Wow, you guys are nice. I've gotten several letters in the past few hours asking why my shades and smirk were removed from TBO.com. It was over the article below. Apparently people at TBO.com were worried that this story would rub the Buccaneers the wrong way and cause them to deny their affiliate orgainzations (Tampa Tribune, Channel 8, etc.) access. TBO.com removed the post from their site, but after it turned up on this site (yeah... I kind of forgot to remove it last night), someone got in trouble and thought it would be best to sever ties with me. Such is the life of a dangerous subversive.

The funny thing is that I took shots at the beloved Tony Dungy, told more than one legendary veteran that he should retire, and wrote a story where Chris Simms strangled Jeff Garcia... but this silly little story is what couldn't be tolerated. I thought it was cute. I have asked impartial parties about it and some of them did confess that if they didn't know me, they would think I was taking swipes at the team. Ok, that's fair. Maybe my tone could have been more satirical. I just think that if I need to ring a cowbell to let you know it's time to laugh, the joke probably isn't funny enough on its own.

Anyway, judge for yourself. TBO.com actually questioned my fandom as a result of this post, which is ridiculous. I kid because I love. I should also make clear, just to be safe, that I do not represent TBO.com in any way, nor did my opinions ever reflect those of their organization.

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My [Tampa Bay media organization] Credentials Are Worth Precisely Jack

I took my annual pilgrimage to Tampa this week to visit various friends and family in the area. It was my first trip there since the new Buccaneers offices opened up, and I was excited to take a look at the facility. I realized I wouldn't get the full VIP treatment, but as a regular contributor of Bucs material on [some Tampa Bay web site], I felt I was at least as important as the several "legitimate" news vehicles that were being waved in with a smile.

Here's a nice photo of the front of the building, with the large steel and glass football, the logo flags fluttering in the breeze and even red and pewter bricks leading to the entrance.

Pretty nice, eh? That photo, unfortunately, is not representative of my actual view of the facility. Here's one that tells more of my story:

See, I drove to the front gate where a nice gentleman named Hernando told me that the building was not open to the public. Well, of course I knew that. It's a business, after all. The Glazers can't have just anybody traipsing through their offices snapping pictures. But I was with a [media outlet]! Kind of. I don't have any fancy ID or credentials or... well, anything, really. But nevertheless, I have devoted tens of thousands of words to his employer and thought I at least deserved a look. I promised to only take a minute and I wouldn't get in anybody's way.

Hernando said no to me again. Me! Could it be that he didn't know who I was?

Wait! That's it! I wasn't wearing the shades. There's no way he would recognize me without my trademark "I'm either a jackass or drunk" shades. I dug them out of the car and opened my arms in the universal "How you like me now?" pose. Of course he'd let me in now. I'd probably even get a tour from Jon Gruden himself, who would apologize to me personally for a 4-12 season (but who would somehow remain indignant that he made the right decision by passing on every down against the Giants.)

Hernando - I still can't believe this. Hernando said nothing, but wagged his finger at me.

I don't know if he wouldn't let me in because I wasn't important enough, or if he wouldn't let me in because Derrick Brooks sent my photo to Hernando with a note that said, "Do not let this man in the building. Shooting him isn't a bad idea, either." There were lots of little photos and notes taped to Hernando's security console. It's not a stretch to think that I made a black list of some sort over the last nine months.

It was obvious that I wasn't going to get any closer to the building than the front gate. I wasn't alone, either. Two local children were struggling mightily but fruitlessly against the gate in a defiant effort to get inside and see their favorite players.

The older one told me they were only there because they had a baseball game the next day and they heard that rubbing Ronde Barber's head brings good luck. I pictured Bruce Allen in his secret, hidden office at the top of the football with his finger hovering over a large, red button waiting for the most dramatic time to press it and release the hounds Monty Burns-style to drive us away. Could the Buccaneers really be so cold and uncaring to some of their most devoted fans?

Turns out, yes. Yes they could. The boys and I turned away defeated, consoling each other that "It doesn't look that nice anyway" and "Where are the rats and raccoons supposed to live now?" We went our separate ways, I got back in my car and drove away, passing news trucks from Fox and Channel 9 that were cheerfully waved through moments later.