Charged up ... but I'm not watching

Maybe the pressure got them on Sept. 30.

With a sell out crowd and everyone from Bob Costas to the hooker on Van Buren Street in Phoenix who flashes her hoo-hoo at every passing driver while simultaneously pulling her found leaopard-print g-string out of her crack picking the Chargers to beat the K.C. Chefs in San Diego, the Bolts laid an egg the size of a hemorrhoid found on Rosie O'Donnell's ass.

31-16. SIXTEEN! At home, against an team that, through the first three weeks, scored a whopping 23 points. It was a pathetic display of football, and I've seen plenty of bad football - I've been a Charger fan since the 1981-82 season, it's doesn't take the dude from "A Beautiful Mind" to do the math here. Hell, I fully admit to joining the chorus of "Marty" chants near the end of the game before changing my tune and chanting "Ronny," the linebacker coach - Ron Rivera - who the Chargers landed after interviewing him for the head coaching spot that went to Nerv Turner.

I watched the first four games this season: the opener at home in full Charger gear (a win), the second at home in full Charger gear (an embarrasing loss to a cheat-free New England squad), the third at a "Charger bar" (a loss to Green friggin' Bay, which is not even close talent wise to the Chargers. Oh, and memo to other Phoenix Bolf fans, just because the bar franchise says its from San Diego doesn't make it a Charger bar since I was the only Bolt fan in the joint), and finished September with that razor-blade enema in San Diego.

After Week 3, I said I'd give Nerv the benefit of the doubt for six weeks. After Week 4, I vowed to not watch the Chargers the next week. No bar, no searching on the radio, no month-long Internet purchase. I might check on their progress, but I wasn't going to sit down and watch. That must have taken the pressure off.

The result: 41-3 Bolts, over the Donkeys, in Denver.

They never win in Denver. I wore my LT T-shirt and SD hat, but I didn't give the game half a glance. In fact, I took Wife to the movies during the first half. Why tempt myself, I figured, get out of the house and let the boys do the work stress free.

Rejuvenated, re-energized, re-invigorated with optimism I internally debated on whether to stop at a bar to catch the Bolts-Raiders yesterday. What could it hurt? The Raiders were not a "real" first place team and the Chargers were playing better based on last week's performance. Oh no, I told myself, we've seen this before. Just when they start playing well, the Bolts revert to form and find more ways to lose than the Arizona Cardinals.

So, I stayed away. Caught another movie ("3:10 to Yuma" is worth your $10, by-the-by) and wandered by the computer to check the Chargers progress around 3 p.m. By that point, the score was 21-7 and the Chargers were playing like the Chargers we've come to expect.

What I didn't know is that I wield so much power. Word gets back to LT and Phillip and Gatesyand Shawne and Shaun that I'm not looking and they start playing like Superbowl champs. I start watching and they clench up tighter 16-year-old virgin boy about to lose his flower (not speaking from experience, really, I'm not, really, really, really). So, where does that leave me? The Chargers are my outlet for the winter. If I can't watch them on Sundays, that will leave me with afternoons of Lifetime channel movies and honestly, I'd rather skewer my eyeballs, roast 'em over the grill and douse them with Tabasco than watch Meredith Baxter Birney and Tracy Gold weep their way through two hours of melodrama. Either that or I watch extreme kickball on ESPN 8 "the Ocho." That's doable, I suppose.

Then again, if that's what it takes for the Bolts to bring home a title, maybe I should suck it up and stay away. "If you love something set it free," that's what my Pop said as I left for college. Maybe I should let the Bolts go free. That would be fair for the rest of Charger fans, who the players obviously don't care about because they don't freeze up like Angela's cat (if you don't know that reference, start watching The Office NOW! No excuses! If you don't have a TV, I'll come to your house and act out all the parts because this show is that important to pop culture ... and then I'll steal your valuable and rape your cat inside your home). They played hard and smart yesterday, for 60-something-thousand fans and umpteen thousands on television, but one of which was not me. I was the difference. I am the reason for the win (cue the evil laugh).

There's precedence for such extreme measures. Last year (2006), I proclaimed the Dodgers dead in late July and didn't watch for a week. They started a stretch where they won 16 of their next 17 and went on to earn a wild card berth in the playoffs (they finished tied for first with the Padres). I take credit for that late season Charge. Of course, I tried that this year and where did it land me? Gnashing my teeth as I watch two fellow N.L. West squads squaring off in the National League Championship Series.

As fortune has it, they have a bye week Sunday, so this "what is best for the group?" question won't plague me. After that I could foresee the next few games being on television out this way (Houston, Minnesota and Indianapolis). I just hope there are reruns of "The Cosby Show" or "Sanford and Son" on somewhere so I'm not subjected to MBB parading around the screen in a nighty that would look better on a 20-something-year-old Jessica Alba instead of the 50-something-year-old ma from "Family Ties."

Then again, I thought she was hot back then...