Alright, fine. Remember all that stuff I said last week? Yeah, screw all that. I don't know what the hell got into me. Our friend Angry Who Dat has a few thoughts on it, as does Flynn.

They're both 100% right, of course. And it's that kind of attitude that we here at moosedenied have prided ourselves on carrying around with us on a daily basis lo these last 6+ years. Life is a terminal disease, and while in the back of our minds we all know that sooner or later the other shoe will inevitably drop, that's no reason to be a simpering douchebag about it in the meantime. Because it damn sure ain't happening today. Not when there's so much cooking still to be done. Success to be achieved. Jerks to stick it to. Not sure when or why I lost track of that, but a big high five to AWD for bringing a little of that much-needed crystal blue persuasion and snapping me out of my apparent offseason funk. You, sir, are my very own Saul Goodman. S'all good, man. The sun is a-risin', most definitely.

Coach Payton's personal rebuttal to our last post didn't hurt either:

Sean Payton: Hey Wang…  Say my name.

Hell yeah, Coach Badass! Please forgive my momentary crisis of confidence, sir. I'm over it. Promise. Now if you don't mind, I'll just back away slowly and let you get on with setting the 2013 Sean Payton Revenge Tour into motion. Because that's just far too awesome a thing to not happen, right?

Seriously, I don't know what I was thinking. Clearly, this thing will be over when Mickey Loomis, Sean Payton and Drew Brees say it's over. And not one goddamn minute sooner.

Meantime, if last year didn't blow up the whole operation and leave everyone involved lying dead in the street and/or ass-up in a prison cell, I can't imagine what could possibly cause that to happen now or any time in the near future. Between Roger and Spagnuolo, 2012 was The Perfect Shitstorm. And by all rights, it should have been the death blow. That they not only survived it, but are still in business, is why no amount of confidence going forward could possibly be too much.

And now, it's time to go full-Heisenberg. And to do what Heisenberg does, which is to figure out a way to wiggle out of the mess and regain the upper hand. To eliminate any and all obstacles standing in the way of the ultimate goal. Mercilessly, and without compunction.

Those have always been some of Sean Payton's greatest assets. His uncommon ability to solve problems. The knack for turning a disadvantage into an advantage. The steadfast refusal to ever accept that you're simply fucked, despite all indications, and to figure out a way. The borderline-obsessive attention to every last motherfucking detail. The unflinching insistence that failure is not an option. The willingness to be a total heartless bastard when the situation demands it. The ability to suppress any semblance of fear or doubt when the chips are down.

And of course, that ever-present chip on his shoulder. No apologies. Ever.

All those things were conspicuously missing last year, and as we all eventually found out, there ain't no faking it. The chemistry just wasn't right. Pinkman can cook like a son of a bitch, but there's a limit to how much success you can have slinging chili-p with a couple of two-bit pushers like Badger and Skinny Pete. For all Pinkman's cooking talent, he was just never gonna get very far without Mr. White (the master chemist, and the mastermind.) Same for Drew last year. There was only so much he could do with Kromer and Spags staring blankly back at him and mumbling about magic wands and pixie dust and shit.

Just like Pinkman and Mr. White need each other in order to reach their full potential, so do Drew and Coach Payton. But together, they have the hands-down best product on the market (yes, still, at least offensively) and the ability to produce an absolute shitload of it. As much as they need. They have the craftiness to stay one step ahead of their enemies, and when things do get touch-and-go, the creativity to find solutions for getting themselves out of tight spots. And perhaps most importantly, they have the cold-blooded ruthlessness and killer instinct to see to it that nothing and no one stands in the way of the job getting done.

The result? Fat stacks, yo. Every time.

And yet, we've discovered over the last "two years" that Walter White is about 100 times more effective, more dangerous, when he embraces that alter-ego and goes full-Heisenberg with it. It's that simmering general-purpose rage towards the world, not to mention the laundry list of specific axes to grind and assholes to stick it to, that gives him that "edge." And that's when shit gets real, and you know somebody's about to get straight fucked. Somebody else, that is.

I suspect that we're about to see something similar from Coach Payton. He can deny it all he wants (and he's smart to do that) but you and I know damn well that after all the bullshit last year, he sure as hell has axes to grind. You know he wants to prove not only that he ain't dead yet, but that he hasn't even been tamed. To the contrary, it's emboldened him. Strengthened his resolve. Given him all kinds of new motivation. A new sense of purpose. Angry purpose.

Fuck you, Bogdan Roger. Fuck you, and your eyebrows. Wipe down this!

I refuse to accept the notion that that particular element just isn't there going into 2013, no matter how much everybody at Airline insists it's not. Because it just has to be. I refuse to believe that a guy who carries a perpetual chip on his shoulder is just gonna "move on" and forget about how badly he got screwed — SCREWED! — and just let it go. Not the guy who mercilessly destroyed his own mentor in his own house back in 2006 just to show the world that he could. Not the guy who whips out his proverbial dong right there on the sideline and wiggles it in some chump's face just because he can. Not that guy. Not the NFL's very own Heisenberg.

He can say "it's over" all he wants, but when it's really over, we're not gonna have to just take his word for it. We'll know. There won't be any mistaking it. It'll be right around the time we hear him matter-of-factly state "I won." You know, just for the record. Then we can all finally move on for good. And not a goddamn minute sooner.

Until then… we are the danger. We are the ones who knock.

Because there's nothing more dangerous than a badass who feels as if he's been screwed, who's been to the abyss and lived to tell the tale, and now has a score or ten to settle. It's not quite "nothing to lose" but it's pretty close. Especially for a guy who's not exactly risk-averse in the first place.

And because it ain't just Coach Heisenberg with a chip on his shoulder right about now. There's also a certain big fat hawaiian shirt wearing party animal who's clearly still juuuust a bit pissed off about having been thrown under the bus back in Dallas. And all indications so far are that, if nothing else, he's at least got balls enough to own it. I've got a hunch that we don't have to worry about this guy whining about not having a magic wand and publicly throwing his hands in the air because he's not used to having players who suck quite this much ass, or whatever. Even if he wanted to, that kind of shit don't fly around here. Not anymore. Not with The Boss back in the building.

But preliminary indications seem to suggest that all that douchespaggery last year was little more than a chump making excuses, no? Sure, many of us bought into it at the time because of Spags's so-called "track record" (nevermind that it consists of precisely one line item.) And, well, just look at what's happening on the field, right? Surely this experienced and "accomplished" defensive coach knows what he's talking about, and isn't just feeding us a line of bullshit in an effort to cover his own ass. Spags is right, these guys just blow!

Bullshit. Always was. Don't believe me, just ask Coach Heisenberg. He saw through it, and deep down most of us probably saw through it as well, whether or not we cared to admit it at the time. Spags was a fraud. Full stop. Simple as that, no qualifiers necessary. Jesse got more production out of Badger and Skinny Pete, for crying out loud!

And hey, worst case scenario, maybe this defense really is little more than a bunch of Badgers and Skinny Petes right at the moment. But given halfway-competent management, those guys are capable of earning. They've proven it. At least to a degree. Sure, they're no Madrigal Elektromotoren, but really, "how big does this pile need to be?"

The correct answer, of course, is "As big as it is when I'm goddamn well satisfied. No smaller than that." Am I right, Coach?

But in the meantime, it'll have to do. And it'll do just fine, because anything less will no longer be tolerated. Believe that. And god help 'em all if there's a Mike Ehrmantraut or two in this bunch. Hell, I'll settle for a couple of Ricky Hitlers.

So yeah, for whatever it's worth, I'm in. All in, as always. No half-measures. This thing is happening. Because it has to.

It just has to.

And it's gonna be big fun. Big huge incredibly profitable fun. Yeah, science!





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