Published: October 04, 2026 at 8:14 PM
TAMPA FL — W.P. Rader aka Captain Booty — BuccaneersFan.com
WEEK 4 POST-GAME REPORT
"Review from the slightly rum-soaked logbook of Captain Booty"
POST-GAME Highlights & Review Another increasingly haunted entry from the slightly rum-soaked logbook of Captain Booty., Arrr, me hearties… WE FOUND THE SMELL!”
After weeks of inspecting the sails, interrogating the tailgate crew, and accusing me missing boot of harboring something prohibited by maritime law, the mystery finally solved itself.
The cheese had arrived.
Not a modest wedge beside a respectable cracker. Not a polite sprinkle upon a bowl of chili.
An entire dairy based civilization had descended upon our home port.
Everywhere I turned, there were green jerseys, gold jerseys, and otherwise reasonable adults wearing enormous cheese triangles upon their heads. From where this battered pirate stood, Raymond James had become a Packers home game—with the important distinction that their headwear was now in danger of melting.
“Welcome to Tampa,” I told one particularly cheerful visitor. “Enjoy the sunshine, help yerself to the tailgate, and kindly stop makin’ yourselves quite so comfortable.”
She smiled.
I smiled.
Then I checked whether her cheese hat could be legally classified as an unauthorized stadium renovation.
Meanwhile, RAYMOND GRAVES STADIUM, home of The GHOST SHIP of DALE MABRY, had opened another chapter of THE NIGHTMARE on TAMPA BAY.
The haunted-stadium business was booming.
Unfortunately, the gift shop remained completely sold out of victories.
A Missing Parrot and a New Hand at the Helm
Me parrot was still away visiting his fowl friends at Busch Gardens, having apparently decided that manufactured Halloween terror offered a healthier environment than watching Buccaneers four quarters.
A message arrived before kickoff:
“Still at Howl-O-Scream. Lovely atmosphere. The monsters only frighten ye once, then let ye leave.”
Traitor.
I tucked the message into me coat beside the paperwork from me unsuccessful attempt to obtain a rum infusion at BayCare. Apparently, “chronic fourth quarter distress” does not entitle a pirate to select his own intravenous replenishments.
But there was important business aboard our actual football ship.
With Baker Mayfield sidelined by the dislocated right thumb suffered against Minnesota, rookie Jalon Daniels took the wheel. He became the first undrafted rookie quarterback ever to start a game for the Buccaneers a substantial assignment for a young sailor stepping aboard a ship already listing toward October.
Now, let the captain be clear: this was not a flawless voyage.
Daniels completed 19 of 27 passes for 148 yards, threw one touchdown and two interceptions, and added 55 yards on the ground. There were mistakes, there were lessons, and there were moments when his legs appeared to be the emergency evacuation plan. But there was also a fourth-quarter comeback that gave this weather-beaten pirate a reason to climb back onto the railing.
The lad did not spend the afternoon hiding below deck.
He scrambled. He competed. He kept trying to steer us toward something better.
And when a rookie is willing to stand at the wheel in rough seas, the least the rest of the crew can do is stop lettin’ strangers sprint into the wheelhouse.
Feed Bucky. Find the End Zone. Briefly Believe Again.
Somewhere beneath the cheese fumes and the soundtrack of visiting fans enjoying themselves entirely too much, Tampa Bay found a working ground game.
The Buccaneers rushed for 141 yards, with Bucky Irving contributing 61. In the second quarter, Sean Tucker finished a 54 yard drive by powering in from two yards out, tying the game at 7–7.
I leapt to me feet.
“THERE! THAT! DO MORE OF THAT!”
A nearby fan asked whether I had any more detailed strategic observations.
“Aye,” I replied. “Feed Bucky, move the chains, and finish drives somewhere other than the punter’s appointment book.”
For a moment, the cannons sounded like cannons again—not an antique sound effect included in the haunted-stadium admission.
The red flags moved.
The home Krewe found its voice.
I even considered removing the little black mourning ribbon from me souvenir cup.
Then, early in the fourth quarter, Daniels connected with Kenny Gainwell on a 10-yard touchdown pass, pulling Tampa Bay within 17–14.
Three points.
One proper drive.
One clean finish.
The possibility of a victory came close enough that I could practically reach over the railing and grab its jersey.
“Steady, Captain,” I told meself. “Do not frighten it. We’ve not seen one in the wild this season.”
The Defense Finds Two Treasure Chests, THE BOOTY!
Give our defense its due: there was real work being done down in the engine room.
Tampa Bay held Green Bay to 283 yards, 15 first downs, and just two successful third-down conversions in ten attempts. In the fourth quarter, Vita Vea forced a fumble from Kaleb Johnson near our goal line, and Zyon McCollum recovered it. On Green Bay’s next possession, Jacob Parrish intercepted a deep pass inside the 20. Two dangerous Packers opportunities, both turned away.
Two treasure chests.
Delivered BOOTY to our ship.
Unlocked.
With a handwritten note reading: PLEASE DO SOMETHING WITH THESE.
When Vea helped pry that ball loose, I nearly launched me remaining boot into the lower bowl.
When Parrish came away with the interception, I began making irresponsible emotional purchases.
A comeback!
A celebration!
Perhaps even a Monday morning in which nobody asked, “Are ye all right?” while quietly removing sharp objects from the breakfast table!
But neither takeaway produced points. Green Bay, meanwhile, turned its two takeaways into 10 points.
There, me hearties, was an ugly bit of accounting.
We found treasure and admired the craftsmanship of the chest.
They found treasure and spent it.
The defense was not without its own unfinished business, either. Jordan Love threw for 197 yards and two touchdowns, escaped without being sacked, and was hit only twice. Josiah Trotter led Tampa Bay with nine tackles, while Antoine Winfield Jr. contributed six tackles and a forced fumble before leaving in the fourth quarter with an abdomen rib injury.
An opposing quarterback having that much success avoiding contact is never ideal.
Our quarterback appeared to be receiving visitors without appointments.
Theirs seemed to have a receptionist.
The Haunting of Fourth-and-Eleven
And then we entered the newest attraction at RAYMOND GRAVES STADIUM:
THE HALL OF ALMOST.
Admission was included with the price of another afternoon’s emotional investment.
The Buccaneers moved into Green Bay territory and reached a first down at the Packers’ 46. A chance remained. But Daniels faced almost immediate pressure on three of the next four snaps. On fourth-and-11, safety Evan Williams came free off the edge, forcing a desperate throw that fell incomplete.
I had prepared meself for many possible horrors.
A dropped pass.
A penalty.
A football striking a low-flying cheese wedge.
What I had not prepared for was an opposing safety entering our backfield with the ease of a man whose name was already on the guest list.
“WHO INVITED HIM?” I shouted.
Nobody answered.
Possibly because everyone was busy watching the final chance disappear.
Daniels later took responsibility for the protection issue, explaining that Green Bay had presented eight potential threats and that he needed to put the offense in a better protection arrangement.
That is a hard lesson for a rookie.
It is also the sort of answer a captain respects: own the mistake, study it, and do not pretend the hole in the hull is somebody else’s decorative feature.
But respect does not make the ending less painful.
The Bucs also considered a potential game tying field-goal attempt with Chase McLaughlin. Bowles said the distance and wind left the staff uncomfortable with that option.
So the offense had to keep the voyage alive.
Instead, the boarding party arrived before our young helmsman could chart a course.
Daniels was sacked three times on the afternoon, bringing Tampa Bay’s total allowed to 16 through four games.
SIXTEEN.
At that point, I stopped referring to the pocket as a pocket.
A pocket is supposed to hold something.
This appeared to be a revolving door with shoulder pads.
CLOSE IS NOT A PORT CALL
The final score left Tampa Bay 0–4 for the first time since 2013. All four defeats had come by seven points or fewer.
Four games.
Four chances to imagine a different ending.
Four evenings of explaining to concerned relatives that staring silently at the television is, technically, still an activity.
Todd Bowles offered the necessary truth: “We can’t keep getting close and not winning.” Tristan Wirfs was equally direct about the record and the team’s self-inflicted mistakes.
Aye.
“Almost” is not a destination.
Ye cannot sail into Almost Harbor, tie up at Nearly Pier, and pay the dockmaster with a sack of Would’ve Been Nice.
Still, I refuse to throw every useful thing overboard simply because the voyage is going badly.
The rookie gave us fight. The rushing attack gave us something to work with. The defense created late opportunities.
Those things matter.
But somebody has to connect them into a complete winning afternoon.
Preferably before me parrot starts interviewing replacement captains.
The Captain’s Three-Day Recovery Program
The cruelest discovery came after the game.
There would be no comfortable week to process this latest shipwreck.
Dallas awaited on Thursday night.
Three days to recover.
I have owned sandwiches that required a longer cooling off period.
Monday: Remove the Cheese. Retain the Flag.
I began by airing out me coat, washing the red sail, and checking whether prolonged exposure to visiting fan celebrations could be removed with ordinary detergent.
The cheese smell lingered.
So did the fourth down replay.
I attempted to put the afternoon behind me, but every time I closed a door, I worried somebody would come unblocked through the other one.
Another message arrived from me parrot:
“Have ye won yet?”
I replied:
“We showed encouraging signs.”
He sent back:
“So did the haunted house. Then a man chased me with a chainsaw.”
By lunchtime, I had established three modest recovery goals: eat something, stop arguing with the replay, and remember that the flag had not lowered itself.
The flag stayed up.
That counted as progress.
Tuesday: The Bird Returns with Conditions
Me parrot finally returned wearing a Halloween wristband and the smug expression of a creature who had successfully avoided an entire afternoon of pass protection trauma.
“Welcome aboard,” I said.
“Before I resume shoulder duties,” he replied, “we need to discuss workplace safety.”
“Ye sit on me shoulder.”
“Exactly. Ye leap unexpectedly, shout at invisible officials, and recently attempted to negotiate medical treatment using a bottle opener.”
He inspected the ship, peered into me stien, and asked what happened against Green Bay.
I explained the rookie’s effort, the comeback, the turnovers, and the final protection failure.
He thought for a moment.
“Have ye tried puttin’ a sign on the free rusher?”
“A sign?”
“Aye. BLOCK THIS ONE.”
Considering the shore crew was already busy repairing tags across more than 1,500 website pages, I felt one additional label might be manageable.
I wrote it down.
The bird demanded a consulting fee.
We settled on crackers.
Wednesday: Pack for Texas. Leave the Excuses.
By Wednesday, the recovery operation had become a departure operation.
I packed the red flag, the lucky shirt, the binoculars, and the emergency provisions.
The parrot packed twice as many crackers as necessary and informed me that he would be supervising morale from a position of limited accountability.
“What about the cheese?” he asked.
“Leave it.”
“The haunted stadium brochure?”
“Leave it.”
“The emotional baggage?”
I looked at the mountain beside the gangplank.
“We may need a second vessel.”
Before departure, I inspected the lucky jersey.
It had not produced a victory.
Neither had the lucky cup, the lucky seat, or the precise angle at which I had positioned me hat during third downs.
Perhaps, I considered, the solution involved execution rather than accessories.
An unpleasant thought.
I packed the hat anyway.
Next Port: Dallas and a Different Kind of Headwear
Our next destination is AT&T Stadium in Arlington, Texas, where the Buccaneers face the Dallas Cowboys on Thursday, October 8, 2026, at 8:15 p.m. EDT.
From cheeseheads to cowboy hats.
From a haunted home port to a Thursday night invasion.
From “Surely this is the week” to its closely related nautical expression:
“Right, lads. Surely THIS is the week.”
The parrot studied the Cowboys’ star.
“Only one star?” he asked. “Ye couldn’t find us better accommodations?”
“That is their emblem.”
“Still. I’d read the reviews.”
I checked the compass, tightened the rigging, and took one last look at our battered ship.
No, I am not predicting a miracle.
I am not declaring that everything is suddenly fixed.
And I am certainly not explaining this record with the phrase “a few unfortunate bounces” while an unblocked defender is still sprinting through me nightmares.
But I am going to keep showing up.
That is what we do.
We welcome people to the tailgate. We save a place at the table. We holler for the young lad taking his first turn at the wheel. We demand better without forgetting whose flag we raised in the first place.
The record is ugly.
The loyalty remains intact.
And somewhere between the haunted cheese, the returning parrot, and the road to Texas, this stubborn old pirate has found just enough hope to provision another voyage.
“Captain,” said the bird, climbing onto me shoulder, “are we ready?”
I raised the red sail.
“As ready as a winless pirate can be.”
“Excellent,” he said. “One final adjustment.”
“What’s that?”
He pointed toward the edge of the ship.
“Somebody watch that side.”
GO BUCS. FIRE THE CANNONS.
FEED BUCKY. FEED THE PARROT.
AND FOR THE LOVE OF EVERY PIRATE STILL ABOARD PICK UP THE BLITZER.
Per the words of Forest Gump… “And That's All I Have To Say About That”.
Beyond Game Day
W.P. Rader - In Full Disclosure; I'm Ready To Rock & Roll From The BOW.
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