This season is starting to feel like Titanic's maiden voyage. First four games we were sat in the luxury dining room in our best dinner jackets, smoking expensive cigars and laughing at the poor folks covered in sh*t down in steerage (i.e. the Jets).
Now we're all up on deck in our underwear, complaining about the cold and wondering why we're being told to put our life vests on.
I guess if we lose to Flacco on Sunday we'll be disguising ourselves as women in an effort to escape the sinking ship.