Watching the Bills and the POTUS wind down their seasons in the Old First Ward

The air was still and silent inside the tavern at the corner of South Park and Michigan avenues early Sunday afternoon, as Buffalo’s annual visit to New Jersey to take on the Jets commenced in the fashion we have all come to expect.

Thomas Jones’ two-yard touchdown run, which capped a seemingly effortless first drive by the home team through a listless Bills defense, drew not even a groan or derisive wisecrack from the gathering inside the Malamute Tavern.

“Might as well be quick about it,” I said, stepping alongside a man I thought was Tim, the frequent Season Ticket contributor scheduled to join me for Week 15’s festivities.

This identification was based on a quick glance at his brown canvas coat and dark sideburns. After addressing the man as Tim and getting a confused look in return, I realized that he was not my colleague, but someone easily 10 years older.

As it turned out, his name was, in fact, Tim. After apologizing for the mistake and sitting down, he remarked on the sad calm hanging in the room.

“You want to quiet a crowd, put on a Bills game,” said Tim No. 2 from his spot at the eastern end of the curved wooden bar.

The Bills, having managed to score but a single field goal in each of their last two outings, responded on their first drive with Marshawn Lynch’s twisting, churning 35-yard run, putting them within sight of New York’s goal line. And there they stayed for the next three plays, with Rian Lindell salvaging something of the drive with a 34-yard boot, matching his team’s point totals in losses to San Francisco and Miami.

“There,” said one embittered voice from the west end. “Now they can take the rest of the day off.”

Tim No. 1 arrived after the Jets had traversed the length of the field with equal ease on their second drive to take a 14-3 lead. Following a tipped-ball interception of Brett Favre that gave Buffalo the ball at midfield, Losman showed that his offense might just have a second score in it on this day, moving the ball to a second down at New York’s eight-yard line.

“Play of the game,” Tim No. 1 declared, feeling vindicated as Losman fled up the middle and into the end zone.

Our attention was soon diverted by non-football commotion on a small television over the bar.

“BREAKING NEWS: REPORTER THROWS SHOES,” read the headline beneath a video replay of the 43rd president of the United States being barraged by footwear during a Baghdad news conference.

CNN was playing the few seconds of footage in a continuous loop. Curiously, I found my admiration for George W. Bush growing with each repetition.

You may not like the man’s decision to start an unwinnable, purpose-free war; his handling of said conflict as commander-in-chief; his oversight of an economy that disintegrated historically in the final months of his tenure; or his successful efforts to convince Congress and the courts that there is such a thing as too much liberty; but you have to acknowledge what became obvious Sunday in Baghdad: The man is one agile shoe-dodger.

Most notably, he did not cower or dive to the floor. Instead, he moved just enough to avoid the first shoe, steadied himself, eyed up his assailant, and easily avoided the second (which, to be fair to the thrower, was tipped by Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki).

As security guards swarmed the decidedly biased reporter, Muntadar al-Zeidi, to the floor, Bush brushed aside the first person to reach him. You could almost hear him taunting his assailant with something like “That all you got? Two shoes?”

As it became evident that there was not much more to the story than met the camera’s eye, our attention returned to the game, where Losman capitalized on Roscoe Parrish’s 56-yard punt return by throwing a two-yard touchdown pass to Steve Johnson, giving the Bills their first lead of the afternoon.

The crowd at the Malamute was becoming more vocal, though most of their words oozed sarcasm.

“Play of the game,” Tim No. 1 had pronounced, a moment before Johnson’s catch.

“I love Losman,” said the barmaid, her voice devoid of emotion, as if she were informing the owner that a keg needed changing.

After the Bills promptly surrendered their hard-won advantage on Leon Washington’s 47-yard sprint a minute before halftime, we strolled down Michigan to the Swannie House, a block closer to the Buffalo River and the grain mills that line it.

The Malamute and the Swannie House are about all that’s left of the old neighborhood, and the latter was even quieter than the former on this afternoon.

Once we settled in, Tim No. 1 went back to work.

“Play of the game,” he announced, immediately before Buffalo cornerback Terrence McGee snagged a deep heave by Favre and returned it to New York’s side of the field.

This provided indisputable proof that if you keep saying the same thing over and over, eventually, you will probably be right.

After watching the Bills fail to seize control of a contest the Jets appeared bent on giving away for the rest of the third quarter and into the fourth, we returned to the Malamute for what we figured would be the final moments of another dispiriting Buffalo defeat, the third straight and eighth in 10 games.

So when Fred Jackson carried what looked like the entire Jets defense, as well as some guys who ran in from the sidelines, into the end zone to put Buffalo back in front with 5:30 remaining, I didn’t know quite what to think.

Might the Bills, who had lost their way in a profoundly comprehensive fashion in recent weeks, actually win a road game against a division co-leader quarterbacked by America’s most beloved dungaree salesman? Could they avoid the sort of spectacular mistake that has come to embody a lost season?

Of course not.

After the Bills stifled Favre and reclaimed the ball with 4:20 remaining, they could have simply run the ball until the Jets prevented them from gaining 10 yards within three plays, then allowed their acclaimed punter to kick the ball as far as he could and make New York travel the length of the field against a resurgent defense.

As men, women, and children throughout Western New York and the football-loving world know by now, however, that would have been far too easy.

Instead, Dick Jauron gave Losman one last opportunity to fail. Which he seized.

Very little was said inside the Malamute after New York’s Abram Elam sacked Losman, stripping the ball free and sending it bouncing into the hands of Jets defensive end Shaun Ellis, who scored the winning touchdown. The silence held as Losman turned the ball over twice more in the final two minutes, sealing the most galling of defeats.

Tim No. 1, a season ticket holder, said he would not shell out for a full schedule again, as long as Ralph Wilson owns the Bills. But one regular disputed another’s theory that Wilson’s perceived frugality is the root of his team woes.

“Wilson’s not cheap—he pays the money,” he said. “He just pays it to the wrong guys.”