Teardrops Are Falling

2:39 to go, to survive, to hunker down, to lie back on their haunches and dig in deep. 2:39 to go for 19-0. Instead it’s 18 and no, Eli not Peyton, the smirking 72 Dolphins, Arlen Specter’s bony, pointy fingers, crybaby ex-Rams Kurt Warner and Mike Martz, a hangover for all the wrong reasons, failure rather than perfection, Plaxico getting away with his pre game prediction and scoring the winning TD, a dominant image of Strahan’s gap rather than Junior’s fisherman’s cap, Little General Coughlin one-upping Billy Sweatshirt, a gray New England Monday filled with listless traffic, idiotic day after radio patter, with a palatable vibe of depression and frustration filling the February air. 2:39 and nothing but choke.