The Reich stuff

Look at this crazy old man, coolin' out in the locker room while the kids egg him on. Don't sweat it, Frank Reich, they're laughing with you, not at you. Keep cuttin' that rug. Keep showin' off those old-school moves. Keep feelin' it while the media squares overthink it.

Because you know what?

Feelin' it's waaaay more fun.

So, yeah, there was Frank Reich, Rookie Head Coach, dancing into the divisional round of a playoff he and his Indianapolis Colts were never supposed to see. Remember that? Remember the media squares saying, yeah, these Colts, they've got some talent now, but it's greener than April grass, so don't expect much. They're still a year or two or three away.

This year?

Why, this year's a long look down the barrel of 6-10. Or 5-11. Hell, maybe 4-12, come to think of it.

And now?

Now you don't want to see them coming, if you're the Kansas City Chiefs.

Yes, the Chiefs, are the top seed in the AFC, and, yes, they've got Patrick Mahomes and Tyreek Hill and a bunch of other scary dudes. And, yes, they get these young rambunctious Colts in the red-mad caldron of Arrowhead Stadium, one of the great home fields in pro football.

But did you see what the Young Rambunctions did in Houston yesterday?

Shut the Texans right up, is what they did. Sacked and harassed and hurried Deshaun Watson, allowed the home team into the red zone just twice, beat 'em up physically on the offensive side of the football, where Marlon Mack rumbled for 148 yards and Andrew Luck did his usual Andrew Luck things. Shut out a football team that had won 11 of its last 13 games for better than three quarters, in that football team's home yard.

The final was 21-7, and cut to Reich, a literal graybeard, dancing with his guys in the locker room. A lot of pieces coalesced this season to lead to that moment, but it begins with Reich. Everyone talks all the time about how important instilling a definable culture is to a team's success, and Reich has instilled one. Trite as it is to say, it's mostly about making football fun again. And if that is anathema in what is accurately described as the No Fun League, it is undeniably working.

Even when, you know, it doesn't.

This wild-card game with the Texans last night, for instance: You couldn't help but cast back to the first meeting between these two teams in Indianapolis, when Reich went for it on fourth down, failed and opened the door for the Texans to win in overtime. The media squares shook their heads mournfully and said, rookie mistake. Shoulda played it safe. Could have cost the Colts a shot at the playoffs, because every win is precious in the NFL and you don't just throw one away with reckless bravado.

And yet ...

And yet, that was the moment when Reich put his stamp on this team. That was the moment that defined the culture he was trying to create. And so cut to Saturday night, when the Colts who are now firmly and absolutely Frank Reich's Colts put their stamp on the game with the Texans.

No, it wasn't when they lined up on the goal line, hit the Texans in the mouth and threw Marlon Mack at them like a rock from a slingshot.

No, it wasn't when Luck found T.Y. Hilton between two defenders way, way downfield to set up a score.

No, it wasn't when the Colts sacked Watson, and then hurried him into a couple of atrociously off-target throws at critical times.

It was none of that. It was, rather, when the Colts got the ball back with 37 seconds to go in the first half after Watson missed DeAndre Hopkins in the end zone.

The Horsies were already up 21-0, on the road. The smart play, therefore, would have been to take a couple knees and take that lead into the locker room. That would have been the safe play.

Instead, the Frank Reich Colts said this: Pffft.

They came out throwing. They came out trying to move the chains. And if Dontrelle Inman had managed to get out bounds as the clock ran out of seconds, the Colts likely would have been able to cash an Adam Vinatieri field goal and go to halftime up 24-0.

Alas, Inman was corralled before he could get to the sideline, and the clock hit zeroes. But it was the thought that counted, and that thought defined who these Colts are now, and why they are still playing in January.

Dance, you old graybeard. Dance.