Dilfer feels the agony of defeat Don Banks, The St.Petersburg Times, published 18 September 1995 Trent Dilfer stood silently in the corner of the room, his eyes at the floor, and it was impossible not to notice the color of his wounds. They were the cherry red of a freshly opened cut, and they were raw and exposed to the world. The bleeding was over, but the sting remained. This was going to take a while to heal. It was true for the cuts on the back of his hands. It was true for the open gash in his heart. Dilfer stood, leaning against the wall, and his eyes did not blink. He exhaled quickly, as if he were hyperventilating, as if he were trying to Lamaze away the pain of a nightmarish afternoon spent in the attempt of playing football. Are you disappointed in Dilfer today? Are you at a loss to explain his dreadful performance against the Bears on Sunday? Do you think he is the reason the Bucs lost? Then know this. Dilfer agrees with you. How could this happen? For the final 10 minutes of the game, and for endless minutes afterward, Dilfer asked the question. How could he play so poorly? Why would he throw so wildly? And what else could hurt so deeply? "I can honestly tell you I've never felt this lousy after a sporting event," Dilfer said. "It feels miserable." It looked it. Consider this: No matter how disappointed you are in Dilfer today, no matter how convinced you are he let down the franchise, no matter how disgusted you were by his performance - Dilfer feels worse. "Because I'm young, there are going to be coaches and players say, `Take it easy on Trent,' " he said. "But there are times when you have to take it on yourself. We win that football game if I play better. We win that football game if I play average. I really believe I lost that football game. I feel like I let down my teammates." Certainly, Dilfer was the gang leader. He threw four interceptions, and it could have been more. He had receivers open by 15 yards, and he overthrew them by 15 more. He was wild high. More than a third of his completions were to the wrong team. He hit only 11 of 27 for 149 yards. He spent the final 10 minutes of the game on the sideline watching Casey Weldon play. The official explanation of Dilfer's replacement, by coach Sam Wyche, was that Dilfer was exhausted. That, of course, is bull. When is the last time you heard of a starting quarterback who is playing well being pulled because he was tired? Especially with 10 minutes to play when two touchdowns and two two-point conversions can tie it? "I was tired," Dilfer said. "But more than that, I was frustrated with myself. Maybe I let it show too much. But Sam made the right decision. Four interceptions means you get pulled." Perhaps it is as simple as his inexperience. Perhaps young quarterbacks have to struggle through this. Perhaps it was inevitable. In eight games as a Buc, five starts, Dilfer has thrown 13 interceptions and only three touchdowns. This from a player who threw only four interceptions his last year at Fresno State (all four in one game against Oregon State). It has left Dilfer battered and bewildered. He said he would go to the sideline Sunday and run through the list. Was he focusing on one receiver? Was it technical? Was it his head? Was it his feet? "I don't know what it was," he said. "I don't have any excuses or any explanations. I thought I was at a point where this wasn't going to happen. That's why I'm so down. I can't believe I can play this bad." But he did. He threw an interception to Donnell Woolford when his deep pass to Horace Copeland faded outside. He threw an interception to Jeremy Lincoln when Copeland took a quick out route deep and Dilfer did not adjust. He threw an interception to Marty Carter when he didn't see him. "The simplest route there is in football," Dilfer seethed. He threw an interception to Dwayne Joseph when he tried to force a play on fourth and 10. It added up to the miserable. And to concerns that Dilfer is the latest of a long line of quarterbacks frustrated in a Bucs uniform. This is the big issue. So many others have suffered this way in this stadium. How do the Bucs keep him from becoming Vinny Testaverde? How do they protect him from himself? Know this about Dilfer. He has confidence by the truckload, and will stand and explain the damage as long as you want to listen. But even that confidence seemed shaken Sunday. "I've played horrible games before, and usually, I'm okay by the next day," he said. "But I've never felt like this before. I knew there were going to be bumps. But this isn't bumps. This is destruction." Dilfer was asked if he thought his teammates would pin the loss on him. "I think so," he said. "They know how hard they played, and they know we had seven (turnovers), and they know I had four. They aren't stupid. They can add two and two and get four." Four? As in interceptions? Dilfer smiled weakly at the unintentional pun. He threw his leather bag over his shoulder and walked out of the locker room and toward the parking lot. As he walked into the night, it seemed awfully dark.