Chiefs Could Take Lesson from Patriots and Eagles

After yesterday's playoff games, it's easy to see who the second bananas are, at least for right now. Philadelphia played superbly in their dominance of Atlanta (didn't the Chiefs whip up on those silly Falcons 56-10 earlier in the season?) and the dirty birds star quarterback. Once again, se las vie to the Michael Vick experience.

Truth be known, if any kind of adverse weather conditions prevail when Vick is playing, he's about as effective as a blind falcon with no wings. He just can't explode in the cold like he's used to doing and the weather completely dictates his game playing ability. Get this guy in warm weather with a nice smooth field and he is dangerous, to be sure, but that's not the game of football.

That's the game of golf. Football is played in brutal conditions when temperatures are low and wind chills are below zero and snow and ice are the rulers of the field. That's the time for heroes as well as the time for replacing teeth after you realize they are gone. That's what separates the men from the boys, as it were. So, when the going gets tough, Vick gets going. Out of the stadium and back to his house in warm sunny Atlanta, usually. Evidence enough against the Eagles. The Patriots are a different story and one that the Chiefs should study intensely.

What the heck happened to this New England team to make them go from the clowns of the NFL, the team that lost the first 26 games they ever played as an actual franchise, to the platform of envied gladiators of the gridiron whom no one else can come close to beating? At least part of that equation is the fact that in being a complete squad, no one complains openly about anything. There are no public displays of monkey business like wanting to be traded or not being played enough or whining about their shoes being too tight.

And there are certainly no Sharpies being pulled out of socks to sign footballs in the end zone or phone calls from other players answered after the catch. In other words, there is not a showboating self-centered attention monger among the whole crew. They all know their reason to exist at that place and at that time is to win and win and win some more and they let nothing stand in their way. When the troops are introduced into the stadium before the game starts, the Patriots are presented all together. No one is better than another. It's that mindset that wins championships. I wonder if any of the Patriots have their own line of clothing.

I wonder if any of the Patriots charge so much for an autograph session that only Donald Trump can afford it. I'm sure that Bill Belichick would never allow that. Not a prima Donna amongst them. The Chiefs could categorically take a lesson watching this Phoenix rise from the ashes. They're definitely the ones to beat in the Super Bowl and so confident am I that they will triumph in the big game; I'll give eight points to any chump foolish enough to bet against them. Gentlemen's bets, naturally. My good friends, Pete and Phil (their last names end in vowels), will make sure all bets are covered in that informal style they're famous for.

New England has many advantages including that of a head coach with real vision when it comes to spotting talent and encouraging the players he chooses to let out the true competitor deep inside them. To top that, New England hasn't recently been plagued by less than desirable coaches like, say, Marty Schottenheimer, for instance; great coach in the regular season, lousy coach in the post-season. That was further confirmed by San Diego's bumbling and crumbling in the first playoff game with Marty in the company of lightening bolts instead of tomahawks. Different set of guys but the same results. KC should take note. I'd hate to see Dick Vermeil and our beloved Chiefs continue doing the "Schottenheimer Polka."

If anyone ever needed to sell their soul to the devil to get what they want, it's Marty Schottenheimer. This man is living proof of Murphy's Law. If anything can go wrong, it will. Watching San Diego's playoff chances float down the river was so painful, I was considering Methadone just to take the edge off. There's no telling what Marty is considering. How about a chainsaw?

Or a scalpel? What about a real dull butter knife? Any of these items would probably do the trick. Not for use on himself, mind you, but to lop off his rookie kicker's leg so as not to contaminate the rest of society. But I digress. I'm not so sure that pain is really the word to describe the situation with Marty, although pain is definitely involved.

No, there is undeniably a certain stigma that surrounds him and probably will for the rest of his coaching life. How could any organization ever look at him again without seeing playoff loss after playoff loss ingrained into the wrinkles of his face? Marty's reputation preceded him in San Diego and he proved the nay-sayers right with his team's latest venture into football infamy. This recent jaunt must be the most disheartening for Marty because he was just named coach of the year and was riding high on a wave of fulfillment, inches away from vanquishing all opposition and burying his sordid past. He can kiss that one goodbye. Well, at least his character remains intact. For now, Marty will continue to be a second banana in the tradition of so many other second bananas that couldn't quite scale the mountain. Maybe he could become another coach's sidekick. That's a good if not disparaging way to make a living. Then all he would have to do is stand around and shake his head instead of shaking a leg, so to speak.

Now THAT'S painful.

Marty needs to address this whole "blow it in the last second" thing on an entirely different level. Instead of gambling with the life of his football team based on the thigh bone capacity of some do or die place kicker wearing the cleanest uniform in the whole arena, he needs to call his own number and kick that damn ball himself! All the NFL needs is a little stroking and cajoling and they could probably be talked into letting Marty be his own kicker! Not a bad idea.

If that were the case, all of those homicidal nightmares that are no doubt dancing around in his head could be replaced with visions of parades down the main streets of town surrounded by pretty women and roses and Marty taking on the role of a deity in his metropolis and flipping the bird to all media people. In reality, he should use his considerable influence with the NFL commissioners to put a whole new twist on the game and at the same time make sure his team never feels the wrath of an inexperienced place kicker again.

Why not? He's had practically every kicker he's ever employed screw him over at one time or another. At least then Marty would have no one else to blame except his truly. Is it not easier to live with the fact that you screwed yourself over rather than some pantywaist kicker doing it for you?? But, as we all know so well and have experienced so many times, it really doesn't matter who kicks the ball. Marty seems doomed to miss that game winning field goal every time. It's in his blood. Sad to say, it looks like Marty needs a blood transfusion.

So, Kansas City, get your plans together and get yourselves on track to being a complete ball club like the Patriots and don't dance with the Devil by the pale moonlight like others do time and again. That transformation needs to include offense, defense, special teams, egos, attitudes, work ethics, and sacrifice. After all, you can't get blood from a turnip and I doubt that our great urban landscape known as the City of Fountains can keep supplying the Chiefs with one blood transfusion after another.


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