Guard your wallets and hide the jewelry. Cover your eyes and spare the children. Ask your waiter to dispose of the bones.
The defense of the Tampa Bay Bucs is on the prowl again and, from the looks of it, they're as vicious as ever. They still plunder, they still punish, they still pillage.
Also, they pluck.
Pity the poor Eagles. They built this nice new mansion, and guess who kicks down the door and crashes the homecoming party? Yep, it was the Bucs, who promptly stuck their flag in the middle of the field.
If you remember, it was the Bucs who shut down the old dump, Tetanus Stadium, in last year's NFC Championship Game. Now, one game in, and they've already marked their territory in the new joint. Try as they might, the Eagles are never going to get the stains out of the carpet.
Did you doubt them? Even a little?
Did you think they were getting old? Did you think they would grow complacent? Did you think two defections and an injury would affect them? Did you think last year was a career year?
Come on.
Haven't you been paying attention?
For 100 games now, for seven seasons, the Bucs have been a brutal, barbaric bunch. Ask yourself: Does a pit bull stop growling because he finally eats a steak? Does a lion catch one gazelle and then retire to the porch to brag about it? No. Because that's not what kind of animals they are.
This, then, is the kind of animals the Bucs' defenders are. This is their identity, their self-image. They are a prideful, swaggering bunch, fond of their reputations as something special, and it is difficult for them to imagine themselves as anything less than fierce.
To be honest, it should be hard for the rest of us, too.
The Bucs smothered the Eagles Monday night. They re-opened all those wounds from last season, and poured salt all over them. And they delivered a basic message to the rest of the league:
You want the trophy?
Come and get it.
But first, you have to go through the palace guard.
Granted, this was one game, and there is a long way to go and so on and so forth. Still, an opening-night performance such as this one is a warning shot. It lets the league know the Bucs are ready to defend. Look around. The challengers voted most likely in the preseason - St. Louis, Green Bay, Philly - are all 0-1. The Bucs are 1-0, and the chase is on.
This was one of the Bucs' most convincing arguments. They swarmed. They snapped. They snarled. And they seemed to agree on this about the Eagles. Mmm. Tastes like chicken.
Dare you think it? Could the Bucs defense be better than last year's that led the league in fewest points and fewest yards? Meaner? Crisper? Sharper? Derrick Brooks has suggested as much and, of course, you listen and you nod, because it's polite. But better?
After watching this, maybe Brooks is right.
Remember, Philly had been counting the days (seven months, two weeks, six days) since losing to the Bucs last year. Donovan McNabb was healthy. Andy Reid had learned his lesson about being conservative. The entire team, the entire city, was bent on revenge.
The result? For the first time in 80 games, the Eagles were shut out.
Consider: The Eagles' running backs carried 10 times, and they gained all of 19 yards; McNabb threw for only 148 yards, and 94 of those came on the last two drives when the fight was finished. Philly's best play was when McNabb would scramble (five runs for 55 yards), but even that wasn't much of a threat.
McNabb looked ordinary. Reid looked confused. The rest of the Eagles looked as if they were headed for the rotisserie.
The Bucs? They didn't look old.
They looked ripe.
Where do you start to praise this defense? With the shutout? With the goal-line stand? With Derrick Brooks turning Todd Pinkston into a human bobblehead? With Warren Sapp dragging down Donovan McNabb in the end zone? With Simeon Rice forcing another fumble? With John Lynch looking as if he had turned a year younger, not older?
How about with Nasty Nate Webster, the newcomer, playing the middle like Willie Lanier and talking like he was trying to get 15 seconds' worth of words into every 10 seconds? With Brian Kelly knocking passes away? With Booger McFarland caving in the Eagles' line from the interior?
Philadelphia spent most of Monday night running in place. The Eagles couldn't throw. They couldn't run. About the best thing you could say for Philly was this: The new seats in that stadium sure are shiny when they're emptied out halfway through the four quarter.
For the league, the message is this: The Bucs are still a day's work. They still come in waves. Their sight is that of sharpened teeth, and their sound is that of breaking bones, and their smell is that of napalm in the morning.
