I told you so.

Sort of.

I knew the Lions weren’t the 39 year old bar maid / last call Mattress Mary that everyone thought they were.

You WISH Mattress Mary looked like this.  So do I, frankly.

They gave the Bears, who as I write this are being exposed by the Giants as the mid-level ball club they really are, a fight right to the end, and if Calvin Johnson had just finished his “process,” the Bears wouldn’t be undefeated.

The Lions aren’t who we thought they were. Sure, in a few weeks, after a few more tough losses, they’ll probably mentally pack it in and start giving it up like a good Mattress Mary should.

But not today.

Some quick hitters from the game, then I need to go. You see, I celebrated my birthday recently and I’m still owed a little something-something. Honey? You readin’ this?

Anyway. My thoughts from the game:

The Lions seemed to understand that the Packers D line and LBs in Capers’ scheme have a bloodlust for quarterbacks. And the Lions stretching a red velvet rope across their offensive line like a bouncer at a popular club just doesn’t seem to slow down a rush like they hoped it would.

So they used that weakness to create a strength.

The Packers got through early and often. And when they did there seemed to always be someone open just past the Packer rush that was able to take a quick pass and dart upfield for a dozen.

The net? 300+ yards in passing and 100+ yards on the ground (40 of that coming on a Shaun Hill scramble for 40 yards).

When I talk about the Packers’ special teams, I’m talking about special in that way you talk about the poor kid with the goofy grin that gets a medal for trundling 100 yards in 37 seconds flat.

Jordy Nelson‘s developing a reputation for pigskin regurgitation.

I could punt as well as Tim Masthay. No, seriously. I could. I’ve just got this knee thing and I’ve been practicing with the high school team, but I’m not sure I want to come out of retirement, even though I’ve sent text messages saying I’m ready to play. I guess I’m waiting for a planeload of Packers to come over to my house and carry me on their shoulders into Lambeau to try to convince me to play.

I don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to wonder if coach Mike McCarthy has to do a Stuart Smalley-like daily affirmation to get even him to buy some of the bullshit he’s been peddling.

“Our run game’s good enough, our special teams’ coach is smart enough, and doggonnit, people like my cross-eyed denial of the obvious.”

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