I am quite depressed, for I have just witnessed something no living person should have to witness. The Indianapolis Colts lost the Grand Opener at Lucas Oil Stadium to the Bears in a remake of Superbowl XLI.
Dallas Clark was again hit and taken out in his valiant attempts at tight-ending.
Joesph Addai was wounded in battle.
Peyton Manning - now there's a 300 page tragedy story in itself. It was his first game since his knee surgery, and I was expecting the Peyton that had been ancy to get back the whole season. The Peyton with that "I'm the real deal" swagger and the southern drawl. The risk-taker Peyton. The Peyton that I like. Instead I see this alien that's happy to be playing, yet unsure how this thing's gonna go down. There was all this uncertainty and doubt in his eyes! He only threw one touchdown pass. He did nothing out of the expected. He didn't throw a crazy Hail Mary during the last few seconds even though they couldn't win. He didn't stamp his feet and throw up his hands screaming when the ref made a bad call, or even when he himself threw something that looked like a drunk bat. He called timeouts and huddles in the red zone. Oh well, it was the first game and he'll find his groove. It just took him a little long. Like, more than one game. Which is uncharacteristic. That number 18 didn't even LOOK like Peyton Manning - it must have been his evil second-cousin. Sticks and I were passing the empty Quakers bag around for most of the game.
What shall become of us? What to do, what to do...