In hindsight, I guess I should have expected this. Everything was in place for a Dolphins win. And by that I mean the day was ripe for yet another ball-crushing, soul-sucking loss. The crowd was rocking. The Jets fans silenced. Joey Porter had just intercepted a batted ball and ran it back to the New York 30-yard line. All across the stadium, the feeling was palpable. This was it! This was going to be the day we finally took the proverbial monkey off our backs and punted it off a building. This was the day we would finally get that elusive victory.
So what happened, you ask?
Cam Cameron. Cam Cameron happened.
With the Jets on their heals after that huge turnover and the home crowd in a frenzy, our “What The Fuck?” moment, which we as fans have come to expect on a weekly basis, suddenly hit us like a sock full of pennies. Cameron called three straight running plays up the middle. Cam Cameron: Lover of Families, Murderer of Momentum. There it was. The Hobbit Straight Outta Da Mutha Fuckin Shire, with his bad ankle and his insatiable love of corndogs, was stuffed for a one-yard loss on his third straight run. That’s when we knew it.
We just knew this game would end in another loss. It was still early. There was still a whole three and a half quarters left to play. Yet, we all knew it. A sense of numbness took over the crowd. As if the concessions had spiked our Budweisers and popcorn with Novocain.
Usually teams score on the Jets more often than some random dude does with Lindsey Lohan at a rehab facility. Not the Dolphins. They managed a whopping 6 points against the 30th ranked defense in the NFL. Six. Motherlovin. Points.
This was supposed to be the week we got to see John Beck open things up and play his best game of the season. After suffering through miserable weather conditions in Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, where Beck was slicing open Tauntans with his light saber and shoving his arms into their carcasses to keep his hands warm before every snap, we figured a home game in sunny Miami was just what he needed. Instead, the Jets defense flung Beck around like they were in the gold medal round of a dwarf-tossing tournament. The result was six total turnovers by the rookie quarterback. His worst game yet.
In the end, it was just a full-bodied beat down to the tune of 40 damn points. During the 4th quarter, I almost expected the Jets players to jump into the stands to give us each a personal fist up the ass because, really, that's pretty much all that was left for them to do at that point.
During the post-game interview, Beck offered up this analysis:
"Crap's going to happen. And today crap happened."
Oh, sweet mother of crap! You know what I would like from John Beck? I mean, besides a fucking touchdown drive or two. I would like him to say “shit.” Just once. It would make me feel better. Or “fuck.” That would be fantastic. I’m just sayin’.
So 0-12. Twelve straight quarters without an offensive touchdown and being served a heaping slice of shit-pie every week. Sound like fun? Because that’s the life of a Miami Dolphins fan. And it's not going to get any better for a long, long time. 0-16, here we come.
Now someone, please, shove a lit stick of dynamite down my pants. --Chris Joseph
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