I guess I should be pretty satisfied that the Bengals gave up “only” 34 points while being dismantled by the Patriots last night. But after watching Sammy Morris run all over us, I don’t think I can. Before the game, I really thought that we had a chance to win this game, get to 2-2, and go into the bye week on a high note. I thought our offense could run with Brady’s unit, match them score-for-score (hehe, “unit”), and keep it close through three quarters.

Instead, we got our shit owned.

By now, everybody knows our defense is worse than a first date with Ufford that doesn’t involve the exchange of bodily fluids. And I can’t really pin the blame for it on the front office; injuries and law enforcement have been most unkind to this team of late. Carson Palmer gets his knee shredded in the playoffs, and he’s back by Week One. The defense has enjoyed spinal injuries, arrests, suspensions, there’s a DUI in there someplace. And to think we couldn’t get Tank Johnson on this team. Maybe I should blame the front office.

I’d love to go batshit about this loss like Drew and Ape had done when their respective teams shit the bed on Sunday, but I can’t. This wasn’t a game that slipped away; we were just outclassed on both sides of the ball. Again. We’re 1-3 now, and lucky to have the 1. And while we finally are comfortable knowing that our offense will sell lots of jerseys, our defense won’t be selling anything anytime soon.

Yeah, that ending was kinda gay.