREDICTED FINAL SCORE: CARDINALS 117, LIONS 3