Monday, February 2, 2015
Posted by el duque at 8:01 AM
Worst. Call. Ever.
Neville Chamberlain... George Custer... that Italian cruise ship captain who steered too close to shore... Pete Carroll.
You half-expected to see Tom "Coach for Life" Coughlin on the sidelines, angling his reddening cheeks toward the heavens and begging for a bullet. That call was 2,000 years of rectal itch parasites, or the entire history of the New York Knicks - minus Willis Reed - rolled into one glorious fattie and smoked in 20 seconds. That call was George W. Bush on the aircraft carrier, General Cornwallis on his horse, and George Steinbrenner signing Kei Igawa. God, I feel sorry for Seattle fans today. That call must have been like finding out the girl in "The Crying Game" is a man.
That's gotta be a 500-years-in-exile type of call. On the day Pete Carroll dies - say, April Fool's Day of 2035 - everybody will be shaking their heads and still wondering WTF?
It deserves a jazzy name. For now, it's merely... "The Call," like old Joe Piscarcik's "The Fumble." It needs something spicy: Pete's Retreat. The Seahawk Sleepwalk. Carroll's Carnage.
Man, I'm so glad the Giants sucked these last few years and didn't make the playoffs. At least, I don't have to walk around the rest of my life, muttering about that call. What a Buckner.