The long offseason begins. Seeing Russell Wilson and the Seahawks discover Sunday that they were not an invincible force was a pleasant send off to the 2014 year. There’s nothing sweeter than seeing a bunch of crass and arrogant blowhards get their butts handed to them.
The pleasure will be brief, however, because the focus now turns to our own franchise. And by any measure of intelligent observation, the 49ers new coaching staff is vastly inferior to the old coaching staff. In both talent, cohesion, and any record of previous success in the NFL. Unless we all somehow witness The Miracle on Centennial Blvd. this coming year, there’s no way the team will unseat Seattle for the Division crown, and it’s highly unlikely they’ll find a way to crawl into the playoffs as a wild card, either. Indeed, even a winning record seems dubious.
Some people seem to think throwing away a year is an acceptable price to pay in order to be rid of Greg Roman and/or Jim Harbaugh, the architects of the only success this franchise has had this century. I don’t quite follow that logic. What fan can truly be happy with what’s likely to be a crappy season of football in 2015? Being frustrated with one aspect of a team should never outweigh what the team accomplishes as a whole.
But the real concern is the future beyond this coming season. What Jed York and Trent Baalke exhibited in January was a clueless, inept, dog-and-pony show that failed miserably to attract any of the half decent coaches they purportedly wooed. Most NFL observers think the 49ers are a mess, and a stumblebum season will only cement that assessment. In addition, the league’s coaches noticed the incredibly shoddy treatment of Harbaugh, a guy who had done wonders for the franchise.
All of which means that attracting another great head coach like Harbaugh is going to be a long time coming. If ever. When he chose to take the job, York and Baalke practically wet their pants in jubilation. But they couldn’t handle him getting all of the credit. Especially now. Especially York.
2014 was the year York wanted the spotlight to shine directly on him and his new stadium. He wants it even more so in 2015, as the stadium prepares to host the 2015 Super Bowl next February. York doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about me. Or the team. Or the coaches. Right now, he only cares about impressing that exclusive little club of 32 billionaires making millions of dollars off all of us. He wants to be a big shot in that group, envisioning himself as a next generation Art Rooney or Robert Craft. In reality, he’s a lot more like the meddling moron Jerry Jones — a guy who values the dollar far more than the on field product. A guy who demands the spotlight.
Jim Tomsula is a Cowboys kind of HC. Subservient, grateful, kneeling before the throne whenever the owner beckons. A guy who can be discarded whenever a scapegoat is needed and replaced by another bobble head without the slightest ripple or improvement in the team’s operations.
If York was on drugs, he’d be Jim Irsay, with his mindless tweets and team assessments. Instead, he’s just a clueless, round-faced dipwad. Get ready to see York sitting next to Baalke in the draft room, making suggestions and trying to look significant. It’s coming soon to your local nightmare.