Colts Offense Goes Commando In Loss

AnvilLife is withering away and coldness reigns as darkness suffocates the entire Northern Hemisphere for the next several months … but, hey, enough about the 2022 Colts! As the calendar turns to November, it’s pretty obvious to see that Indy is going nowhere, a realization further hammered home by yesterday’s 17-16 loss to the marvelously mediocre Commanders. For the seventh time in eight weeks, the Colts failed to break the 21-point mark. For the seventh time in eight weeks, that same offense committed multiple, critical, game-changing–type turnovers. And, if you’re anything like me, for the seventh time in eight weeks, you looked around while watching that game on Sunday and thought to yourself, What the hell am I doing here? Why am I watching this? Who else would voluntarily watch these two teams?

How ‘bout it, Nate? Do you feel the uncaring darkness enveloping your entire soul, too?

MILLER: Hoooo boy do I ever LOL!! Finally we’re getting down to some REAL brass tacks around here instead of whatever boring nonsense we’re always blathering on–

SCHULTZ: –because of the Colts, I mean. The Colts.

MILLER: Oh. Then no. I’m not a lunatic, Derek. I’m just a frenzied chaos-wrangler teetering on the brink of insanity—and my knees always hurt and the car seat always needs moved, somehow—so if it doesn’t involve me driving to Paoli or wherever to drop someone off/pick someone up, then I am all for it. I. AM. #DADSTRONG. As such, this particular Colts team suits me just fine.

SCHULTZ: We haven’t even gotten to Sam Ehlinger yet …

MILLER: Sam’s The Man™! And if he’s not officially The Man™ of the future, then that’s fine, too. There are a million different reasons for why this is, but none of them really matter here. What matters most is this:

With the benching of Matt Ryan, the Colts have acknowledged reality. They’ve modernized. Put it this way: the Colts have stopped handing out bullshit Necco Wafers, mini Mounds Bars, Whoppers, Sugar Daddies, razor blades, and Good & Plenty boxes to us trick-or-treating fans. Instead, with the unleashing of Sam Ehlinger, they’re now in the kick-ass world of Nerd Clusters, Jolly Rancher Very Berry Gummies, THC gummies, Starburst ropes, and the endless other possibilities that come with a mobile quarterback.

The days of a Matt Ryan–type statue passer are gone, is what I’m getting at. And good riddance! That ineffectual style is a triple-option running attack wrapped in a cigarette wrapped inside a TV Guide with Barry Corbin on the cover.

SCHULTZ: I could go for a cigarette (smoke-free since Peyton’s third neck surgery in 2011, which turns out was a really bad time to stop smoking). Sam Ehlinger is … well, he’s different, and in a near-decade-long span where the Colts have been the same middling team, different is good! He at least looked like he belonged on the field yesterday, which is probably about all you could’ve asked for when it comes to a guy who we weren’t sure was worthy of a roster spot two months ago. I don’t think Ehlinger is the future franchise quarterback, nor am I certain he’s anything more than a backup-caliber player, but he’s a reason to watch this team and there are fewer and fewer of those as each week passes.  

MILLER: You see, the Colts are playing with house money now, Derek. Dirty, blood-soaked house money that came at great physical and psychological cost … but house money nonetheless. House money is FREE money, Derek! I like that price. Good return on investment, this team. And besides: They can’t hurt me anymore. 

SCHULTZ: “House money” implies that the Colts have something in their pocket, yet they seem totally broke right now. But, to your point, they can’t hurt anyone anymore, which is probably the best thing you can say about a season that seems to be going nowhere and hasn’t even reached the halfway point.

Regardless, we’ll still be here next week to talk about Colts-Patriots—hey, remember when that was a thing?!—and continue to search for reasons to be optimistic about the Colts’ future. For now, let the darkness take over. Oh, and pass the fentanyl-laced Smarties, please.