No offense, but there is no offense in town

SHELTON E-mail: Click here Archive

© St. Petersburg Times
published December 23, 2001

TAMPA -- Let's see. The directions say to go north on I-275. I did that.

Man, I hate being lost. Are you sure we're supposed to take a left on Dale Mabry? A left? Was I supposed to turn left on Spruce? Airplanes? Why are there airplanes ahead?

Ask? I hate to ask people for directions. All right, just this once. Excuse me, sir?

Which way to the end zone?

It is a silly question, of course, because odds are you live in Tampa Bay. And in Tampa Bay, nobody knows the way to the end zone.

Oh, you hear people talk about it, the way they talk about Oz and Narnia and Shangri-la and all those other pieces of property at the Fantasy Real Estate Company. But do you know anyone who has actually been there? Do you know anyone who has actually seen it?

There are a lot of things to do in Tampa Bay. Here is something you can't: Score. You cannot get there from here.

This is not just true in football. Our forces are repelled by whatever goals in whatever sports you watch. Nobody scores here. It's a wonder we have a birth rate at all.

Our end zones are unchartered territories. The nets on our goals are woven from virgin wool. You know the saying, "You can't go home again"? It was invented by the Rays. If they had hidden the Holy Grail on home plate, Indiana Jones couldn't have found it.

The point is this:

As a community, we're pointless.

This is our history, our destiny, our identity. Every now and then, we see a good team with a plucky defense. But teams in this town never have an offense. Town ordinance: There is no razzling allowed, and we would not be caught dead dazzling.

If you are the Saints, who come into RayJay today, you know this. You can win with 13. You can be accused of running up the score at 16.

It has always been this way. Legend has it that Ponce de Leon arrived in Florida, took an arrow in the ribs and immediately fired his offensive coordinator. Remember back when John McKay wanted to execute his offense? We didn't know he was talking about the concept.

Other teams have fireworks; we're 11 kids sharing a sparkler. Other towns spin scoreboards like they're playing pinball; we're still trying to figure out Pong. Someone forgot to pay the power bill ... for a quarter of a century.

It is possible, or so you hear, to lose 38-35. That has never been the plan around here. It's rare when a fan describes a touchdown. It's rarer when his buddy asks, "Which one?"

The prime example, of course, is the Bucs, still wandering aimlessly about, and still doing it slowly. The team seems to have one play, a medium-range pass from this Johnson to that one. It's a wonder opponents don't cover Keyshawn with eight players and just dedicate the other three to stopping everything else. Or maybe it should be nine and two.

It has been this way since that very first season, when Steve Spurrier whipped seven -- count 'em, seven -- touchdown passes. Since then, the Bucs have had 23 quarterbacks, including some who would grow up to be something fine, and the team record for touchdown passes remains 23. Whee.

In 26 seasons, the Bucs have been 20th or lower in total offense 19 times. They have 20 seasons of fewer than 300 points. Only once in the past 11 seasons have they converted as many as 40 percent of their third downs.

Consider this: In the biggest two games of their history, two NFC title games, the Bucs have a total of six points. In their past two playoff games, nine.

Are these guys a thrill ride, or what?

The offensive frustration around here is mainly about the Bucs, but it isn't just about the Bucs. Heck, the other teams aren't scoring, either. Every goal is a forbidden zone protected by a force field. If we had a debate team, it would make pointless statements.

Go back to Oct. 7, one of those rare dates when all three teams played on the same day. The Rays were shut out. The Lightning was shut out. The Bucs scored one offensive touchdown in a 14-10 victory over Green Bay.

Somehow, the TV stations managed to cram in all the highlights.

Around here, the football team does not draw penalties from its end zone dances. Around here, we curse the darkness rather than light the lamp. Around here, we do not hit it over the fence. Our athletes do not lead the league in scoring or rushing or passing or homers. Spiders nest in our scoreboards.

Town motto: Bet the under.

Remember the Devil Rays' Hit Show? The only thing that got hit was Vince's wallet. In each of its four years, the Rays have been below the American League average in hitting. Three of the four years, they've ranked 20th or lower in the majors. Power? In four seasons, the Rays have been 29th, 28th, 24th and 30th in homers. But next year, they might be better. Contraction, you know.

Then there is the Lightning, currently on a hot streak with eight goals in its past two games. Don't fool yourself. With the Lightning, opposing teams have always fought the urge to pull goalies for periods at a time. Little known fact: Thomas Edison's original light bulb burns over the opposition net at the Ice Palace.

In this, its 10th season, the Lightning is next to last in the league in scoring. That's familiar ground. In its previous nine seasons, the Lightning has finished 20th or below eight times. In 1997-98, Tampa Bay was dead last ... 41 goals behind the next-to-last-place team.

The Lightning never has had a 100-point scorer, and has had only one player score a point per game. It has had one 40-goal scorer.

Why is it? Who knows? Maybe it is our dirt, which does not pay. Maybe it's the water, what little of it there is. Maybe it's some sort of cosmic force.

In the end, there is but one conclusion. Offense is cursed around here.

Regularly.

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