DENVER BRONCOS WEEK 12/13: “All we’re trying to do is win a mother [scratching] game!”

Super candid blue-streak thrashing on behalf of Pincers. Even included this air punch/swim thing in his freak out. After the F-word there was something about “three straight” and it kind of trailed off from there. (The audio guy in the truck either spit up coffee on his monitors or the director slapped him upside the head.) “Three straight” of course referred to the three false starts committed by his big fellas up front before slinking off the field for a Matt Prater field goal. The second in as many red zone trips. When it first happened, the NFL Network aired it, showed the kickoff, then went to commercial. And we were thinking: “Wow, that’s actually pretty cool. The NFLN is kinda pushing a progressive production here. Like the FX Network or something.” Then they come back with profuse apologies and it was clear it was just another production blunder. Did you see the shot of a cameraman’s foot next to some cable? How about those glitching bumps in and out of commercials? These combined with Matt Millen’s nonsensical ramblings and Madden-posing, whatever that goober’s name is who rolls with Millen in the booth, and the production wasn’t exactly on its game Thursday night. As for Pincers’ spaz? Rad. Pure radness. Love it when these Napoleon types hit Rage Factor. Especially when it’s finally associated with the until-this-year Orange Ponies. Love these signals of aggressive football that continue to percolate from the entire Broncos 09 presentation, win or lose. Pincers is decidedly New School with his emotions in the pro game. But above all there is still plenty of Old School in there. And he might even be a tough lil bastard himself. He led his streaking squad off the schnide on Turkey Day with a 20-point blowout of Big Blue.

Machine Shop Ear-Bender: So we were doin’ paramedical work in affiliation with the state highway system. Not actual practice, you understand. And me & Bill were patrolling down Nine Miles.H.I.: Bill Roberts? Machine Shop Ear-Bender: No, not that mother-scratcher. Bill Parker. Anyway, we’re approaching the wreck, and there’s this spherical object a restin’ in the highway. And it’s not a piece of the car.

(Too bandwagony? Sure, we called them a team of slappies two weeks ago. Which is true. Name us an All-World front seven player on D. Kay. We said watching them play last was like having the swine flu. It was. We are still pissed about that San Diego game. Still confused how you can play at home for first place in the division and deliver such a stinky wad of cheese. But c’mon! Doesn’t mean the love isn’t there. We bleed it, bitches. Two words: born, raised. Nuff said ball in.)

After the game, when asked about the MFer, Pincers sorta shrugged, said “doesn’t surprise me, it’s the NFL network,” then annoyingly turned away from the questioner. A shot at the Network? We’re not sure. We think he was most likely confused by the question since he wasn’t sure what had happened at that point (and he explained as much in other moments of the presser). His mind was processing the question, expecting a game Q, then when he realized it was a trivial matter, he simply brushed it off … Or … Maybe he does hold a bit of a grudge because of the way the Network portrayed him during the Cutler Fiasco, then his draft, then Brandon Marshall, then the parade of Bronco hate Jamie Dukes and crew marched onto the set on a daily basis preceding the season. So much so that national media random Rod Smith was put on-set to defend his franchise during the same timeframe. (Whereupon he of course had to rebuke a deluge of Duke’s exasperation when suggesting the Broncos were an inept franchise and Pincers was to blame.) Pincers has all but admitted he reads the writers and watches the coverage. He snapped about a couple things during OTA’s and camp. Have you ever heard him on Rome? He knows. And in those early days of spring and through the preseason, the Network had him on a spit with the flame turned to HIGH.

Pincers’ national unleashing was fitting during a week in which Brian Dawkins called a Three Mile Island. A Three Mile Island is the requisite “players only meeting” amidst a complete meltdown. Post Sand Diego definitely qualified. In fact, we even wondered about it. After the Redskins slap we figured it would be any day now. It always happens, every sport, and it always makes headlines. That’s right, Bob, I am standing outside the very auditorium where Brian Dawkins, today, called a Three Mile Island. Players would not comment on what exactly was said, however. Saying only: It was a meeting, it was for players, we spoke to and amongst one another for an extended period of time. If the outcome of the game is any kind of metric, it worked this week for Denver.

Three Mile Island accident: On March 29, 1979, there was a cooling system malfunction that caused a partial meltdown of the reactor core. This loss of coolant accident resulted in the release of a significant amount of radioactivity. The nuclear power industry claims that there were no deaths, injuries or adverse health effects from the accident, but a peer-reviewed study by Steven Wing of the University of North Carolina found that lung cancer and leukemia rates were 2 to 10 times higher downwind of TMI than upwind, and also showed that there was plant and animal chromosomal damage, but without considering the effects of stress or improved screening. In addition, the Radiation and Public Health Project reported a spike in infant mortality in the downwind communities two years after the accident.

To anyone with eyes and ears, Denver’s Pig Warfare was obviously back in form. Both lines were outstanding. Denver rushed 40 times, New York 16. Nuff said. But was it Denver’s dominance or the Giants’ indifference that defined the outcome? The Giants finished playing last Sunday afternoon (early game) at home with an overtime win against Atlanta. They traveled on Wednesday. It’s a lengthy flight, it was a holiday, they were paved over from the first snap. It was abuse. Generally speaking, they don’t suck that bad. Generally speaking, the Broncos aren’t that good. Transit and turkey aren’t worth the entire 20 points, but they’re worth a chunk of it. The Giants weren’t all there. They checked out when they checked their bags.

The Denver run game was fairly explanatory: pound the edge so as to avoid the teeth of the Giant D, the front-four. They ran zone block for the most part but were pulling the guard on a lot of inside runs. Lots of fullback in there, too, and the backs seemed very patient in following Spencer Larson to the hole. Whatever the method, they were moving at will. (The obligatory penalties of course disrupted their share of drives. Were we the only ones a bit frustrated with the one-sidedness and outright jobs with which the refs officiated? Came off a bit intrusive at times. Like an NBA game. After a decade-plus of Shanny’s cut-blocking zone schemes, seems like Denver’s offensive line is still a target.)

Knowshon Moreno had a good game but we could feel 70,000-plus people shudder whenever he wrapped his unaccountable arms around the ball. 2.4% of the time, he fumbles every time. Four fumbles on 161 carries. Dude has a way to go before he earns our trust (or a belief in his open field running ability). Ran over a safety, though. Exploded through Michael Johnson for a first down in the first quarter. Seems to have a better sense of the marker these days, too. Nonetheless, still pure rookie. (Fine, he’s rad. It’s clear he’s rad. He might even be really good some day. As our friend JJ explains about gambling: “Winning is like a chocolate mousse. But then it’s gone. Losing burns a hole deep inside you. And it stays.” Those four fumbles, especially the goal line fail … still burns.)

Epic dunce

And of course the D shelved the about-to-explode look if only for a week. Just as it’s painful to watch bad defense, it’s so much fun to watch good defense. Three-and-outs, fumbles, interceptions, sacks, 27 yards on the ground for big boy back Brandon Jacobs. That was fun. Millen was beside himself explaining Denver’s tight coverage. Eli was 100% confused cracker all night. Elvis Dumervil’s monster strip sack—steps into it, both arms cocked back like a bear, ball comes rifling out—was an impressive moment. Secondary was 1/3 on pick-opps and Dawkins made those young receivers think twice about coming into his world. (Still can’t believe how he clubs his opponent after initial contact on the way to the ground. We love it. A lot! But … yikes, dog.)

Who knows why Denver’s D was able to do this at home against the New York Football Giants and not against the Bolts and Steelers, or on the road against those crappy Maryland teams. It cannot simply lie in the balance of talent. If that were the case Baltimore and Washington would have fallen easily. The intangible matrix counts for so much and it’s tenuous. It can disappear for 4/5ths of an entire month. Perhaps the Three Mile Island has them hooked back in for the final five weeks.

All things being equal, it should be a cakewalk in Kansas City next week. A good ole fashioned Midwest contest set to music with a cake as a prize for executing the most elaborate or amusing walking steps. Should be. But we Broncos aficionados are all too familiar with the Bermuda Triangle wasteland of lameness that is western Missouri in December. Really dislike that town. Really think Chiefs fans are dorks with good BBQ recipes. There’s no reason to view last week’s game as a precedent. Pittsburgh had that game locked up in so many ways yet lost due to injuries and a bit of bad luck at the end … wait, that’s not the precedent, is it?

Kansas City is like the sniper at the end of Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket. A passionate threatened peasant, possessing homefield advantage, outmatched in every other facet. In other strategic circumstances she’d be harmless, yet she continues to pick off victims.

Private Cowboy: I’ve seen this before, that sniper is just trying to suck us in one at a time!

After getting sucked into her trap and sustaining losses, Private Cowboy’s platoon eventually overcomes her with sheer firepower. Yet even in the end, almost dead, she continues to take victims and was booby-trapped when they found her. Moments from death, looking up at her enemy, she pleads for mercy: Shoot… me, sh-oooot… me… Private Joker, the inwardly conflicted man of duality, obliges.

Private Rafterman: Hey Joker, we ought to put you up for the congressional medal of… ugly! Haha!
Donlon: Hard core, man. Hard core.

Kansas City is that wounded cornered sniper in her last moments. Sh-oooot… me… At 3-7 her primary objective is drawing in the enemy by showing her mortality then taking them with her as she goes. Denver has the firepower to overcome and there is no way the mere fact they are playing on a frozen llano in the middle of nowhere in December should make any difference whatsoever. Yet it almost always does. Pincers would be advised not to let his men rush in like Cowboy did, and he will need to do his best Private Joker and put her out of her misery when he has the chance. Otherwise he could take on more losses. With Indy and Philly still to go, and with 10 wins most likely needed for the fabled berth, that can’t happen.

Private Joker: Graduation is only a few days away, and the recruits of Platoon 3092 are salty. They are ready to eat their own guts and ask for seconds. The drill instructors are proud to see that we are growing beyond their control. The Marine Corps does not want robots. The Marine Corps wants killers. The Marine Corps wants to build indestructible men, men without fear.