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TAMPA - Friends, family, loved ones.
We are gathered here today to bury a season. May it rest in peace.
At a time such as this, it is natural for us to search for answers. Who among us knows the master plan? Who can figure out why a season so young, only 10 games old, came to such a harsh and untimely end? Who can justify such a loss of promise?
No one knows. All we know is the Bucs died Sunday. Call the undertaker. Break out the black arm bands. Start shoveling dirt.
The Bucs' record now is 4-and-6-feet-under.
From here, they do not dig their way out.
I know, I know. It is hard to accept loss, even when the season we have witnessed has trained us for it. Even now, there are those among you who want to hold out hope. You are the ones who have seen The Princess Bride one time too many, and you wish to think of this team as only mostly dead. I'm sorry to tell you this, but there is no pulse.
This team is deader than Caesar. This team is deader than Shakespeare. This team is deader than David Lee Roth's career.
You know that rock the Bucs used to pound? Carve an epitaph on it. Try this one: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Ten games old, and the year's a bust.
It is true, of course, that seasons in the NFL have a survival instinct. So many times during the '90s, followers of the Bucs would see their team stumble to a 3-4 beginning, then right itself in time to make a run at the playoffs.
This isn't one of those years. This time, it's over. Lazarus couldn't come back from here.
What can you say about a season that died? To tell the truth, the Bucs have been walking toward the light for most the season. Three games ago, they were average and, in the time since, they have moved to a lesser neighborhood. They're having the season the Bengals left behind.
The sad fact is the Bucs have played as if, no matter what the scoreboard said, no matter how the standings read, they could change things simply by flashing their rings and flipping on a switch. They seem to enter in a funk and leave in a fog and, in between, their ability fades in and out, and it never seems to hang around for when they need it most. They are great for only moments at a time, long enough to tease you, then it is gone.
How could the season die? Better to ask how interested it was in living? Every game has been the same. The Bucs have entered listless, almost disinterested, and in almost every game, they have fallen behind. To Carolina. To Washington. To New Orleans. To San Francisco. To Carolina again. To Green Bay. Usually, they have gathered themselves enough to make it close, but in the end, they have fallen, again and again.
The defense is playing on fading reputation. The offensive line is a shambles. The kicking game may be the worst the NFL has seen in a decade.
Tell me again, brethren. Are we sure this team won the Super Bowl last season?
At the risk of speaking ill of the dearly departed, the memories have begun to fade.
Are we sure it wasn't a mass hallucination? Are we absolutely sure that wasn't another UFO sighting, another doctored Elvis photo, another shot of Sasquatch at the goal line? There are those who doubt the lunar landing. Maybe there are those who will say the Bucs never won at all.
Where is the evidence? How could this wretched offensive line have gathered itself for a playoff run? How could the kicking teams, which give up about 100 yards of field position every game, have measured up? Did the defense really shut any doors? You wouldn't know it from what we have seen of this season.
Coach Jon Gruden apologized to the fans Sunday. As well he should have.
If you're going to eulogize this season, you have to say the coaching hasn't been as sharp, either. Last season, Gruden seemed to have all the answers. This season, there are too many penalties, too many turnovers, too many questions about clock management.
Somewhere along the line, the Bucs seem to have tuned out Gruden, too. A year ago, every word he said seemed to turn up the energy in the locker room, and every speech he gave left hearts racing. Gruden would talk, and the Bucs would be ready to play, right then, right there.
Last week, Gruden moved his rock to the middle of the dressing room. He showed them a tape with clips of Reggie Jackson hitting a home run, of Michael Jordan hitting a winning shot, of Kirk Gibson and Tiger Woods and Larry Bird and their heroics.
Still, the Bucs came out Sunday with all the fire of a guy sleepwalking down the hall.
The most baffling thing about this season is how the Bucs lack crispness, cohesion. They don't have the same energy, the same edge. How can so many talented players keep it so well hidden? How can a team that needs a game so desperately seem so disinterested by it?
Still, the Bucs talk bravely, as if the testament of a great team is how it responds from 4-6. (Hint: The testament of a great team is not getting to 4-6.) Every now and then, you could hear the word "playoffs" in the locker room on Sunday.
Oh, come on. At this point, the Bucs needed for Jim Mora to rush into the room and cry, "Playoffs? Playoffs?" Asking a team that has lost three in a row about the playoffs is like asking a man falling from a building how he likes the view. The Bucs are in third place in their division. Eleven teams in the NFC have won as many or more games than the Bucs.
So say your goodbyes. Keep the season, and all it could have been, in your hearts. It is gone. It is not forgotten. Goodbye, season. We hardly knew ye.