The Barrister

In some ways, this blog and others like it are as simple as a negative proof of the product we've all set out to digest on a daily weekly annual basis. Where the Bills sell hope and change like they're running for something other than Regional Fuckboi, this space sells despair. There's a surplus and we'd like to unload it off our books, I figure, and it's a goddamn bargain for those interested in investing in distressed emotional debt.

I suppose this is as good a time as any to mention, while we're still processing my brutal metaphors, that my mission here is to write about our Bills in spite of myself and in spite of our Bills, that my brain is mush and can't possibly be asked to form coherent takes, and that here, by the grace of God go I, is where I am basically because Apologist said "hey write that recap" while we parted at a lonely midtown street corner some time ago.

Fuck the Bills and Love the Bills, alas and so on and so forth.

If time is a flat circle, as some claim it is, we're blessed to experience this kind of Bills team only once but also infinity times, so it's an open question whether that 3 point loss in Miami should be eminently shrug-off-able as 'just a thing that happened' or emotionally paralyzing as 'the thing that just happens every fuck-all time.' We're somewhere in the middle, most of us, and it's frankly just as dark a corner of cerebral sub-consciousness as sports can get. The cruelty of belief is that it's is a massively marketable phenomenon to attach to any given team, and many of us have been all-too-willing to hitch ourselves to the hope cultivated and farmed for the benefit of our preferred clubs, irrationality be fucked.

The cruelty of belief is that it is equal parts goodness and elusiveness, the treasure at the end of the rainbow, sight unseen.

Depending on where you fall on the spectrum of Billschausen syndrome, you either got all in with this team recently (Hi!) or were on the precipice (or you billieve unconditionally, in which case why are you here?), and depending on where you fall, you're either out now, huffing and puffing about the uselessness of it all, or at the very least have a foot in the door open while you consider things like whether you left the oven on and, if so, whether it might be more useful to stick your head right up in it on Sundays because why let this team suck the life out of you when you're fully capable of killing yourself all on your own.

In the same way that people are drawn to comments sections and cable news out of morbid curiosity at the train wreck humans involved, being a fan of this team is very much about the allure of something so earth-shatteringly shitty that you sort of need to crane your head to look. Besides, there's virtue in learning to repackage the experience of watching a terrible football team into a fun exercise in schadenfreude and moral superiority. So long as the team is going to trip over its own putrid tendencies towards failure, we may as well alight our hearts with ideas that we deserve better and that we have answers that would fix what ails our Bills, if only if only if only. So long as this team is going to struggle through another fall as if it's the harvest and they're farming melancholy, we may as well pull out a dictaphone and assemble a cacophony of sarcasm and derision as tribute to the Wagon-Circling Buffalo Bills, the only team that would consider it a badge of pride that they left home without a map, keep taking the wrong trail and have yet again stumbled upon some band of horsemen or patriots or birds or marine mammals or whatnot, thereby necessitating wagon circling from the get.

tl;dr: When you live in Chump City, it's no consolation that you've been elected mayor.

Don't get me wrong: I'm *still* hopeful, and therein lies the annoying and inestimable rub. All they gotta do is win this weekend and they'll show us they really are the team we hope them hahahahahahahahaha hahahaha.

Fuck it. Let's do the damn thing, I guess.

The Barrister

I'm finally flying back home from Buffalo (EDIT: this was yesterday; I had to work and nap after getting back to New Jersey) and, like every trip to the Mother Ship of My Aching Heart, the weekend afforded little in the way of time for introspection after - without any real competition - the most interesting day of Bills football I've experienced in my 25 or so years as a fan. The unbridled hype of last year's opener (my last trip to Orchard Park) was replaced with a patient optimism about this godforsaken team and a lingering, uncomfortable buzz surrounding something completely unrelated to football. A day that gave all fans something to smile about, from ear to fucking ear, gave many of us in attendance an unshakable disgust with the parade of horrors on display. Death threats emblazoned on t-shirts. Tackling dummies playing the part of vague Muslim effigies. Fathers and sons screaming at an American citizen to stand when he prefers to kneel; screaming at an American citizen while the first verse of our National Anthem rang out. Chants of USA! raining down upon an American citizen and those who support him. Chants of USA! covering all manner of uniquely American sins.

I'm a bleeding heart. I'm an aspiring pragmatist above all else. I'm a venomous blogger who has been told not to use this space for this kind of commentary. I'm a Bills fan who left New Era Field feeling very apart from this new era of Buffalo Bills football. Sunday made it abundantly clear that I hold a minority opinion dwarfed by the rage of those who believe patriotism is a concept over which monopoly control may be exercised, who believe "American" is a one-size-fits-all panacea, and who believe dissent entitles you to nothing more than a one-way ticket back *there* (wherever that is) on the horse you rode in on.

All the same, I left New Era Field and its tailgate wasteland environs knowing that I'm not alone and proud of the pockets of dissent that sprang forth regardless of the un-American brand that would be seared onto their efforts by those who would sooner silence disagreement than attempt to understand it. They were outmanned and outflanked by those who opt to speak against black lives and against advocacy civil liberties; who opt to speak in support of unquestioning devotion to uniforms and badges and authority under the heel of a boot. But they were present all the same, and the peaceful, non-violent advocacy from people of color and white allies alike was something to celebrate. It was the best of Buffalo on display, and more than many other cities would show in similar circumstances.

Also the Star Spangled Banner sucks, Francis Scott Key was a questionable human, and America the Beautiful is the absolute jam.

​And then there was the game, and like I said, it's shitty that I'm left feeling like I gotta speak out about a player doing something as harmless as kneeling - the ultimate sign of respect and fealty - during the NFL's ongoing commercial use of America's anthem, but it's monumentally more shitty that police wearing the badge of the State, cloaked in the authority of our collective promise to each other and ourselves through adherence to our nations' laws, are killing Americans with the kind of arbitrariness and lack of oversight endemic of the Empire from which we declared independence in 1776. So I guess I'll deal. As will you.

The game, though? Apart from the heat that Kaep continually got for daring to be a black man with an opinion? It was dope as hell. The best game I've ever seen live, and that's saying something because I went to the Bills' last two games in New Jersey against the Jets (combined score 65-40), and the opener last year. When the Bills beat Arizona four weeks ago and it looked like there was a chance there'd be something to cheer for when I headed up to WNY for Week 6, I knew that the game was going to be the one that sealed my Sundays for the foreseeable future. A loss and the start of hockey season would have seemed a blessèd relief. A win, and I knew I'd be be left buzzing about what's still to come.

And here we are. 

The game was hilarious in its arc - from a close nail-biter to a thorough walloping in the matter of just a few series. When the floodgates opened in the third quarter, it suddenly became a party. The edge of fans' anger at Kaepernick (or each other) was dulled in the face of such impeccable play from our Bills. What a weird sentence to write. It was the kind of win that binds us all together for our love of this stupid team, suggests we may have more that keeps us coming together than that forces us apart, and gives us some small hope for coming together and making the most of this shared world of ours, even if it seems impossible at present.

Sports, man. Maybe.

The Barrister, who isn't spending much time on this today

I despise being right. Particularly so when the manner in which I was right was the result of (a) self-protective pessimism (that shit actually does work no matter what Apologist says; PSA that he's a delightful idiot), and (b) everything that was supposed to be good about the godforsaken syrup-less pancakes of a Bills team was actually bad whilst the things that were supposed to be bad were actually completely decent. 

Losing a game like yesterday's - a game that was completely within reach due to a pretty poor opponent on the other side of the ball - is a thing that this particular football club does very well. Not just the football club owned by the Pegulas; the club in the midst of some big PR effort to convince the fans that the sale of the team acted as some sort of metaphysical squeegee, wiping the grime of the playoff drought from our collective dashboard; the club, that we're told, was resetting the Drought Clock to zero when Terry and Kim assumed full control, that made splashes with coaching hires and shake ups and all of it. Losing a game like they lost yesterday is quintessentially Bills, hearkening back to Gregggggg Williams and Jauron and Gailey and Marrone and, yes, everything we know about Rex Fucking Ryan. All the highly polished viral videos and memes and stellar tweets and hope and whatever else this team is selling cannot change the fact that the Buffalo Bills traveled to Baltimore and laid the same kind of turd they've been laying under every coach, every GM, and both owners since I was in college and drinking a volume of alcohol that ensured I wouldn't notice for a few years.

Make no mistake about it: the loss yesterday, the way they lost yesterday, puts a lie to everything we've been told for the last few months and, yes, since the Pegulas took over. 

Does that sound harsh? Good. 

Engendering hope among a fanbase is certainly part of the job of running a football team, and when you're looking at a 16 year shit sandwich that isn't even old enough to have watched MTV when it was still pretty ok, there's a portion of that hope-farming that will always be a risk. Talking meekly about your chances doesn't help put butts in the seats, and talking big about your chances risks that those seats will be chock-full of butts and assholes screaming for your head when that big talk blows up in your face. 

The Bills don't owe us anything, in any event. Their promises of wins and success and progress didn't form some sacred contract no matter how much we'd like to take their chump asses to court and air out the putrid crotch rot of their failures. That's not how this works, nor should it be. Thing is, neither do we owe them - not Rex not Sammy not Roman not Tyrod not Shady not Terry not Kim and certainly not Russ "Burns When He Pees" Brandon - the kind of allegiances that would be required to look at a game like yesterday and declare "it's just the first game, they have time to turn it around." It doesn't matter that the team is likable, it doesn't matter that there is talent arguably waiting to be uncorked and powerbombed onto the NFL. I mean, God bless you if that's where your head it at; I'm incredibly jealous and interested in the xanax you've been pilfering from [insert personal relationship here].

Of course they have time to turn it around. And of course I have a shot at sitting on the Supreme Court later in my career. Possibilities are just that, and they're not doing it for me anymore. I'm simply not there. "It's just the first game" implicitly disregards what this team has specifically shown us, both yesterday and myriad times prior, and from an outsider's perspective there's just no evidence that this particular club - these players, these coaches, these executives and managers - have the stuff to fix what ails it. 

Could I be wrong? Sure. Absolutely. I'd be thrilled if I turn out to be a ball of acid reflux and hyperbole (both true) that doesn't know shit about shit (likely true). I'd be thrilled to look back at this pessimism and laugh at how silly it all was because just around the corner was the Big Turnaround that we were all promised. Things change, and I'm only seeing the surface of the product; if this was just a bad game on the road to a winning season, great, sangrias for everyone. I'm the guy the kept forgetting the game was still happening every time I got up from my laptop to snag another beer and inevitably started chatting with the horde of Giants fans in my buddy's backyard; I have no claim to a higher plane of understanding on this, though if you need to discuss comparative religion or financial markets while watching me roll a cigarette, I got you. 

But, after watching the Bills' final drive, positioned to snatch a win against a Ravens team that had basically been a rotting drainpipe on offense for the entire game, only to see them fizzle in the exact same way as every team that's come before them? We really buying their hope this week? Get the fuck out of here. Sure, they'll snag some impressive wins and they might even do it soon. That's what they do in between shooting themselves in the foot for the millionth time. This team once again, directly and with blessed immediacy, made it impossible to view them through any lens than the same one we started using sometime between Music City and Sammy's drop. At a certain point this club has to stop simply restarting the Effort Train with moves that have amounted to little else than shuffling the chairs on the deck of the Titanic, only way sadder. At a certain point, who the fuck knows when, someone at this club has to make themselves accountable for the kinds of games like yesterday; games that reveal scant character among the players and the coaches, and leave fans marveling at the disconnect between ambition and production out of One Bills Drive. 

Games that all the PR in the world can't wipe clean. 
​

The Barrister

In the wake of such a joyous victory, it’s probably no surprise that it’s taken a little longer to get a recap up.  Words are simply insufficient to express the happiness with which I take every step throughout the Tri-State knowing that my beloved squad has vanquished such an annoying and petulant team from the nether regions of Douchebagistan, New Jersey.

Either that, or the Apologist offered to do the recap and then got burnt out by over-thinking it and now I am diligently picking up his fucking predictable slack.

Hashtag friendship.

That really was a great game. The first of its kind this year:  a convincing win by the Bills; the result never really in doubt beyond half time. Sure, many fans, including a few in my living room, expected the game to fall apart when the Jets finally put a touchdown on the board, but those efforts by Gangrene, excuse me Gang_Green, were woefully insufficient compared to the kind of day Buffalo was having. Fucking unreal, totally unexpected, and still has me tingling from head to toe a day and half later.

Bullet points await!!

I'm trying to fight the urge to simply write "What now, bitches?" as my recap for this week. Goddammit I really want to.

No for serious though, what the shit happened this afternoon? Who are these crazy bastards wearing the coolest uniforms in the league and scoring points like it's a GD Madden game on easy!?!?!? IS CHAN RUNNING THE ONE BUTTON OFFENSE ON ROOKIE DIFFICULTY!?!?! WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED OF THIS.

SEMI-COHERENT OBSERVATIONS FROM THE MATCH

- Same old same old reared her ugly head around 2 PM today, with the Bills down 14-0 and Brady marching again. Of course, Brady threw a perfect strike to his Yao Ming-sized Polish American Eagle (OLD FIRST WARD REFERENCE) Tight End. I can't figure out if Gronkowski's big day was because Belichick wants to stick it to us hard because he's a local boy/traitor (no) or he's an All-Pro Tight End who will terrorize us for years to come (yes).

- What is with the second half adjustments? I have a weird theory on this. I feel like the Bills come out with that old gray cloud of losing over their heads, what with a week of built up expectations, play tight, get weird, get blown out, then go back into the lockerroom and realize they are the "Why So Serious" Gang, make outlandishly awesome adjustments, and come out and play like Montana's 49ers. ANALYSIS. SPORTS. I AM GOOD AT THIS.

- God that crowd look fucking PUMPED today. So many awesome shots of overserved Buffalonians finally having their day (literally) in the sun. After the Food Truck disaster, Byron Brown branding himself into oblivion, and the realization that Winter is coming (WINTERFEEEEELLLLL), Buffalonians near and far needed the shit out of this. SIDENOTE: JAZZED IS NOT A WORD TO USE WHEN DESCRIBING AWESOMENITUDE, EVERYONE ON THE INTERNET I LIKE TO READ. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM USING THIS WORD, IT REMINDS ME OF THIS:

THINGS I ENJOYED DURING THE PROCEEDINGS:

- Hello, my name is Fred Jackson, and I am the best running back in the league. Fast Frederick ran circles around Belichick's porous defense, and it was fucking GREAT. That slant over the middle from Wizard Beard on the Mayo blitz at the end of the game was something we haven't seen out of a Bills QB/RB combo since Kelly/Thurmanator. BACK WHEN MEN WERE MEN AND ZUBAZ PANTS WERE CONSIDERED FORMAL WEAR THROUGHOUT WESTERN NEW YORK. Look it up, those of you born in the post Cold-War world.

- Ryan FitzBeard has that intangible every fired coach and washed up ex player on TV gets aroused by when being paid to analyze games for more money than I'll ever make in a lifetime: short term memory. Guy throws two picks, gets down by 3 TDs to insert-team-x-with-supposed-awesome-D-here and just goes out and plays like it's a fucking toss around with the slow kids taking a tour of the practice facility. SERIOUSLY WHAT SHELL SHOCKED BILLS QB OF THE LAST FIFTEEN YEARS WOULD THROW A SECOND HALF BOMB TO A WIDEOUT WHO DROPPED ELEVENTY BALLS IN THE FIRST HALF?!!? THE BEARD, THAT'S WHO. BECAUSE THE BEARD DOESN'T CARE. THE BEARD KNOWS THE LAW OF AVERAGES. BECAUSE THE BEARD WENT TO HAHV'D FAHCKIN YAHD.

- Bill Belichick is a fucking awesome coach. I hatelove him the most out of any football coach alive or dead. He has created a dynasty in New England by instilling a culture in a franchise that, excluding this decade, was as historically bad as the Bills. But what the hell was he doing at the end of the game? Originally I thought it was a brilliant mind game trying to delay the kick as much as possible, but then I realized he just lost organizational and schematic control towards the end. The burnt timeout? Ha! I can't believe it! We got the Hoodie to fuck up! Beauteous. (that word looks spelled wrong but it isn't. I lost a spelling bee final to a kid in 7th grade to that word and it still chaps my ass today. IT SHOULD BE BEAUTIOUS, WEBSTER. FUCK YOURSELF.)

- I love the George Wilson pick, because it was a total adjustment pick. Gronkowski was running the inside routes all day with tremendous success. Wilson realized Brady had only two guys he could trust with the game on the line, and he picked the right guy. By dragging on the route, he allowed his height to dictate the pick. Being a former wideout, it was like Brady teardropped the ball right into his hands. BEHIND THE BACK INTERCEPTIONS IN THE RED ZONE REQUIRE TECHNIQUE, POSITIONING, AND AN UNDERSTANDING OF FOOTBALL. ALL THINGS DONTE WHITNER NEITHER HAS NOR CAN SPELL.

FINAL THOUGHT:

I still don't know what the shit happened today with that football squad. I seriously feel like I'm walking on a dream. WHICH LEADS ME TO A GREAT SEGUE INTO A HIPSTER JAM THAT WILL MAKE YOU PUT ON YOUR SKINNY JEANS AND YOUR CHECKERED KEDS/VANS AND DANCE THE JIG I WAS DANCING IN MY BUFFAKLYN BACKYARD WITH APS AND BARRISTER TODAY. DANCE THE SHIT OUT AND BRING ON THE BENGALS.

CREEPY VIDEO/AWESOME SONG.