"It got pretty gritty. I started to hear the word "draw" in my sleep. Then one day, I was just walking down the street when I heard a voice behind me say, "Reach for it, mister!" I spun around... and there I was, face-to-face with a six-year old kid. Well, I just threw my guns down and walked away. Little bastard shot me in the ass. So I limped to the nearest saloon, crawled inside a whiskey bottle, and I've been there ever since."
This was we expected at the beginning of the season. A larger than life defense, anchored by Jerrell Powe, carrying a largely undeveloped offense with Nathan Stanley holding on for dear life. Then, Jeremiah Masoli took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and somehow ended up sharing the backfield. For one half, the only surprise was the pleasant competence of the offense.
Then we laid our guns down, turned our backs and some squirrelly little bastard shot us in the ass.
We've crawled back out of the bottles and now, wandering the streets of New Orleans, another prepubescent voice calls out "draw." Time to find out if we've got what it takes to stomp on a throat.
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