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Gary Shelton, The St.Petersburg Times, published 17 December 2001
You have to say this much for the Tampa Bay Bucs. They may be a mediocre football team, but they are a perfect guest. Just consider. A quarter of a century in the NFC Central, and the Bucs have made barely a peep. They haven't slammed the doors, they haven't messed up the sheets, they haven't made any noise. Pretty much, the Bucs have left the place the same way they found it.
The Bucs said goodbye to the NFC Central on Sunday afternoon, and darned if anyone heard them. That's the problem with being so meek. If you weren't paying attention, you'd barely know the Bucs had been there at all.
A shame, really, because Sunday wasn't supposed to be about farewells. It was supposed to be about the Bucs continuing to grow into a snarling, snapping beast for others to avoid during the playoffs. It was supposed to be about the Bucs rolling along and setting things right and claiming their destiny. Instead, it was about ... dreck.
In an excruciating season to witness, this was the worst game of all. Worse than Pittsburgh, worse than Minnesota, worse than Green Bay. This was an unforgivable performance by a joyless, juiceless team as drab as the Illinois afternoon. It was a team that seemed disinterested in the job at hand, one that could not match the Bears in effort, execution or energy. Compared to the Bears, the Bucs seemed listless, lifeless, lacklustre.
The first temptation is to rush to this Bucs team and attempt to find a pulse. But why bother? Yeah, yeah, yeah. The Bucs have three home games left, and if they win them all they will make the playoffs. Whee.
But even if the Bucs sneak in, can you imagine them doing any damage whatsoever upon arrival? Where, exactly, do you have to play to win on the road when you execute like this? Afghanistan? Who, exactly, can you beat with a field goal? (A cursory look at scores from Sunday's game reveals this: Nobody managed to win with three points).
Other news flashes? The Bucs still can't run. They still can't block. If Keyshawn Johnson is covered, they can't throw. They still can't score. Whenever they do not stumble, they seem to fumble. In other words, the Bucs offense is so deep over its head that even if it does recover, the entire backfield might get the bends.
Why, in the name of Wrong Way Reigels, can't this team figure out a passage to the end zone? All season we have waited for a spark in the huddle, and still, things remain dim. For all the stars, there is no cohesion. Tell me. Are we watching a football team here, or a remake of Ishtar? Who wrote the playbook? George O'Leary's resume-maker? So, Keyshawn, have you figured out what's wrong with this offense? "Not today, not tomorrow, not any day," Johnson said. "I can't figure it out."
A few feet away, Warrick Dunn dressed in silence. He was asked to compare this Bucs offense with the old ones stocked with patchwork players, with reclaimed vets and rookies on their way to nowhere. "The players are better," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But the production isn't. Words can't describe the frustration."
On the other hand, you've probably picked out a few that describe yours, haven't you? I know, I know. It gets difficult after a while trying to describe the Bucs offense, week after week. It's like writing sonnets to postnasal drip. It's like watching salmon swim upstream while they carry luggage. And yes, it gets a little repetitive.
The sad part of this is that, early on, the Bucs had grand opportunities to spin the scoreboard. They didn't. Tampa Bay started two of its first six drives inside Chicago territory. In its first 11 possessions, it was at its 39 or closer six times. And despite playing a field so short the Storm would have felt at home, the Bucs wound up with one field goal.
Look, there was something familiar about ineptitude. Who among us expects the Bucs to appear ept? But the inability to match the Bears' passion was a warning sign. It is sure to bring up all the old issues over whether this team is too comfortable, whether it has grown complacent. Did you see the way the defense caved in late in the game? Did it remind anyone else of Philadelphia last year? Better question: Did it remind anyone else of all those years in Tampa Bay?
Perhaps that is the saddest part of all. In their final day in the fraternity that is the NFC Central, the Bucs looked like a pledge all over all again. Squint, and this could have been every bad Bucs team coming back for a command performance. That was Lars Tate running the ball, and Charles McRae blocking for him. That was Jack Thompson at quarterback and Danny Peebles running patterns. It was Keith McCants and Booker Reese chasing quarterbacks, and Wayne Haddix and Rod Jones in coverage. It was Ray and Sam and Leeman, leaving the play calling to Mike and Les and Clyde. There for a while, you'd swear the Bucs were wearing orange.
Twenty-five years, and only three division titles. Twenty-five years, and 10 last-place finishes. Twenty-five years, and 71 victories in 218 games. Twenty-five years, and almost a thousand more points surrendered than scored. As the Bucs, voted off the island, head for some division called the NFC South, everything seems the same as it ever was.
After all these years, the Bucs are still talking about what they have to do to fix a weak offense, and how many they have to win out of how many, and why the production is about five steps behind the performers. The words are the ones they have always said. "I'm so tired of talk that my head is going to bust," Keyshawn said. Ours too, Key. Ours too.
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