Monday Night Massacre

 “You can see how serious they were. They’ve been here before. I’m a movie buff, you know. It reminded me of that movie, Troy, when Achilles told Hector, ‘Now you know what you’re dealing with.’ That’s what it was like. No love. ‘We’re coming in here to show y’all who the big dogs are.’”

Antonio Smith, Texan Defensive Lineman reflecting on the loss.

I find the allusion to mythology quite compelling. Brad Pitt, aka the Patriot, kicking Eric Bana, aka the Texan, all over the ancient plains of Troy. I’m fairly confident Achilles didn’t use the term ’y’all’ or refer to the assembled Greek armies as ‘the big dogs’, but a little poetic license is allowed, and y’all get the idea. Who’s got next must be the question after the Pats dismantled the shell-shocked Houston Texans 42-14 before a national audience on MNF. The Texans arrived in Foxboro sporting a nifty 11-1 record, best in the NFL, and wearing matching letterman/varsity jackets in a rather cheesy show of team unity. Quite frankly, we should have known then they were doomed. They might as well have worn school blazers and short pants so thoroughly embarrassed were they by the big dog Patriots who pulled on their big boy pants for the occasion. At the risk of getting my battles all mixed up, this must have been how the Texans defending the Alamo felt. Out manned, out gunned, out muscled and ultimately overwhelmed. For the Texans this game was to be their coming-out party—the defining moment of their season to date, a night when they would roll up their sleeves and show their mettle against the iron of the AFC. For the Patriots? Well, there’s no doubt it was a statement game, but they’ve been in bigger games than this before. They understand that nothing that happens in December defines their season; that particular denouement must wait until January, or hopefully, February. In the end the Texans were exposed as just another pretender, an Emperor with no clothes. 

It didn’t start too well for the Pats. On the first play from scrimmage Foster rumbled 12 yards, only to have the play called back for an illegal formation. That reprieve was merely temporary, for on the very next play, he gashed the Pats for 15 yards and a first down. Clearly concerned, the Pats called a timeout after only 46 seconds to talk about the singular failure of their run defense to show any initial resistance. Whatever message was conveyed, it was received loud and clear. The Texans went 3 and out and then watched Welker scamper 31 yards to the New England 44 on the ensuing punt return. The Pats first drive had a little bit of everything. Ridley ran 3 times for 22 yards; Welker induced a holding penalty on an incompletion on 3rd and 6, then caught a 25 yard pass which had a high degree of difficulty. Ridley then fumbled at the 4, only to see Hernandez alertly recover the fumble at the 7. As a reward for saving the day, Brady threw a 7 yard pass to Hernandez for a TD, and the Pats were off and running.

On the Texan’s second drive, Matt Schaub showed some of the trick-or-treat tendencies which have marked his career to date. He was the model of efficiency in completing 3 short passes for 35 yards, and one mid-range pass for another 24. But just when Patriot fans were beginning to shift uneasily, Schaub got a little too greedy, and his pass to the end zone was intercepted at the goal line by McCourty who showed fine instincts and excellent reaction to the ball.  He seems like a natural at safety where the play is in front of him, rather than the severely put-upon cornerback we witnessed last year who was forever chasing shadows. Punishment for Schaub’s profligate behavior was swift and merciless. The Patriot drive after the interception saw Brady complete 4 passes for 14, 18, 13, and finally 37 yards to a wide open Lloyd. 14-0, and the Texans were beginning to look decidedly sickly as the realization dawned that the fare being dished up by the Hometown Heroes was distinctly unpalatable.  Brady’s TD pass to Lloyd was a thing of beauty in both design and execution. A superb play-action fake left the defense discombobulated and running around like festive turkeys.

Things only got worse for the Texans. Foster was stuffed by an aggressive run defense on consecutive downs, and Schaub was unceremoniously sacked by the immensely gifted Vince Wilfork, who is playing at an unconscious level. 8 plays and 70 yards later, the Texans were so out of sync that they failed to cover Hernandez who simply strolled into the end zone. 21-0 and the fat lady was warming up. 

The Pats would tack on another 3 TDs before their night was done, but dwelling on the details is superfluous since the game was already won and lost in the second quarter. What does merit comment, however, is the continued brilliance of Brady. Is it possible he is underrated? Now in his thirteenth year he demonstrates an absolute and seemingly facile grasp of a child’s game grown old, played by men with violence on their minds. Some of his throws in this game were positively superb, and his command of the offense was masterful. His performance was calculated, surgical, a research project dissection. One sensed a certain edge to it all. Pay back for those talking heads who had the temerity to overly-hype the Texan front 7 and suggest they would present a challenge for Tom Terrific. Whatever the reason, Brady was in no mood to take prisoners as evidenced by his almost primal reaction after a 6 yard scramble for a first down; his fist pump was like an exclamation mark at the close of a declaratory statement. Achilles himself would have been impressed!