For Dilfer, life gets nasty Hubert Mizell, The St.Petersburg Times, published 30 September 1996 Trent Dilfer will spend Tuesday playing golf. Even if the Tampa Bay quarterback hits five balls into water, has four clanging shanks, three-putts all 18 greens, suffers two whiffs and duck-hooks one out of bounds, Dilfer won't feel as miserable as he did Sunday. With a bye week upcoming for the Bucs, the quarterback's critics are suggesting a bye-bye-Trent week. It won't be. But life is getting nastier. ifth Sunday began with fragile offensive hope against Detroit. An opportunity for at least short-term Big Sombrero joy. A developing first-quarter morsel on which ravenous Bucs customers and Tony Dungy's troubled NFL team might desperately munch. Bucs were teasing. Earning cautious cheers from a half-empty stadium. Executing nice, semi-creative little plays. Looking different. Better. Motoring within 3 yards of a goal line defended by Lions. Red zone. Reality zone. Dead zone. Right there, historic ugliness would arise. Dilfer cocked his rifle. It might as well have been pointed at his head. Unable to find an open Courtney Hawkins in the end zone, the Bucs quarterback frantically searched for LeRoy Thompson. Nobody was free. Trent fired. Instead of connecting with a comrade, Dilfer's pass went into the thieving hands of safety Bennie Blades, whose brother, Brian, had wiped out the Bucs for Seattle a week earlier with eight fourth-quarter catches. Motown Blades ran and ran and ran into the end zone. Ninety-seven laboring, loving-it yards for Bennie. Dilfer attempted to tackle him. An effort that would be no more successful than Trent's pass. Talk about a whiff. In five games, Tampa Bay has moved inside opposing 20-yard lines just 11 times. Bucs have scored two red-zone touchdowns. NFL's worst batting average. Dilfer's mushrooming misery includes 10 interceptions and just one lonely scoring pass. Being victimized by Blades created a 14-point Bucs turnaround disaster. Tampa Bay missed seven, the Lions got seven. You could hear Big Sombrero hearts splattering. Soon, hope would go absolutely and fatally crashing onto home-field grass. As the Bucs went back on offense, shoulders were slumping. Body language was deadly. Two plays after Dilfer's mess-up, tailback Reggie Brooks fumbled. Detroit vacuumed it. Lions, without generating any legitimate offense, were up 10-0. Out of reach for offensively foundering Bucs. Just another Sunday for Tampa Bay's gasping oh-and-fivers. When the 27-0 punchout was completed, Lions were cheered in departure by 6,000 patrons wearing Detroit colors. Bucs were given various forms of negative reaction from 28,000 mourners who'd come ever hopeful that it might be a turnaround afternoon. Some of it really nasty. Two hours after Blades' coast-to-coast runaway with the Dilfer pass, Trent faced media questions. "Bad throw. I'll take the blame," he said. But this wouldn't be the usual talkative, analytical Dilfer. Clearly he was fuming, at himself and others. Boos had become heavier. More piercing than ever. After being crushed by an onrushing Lion late in the first half, the quarterback wobbled painfully toward the Tampa Bay bench. Limping badly. From the crowd there came cheers, even laughter. "I've got ears," Dilfer said. "I could hear it. It was like what happened to (an injured) Wade Wilson in New Orleans a few years ago, causing (Saints coach) Jim Mora to react with intensity. I feel the same way." It's wrong. It's inhuman. But it's not quite the hatred that Dilfer must've felt. Big Sombrero people have been so shortchanged, so frustrated and so hungry for so long, they have the propensity to go overboard. "I don't care how frustrated they are," Dilfer said. "They are not nearly as frustrated as our football team. I do feel for them (fans). But if they can't realize how frustrated we also are, they just don't understand. Booing will not affect me or my teammates one iota. If they (fans) believe it will, well, that is just ignorance."