Published: October 01, 2026 at 09:30 AM
TAMPA FL — W.P. Rader aka Captain Booty — BuccaneersFan.com
Week 4 Pre-Game Report
"Another mostly seaworthy, slightly rum-soaked tale from the logbook of W.P. Rader a.k.a. Captain Booty."
Green Bay Packers at Tampa Bay Buccaneers
Sunday, October 4, 2026 • 1:00 p.m. ET • Raymond James Stadium
Arrr… before anybody asks about the football, I must address a matter of considerable concern to the crew, the neighboring tailgaters, and whichever unfortunate soul has been assigned downwind seating.
A Missing Parrot, a Shipment of Cheese, and the Ghost Ship of Dale Mabry
CAPTAIN’S LOG: PLEASE STATE THE NATURE OF YER EMERGENCY
“Name?” asked the woman at the BayCare emergency reception desk, a short stagger from the stadium.
“Captain Booty.”
“Reason for your visit?”
“SEPTEMBER!”
She looked up.
I stood before her wearing one questionable boot, a Buccaneers jersey, and the expression of a man who had followed a treasure map directly into a municipal wastewater pond.
“Can you be more specific?”
“Aye. Me ship be haunted, me parrot has abandoned his post, and something smellin’ like a dairy farm’s laundry basket is approachin’ from the north.”
She paused over her keyboard.
“And what were you hoping we could do for you?”
“An emergency RUM infusion drip. Preferably a double and before Sunday.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Could ye at least hang a tiny umbrella from the water cup?”
She handed me the water. No umbrella.
Then came the difficult question.
“On a scale of one to ten, how would you describe your pain?”
“ZERO and THREE.”
She understood immediately.
A moment later, she returned with crackers. I reached for them, hesitated, and checked the room for a yellow flag.
After the month we’d endured, a clean handoff seemed suspicious.
Nevertheless, I straightened me hat.
“Not to worry, lass. I remain positive.”
“About Sunday?”
“About needin’ more crackers.”
THE SMELL WORSENS
Last week, we blamed the sail.
We’d dragged that poor piece of cloth through enough disappointment to qualify it for its own postgame press conference. It smelled of wet hound, spilled rum, and promises made shortly before kickoff.
But now the wind has shifted.
This be something different.
Something with notes of unwashed gym socks, sweaty feet, forgotten locker room towels, and a cheese platter left inside a treasure chest through hurricane season.
I sniffed toward the horizon.
“Either a shipment of LIMBURGER has escaped containment,” I muttered, “or the Green Bay Packers be approachin’.”
Aye, the green-&-gold nemesis.
We’ve barely finished sweeping imaginary Viking oars off the deck, and now another northern raiding party wants to come aboard wearing something that belongs between two crackers.
I briefly wrote “Minnesota Green Bay Packers” in me logbook.
Then I crossed out Minnesota.
Three weeks of football related bewilderment had apparently relocated Wisconsin.
Regardless, the captain’s orders stand: this remains a Buccaneers ship.
Visiting supporters are welcome to good natured banter and a place near the grill. They are not authorized to rename the vessel, commandeer the cannons, or turn the bow into a floating cheese counter.
As for any member of our own Krewe considering surrendering their post to the green-&-gold invasion, be advised: the parrot has already filed a proposed flyover.
His flight plan contains only two words.
“Complimentary detailing.”
I’ve asked him to reconsider.
He has requested more crackers before entering negotiations.
WELCOME TO RAYMOND GRAVES STADIUM
With October arriving before kickoff, I have devised an entirely unofficial solution to our current predicament.
Perhaps we are not watching a difficult football season.
Perhaps we are attending an unusually elaborate Halloween attraction.
Welcome, brave souls, to RAYMOND GRAVES STADIUM, home of the captain’s imaginary VIP experience:
THE GHOST SHIP OF DALE MABRY
Climb aboard a vessel where the cannons await happier employment, the corridors echo with unfinished celebrations, and somewhere in the darkness a lonely voice whispers:
“There’s still plenty of football left.”
Our tour begins in the Hall of Almost, where promising drives wander eternally in search of a happy ending.
From there, guests proceed into the Chamber of Yellow Flags, an interactive experience in which everyone celebrates before discovering that the celebration has been recalled.
Please keep your hands inside the ride.
Actually, keep them off the defender, too.
The final attraction is the Fourth-Quarter Crypt, where visitors sit perfectly still while a clock drains their remaining confidence.
No mechanical skeletons required. Just a scoreboard, an important possession, and several thousand people saying, “Please. Just this once.”
I presented the concept to Ye Krewe of Pewter Pirates.
“Captain,” one mate replied, “aren’t haunted houses supposed to frighten the visitors?”
A troubling silence settled over the deck.
He had identified a flaw in our operation.
This Sunday, we need to stop haunting ourselves and start making the other ship uncomfortable.
THE PARROT TAKES A FOWL WELLNESS RETREAT
Naturally, at the precise moment I required emotional support, aerial reconnaissance, and someone to remember where I left me other boot, the parrot disappeared.
His perch was empty.
The crackers were gone.
A note had been pinned to the mast.
Captain,
Gone inland to visit me fowl friends. This is not a mutiny. It is a temporary relocation to an environment with more predictable screaming.
Do not sell me perch.
The feathered deserter had selected Busch Gardens’ Howl-O-Scream for his pregame excursion an actual seasonal haunt, unlike the stadium attraction currently operating only inside me exhausted imagination.
Apparently, he wished to see how his bird friends were managing the walking dead.
He already possessed extensive field experience after watching our Krewe shuffle away from the Vikings game.
His first message arrived shortly afterward.
Captain, the zombies here are professionals. They stagger with purpose.
His second was worse.
One tried to frighten me. I told him I’d attended the first three weeks of Buccaneers football. He apologized and offered directions to the exit.
Then came a photograph of the parrot sitting beside a flamingo.
The flamingo was standing on one leg.
The parrot had captioned it:
Finally found someone qualified to discuss your missing boot.
I wrote back that this vessel needed loyalty, not commentary.
He replied:
Then stop providing so much material.
Still, I cannot begrudge the bird a little time among friends.
Even the most devoted first mate occasionally needs to spread his wings somewhere that “getting a stop” means the roller coaster has reached the unloading platform.
AN OCTOBER SURPRISE: A NEW HAND AT THE HELM
Beneath the cheese jokes and haunted corridors lies a genuinely important development.
With Baker Mayfield expected to miss at least three weeks because of his dislocated throwing-hand thumb, Jalon Daniels is set to make his first NFL start. The undrafted rookie from Kansas is also poised to become the first undrafted rookie quarterback to start a game in Buccaneers history.
That is quite an assignment.
“Welcome aboard, lad. Here’s the wheel. The sea is rough, the crew is nervous, and our navigation bird has taken leave.”
But listen carefully, Krewe.
Undrafted does not mean unworthy.
The young man does not need an entire stadium staring at him as though he personally misplaced September. He needs protection, dependable targets, a useful running game, and supporters willing to cheer him through the learning curve.
We can wish Baker a strong recovery while putting our full voices behind the quarterback taking the field.
Both things fit aboard the same ship.
I am not asking Daniels to arrive wearing a cape.
I am asking the rest of the crew to make sure he doesn’t need one.
Give him a manageable second down. Catch the ball when it reaches your hands. Keep the pocket from becoming another haunted attraction.
And when he makes a good play?
Let the lad hear us.
A first time captain ought to know his crew is still aboard.
ONE WIN WOULD LOOK LOVELY ON THIS MAP
The Bucs are 0–3 for the first time since 2014, with three one-score losses, and they are trying to avoid their first 0–4 start since 2013. Yet there are still 14 games remaining, including all six divisional matchups.
Fourteen games.
I wrote that number large enough to read from the crow’s nest.
Then I remembered the crow’s nest was vacant and read it aloud to meself.
There is room left on this chart. There are games left to influence. There is a division race still worth entering with something more substantial than a disappointed facial expression.
None of that excuses the start.
It does mean we ought not conduct the season’s funeral while there are still cannons to load.
We do not require a grand speech about a championship parade.
We require one Sunday in which the useful things become winning things.
One clean finish.
One handshake afterward that doesn’t come with condolences.
One blessed mark in the correct column.
THE DEFENSE: A STRONG HULL WITH AN EXPENSIVE LEAK
Here is the part that makes a pirate rub his eyes and check whether the statistics have been printed upside down.
Through three games, Tampa Bay ranks sixth in total defense at 282.7 yards allowed per game, second against the run at 76.0, and fifth in red-zone touchdown rate allowed at 37.5 percent.
Those are not the numbers of a ship with no hull.
Those are the numbers of a ship that keeps doing a great deal correctly before one dreadful moment lets the ocean into the captain’s quarters.
You can repel boarders all afternoon. If one fellow slips past carrying the entire treasure chest, the voyage still ends with difficult questions.
Against Green Bay, the challenge is not merely to produce another respectable statistical report.
It is to finish the tackle. Stay responsible deep. Turn pressure into a disrupted play. Make the opponent earn the long journey rather than gifting him a shortcut.
I would very much enjoy reading that our defense performed well while celebrating a victory.
It seems a pleasant combination. We should investigate it.
FEED BUCKY — NOT THE GHOSTS
There is a promising route through this particular fog.
Bucky Irving is averaging more than 4.5 yards per carry, while Green Bay enters the week 28th against the run, allowing 138.7 rushing yards per game.
Now, I am merely a pirate with a damp notebook and questionable handwriting, but that looks like a place worth digging.
A productive running game could help Daniels settle in, keep the offense out of constant rescue missions, and make the Packers defend more than an inexperienced quarterback’s next decision.
Please understand: I am not recommending we run directly into a brick wall simply because the captain shouted “ground game.”
I am recommending we give our best opportunities a fair chance to develop.
Let Bucky work.
Make Green Bay tackle.
Build a drive that feels less like fleeing a haunted house and more like knowing where the exit is.
The bird sent one contribution to this discussion:
FEED BUCKY. FEED PARROT. SIMPLE OFFENSE.
For once, I had no correction.
FOUR BATTLES TO WATCH THROUGH THE SPYGLASS
Jordan Love vs. Antoine Winfield Jr.: No Love Letters Over the Top
Jordan Love arrives with 844 passing yards and six touchdown passes through three games, and Christian Watson and Matthew Golden provide dangerous downfield targets. Winfield’s ability to read those threats—and contribute as a well-timed blitzer makes him central to the response.
The assignment is to make Love uncomfortable without leaving the treasure room unlocked behind the pressure.
Get him moving before he wishes to move. Make him reconsider the throw. But do not let an ambitious raid into the backfield become an invitation to sail over our heads.
I respect a quarterback with confidence.
I would simply prefer he demonstrate it somewhere beyond our territorial waters.
Tristan Wirfs vs. Lukas Van Ness: The Rookie’s Door Must Stay Locked
Lukas Van Ness has 2.5 sacks and seven quick pressures already this season, with much of his work coming from the defensive right edge—the side that should bring him into frequent encounters with Tristan Wirfs.
For Daniels, this is more than a prominent matchup.
It is the difference between having time to read the map and discovering that somebody has kicked open the cabin door.
Wirfs needs to be the sort of doorman who examines an approaching pass rusher and says, very politely:
“Not tonight.”
No wristband. No VIP access. No complimentary tour of the quarterback.
We have enough visitors aboard already.
Matthew Golden vs. Jacob Parrish: Keep the Treasure in Front of Ye
Golden has 253 receiving yards and an average of 16.9 yards per catch through three games. Parrish, back after missing a game with a back injury, brings the physicality and quickness needed for a difficult assignment when their paths cross.
This battle demands discipline as much as aggression.
Do not turn an ordinary reception into a feature-length horror production. Keep the dangerous speed in front of you, challenge the catch, and finish the tackle.
There are many places where I enjoy seeing something golden.
Inside me treasure Booty chest, for instance.
Disappearing toward our end zone is not among them.
Cade Otton vs. Zaire Franklin: A Reliable Hand in Rough Water
Otton caught three passes for 56 yards against Minnesota, while Franklin has allowed just four completions for 26 yards on seven targets this season. Finding dependable completions through that matchup could be important for Daniels.
A young quarterback does not need every throw to become a cannonball.
Sometimes he needs a trustworthy pair of hands, a sensible gain, and the chance to take the next snap without the whole stadium holding its breath.
Otton could provide that steadiness.
Franklin will have every intention of interfering with the arrangement.
May our tight end find enough open water to keep the voyage moving—and occasionally enough to make the opposing sideline reach for its own crackers.
THE TAILGATE: OUR LEAST HAUNTED DEPARTMENT
Before anyone mistakes these complaints for surrender, let the record show that the captain is still packing the wagon.
The flags are coming.
The chairs are coming.
The food, the music, the handshakes, the familiar faces, and the friends we haven’t met yet are all still part of Sunday’s plan.
Because the fan experience is not confined to whatever number appears beside our name at the end of the afternoon.
It lives in the friend who waves you over before you find your own group. The newcomer who arrives knowing nobody and leaves with an invitation for next time. The neighboring tailgate that lends you something before you even finish asking.
We can be disappointed in the football without becoming disappointing company.
As we established on the last voyage:
We remain undefeated at making room at the table.
And yes, that includes good-natured Packers fans.
Pull up a chair. Tell us how far you traveled. Enjoy the conversation.
Just understand that hospitality does not include surrender, and any cheese helmet left unattended near the grill may be mistaken for an ingredient.
I shall defend your right to enjoy the afternoon.
I shall also cheer enthusiastically for your football team to have a miserable time.
These are the ancient customs of the tailgate.
THE OCTOBER SURPRISE
There are whispers aboard the ship of an October surprise.
Not another apparition in the hallway.
Not a secret tunnel beneath the stadium.
Not the discovery that the parrot has signed a lucrative agreement to become a Wisconsin dairy ambassador.
A WIN
Imagine it.
A Sunday that ends with the cannons getting the last word. A walk out of the stadium that looks less like an evacuation. A Monday morning when someone asks about the game and we do not immediately change the subject to the parking.
I was contemplating this magnificent possibility when the radio crackled.
“Captain?”
The bird.
“Report, ye feathered absentee.”
“Fowl retreat complete. Requestin’ permission to return before kickoff.”
“What changed?”
“Met a flamingo who said ye should probably give up.”
“And?”
“Told him to stick to standin’ around. That be my captain he was talkin’ about.”
I sat a little straighter.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
Then he added:
“Also, they’re nearly out of crackers.”
There he was.
Me first mate.
“Permission granted,” I replied. “There’s a place for ye on the ship.”
“And the rum drip?”
“Denied.”
“Good. We need ye upright.”
CAPTAIN’S FINAL ORDERS
So let October come.
Let Green Bay approach.
Let the wind carry whatever dreadful dairy perfume it wishes across the deck.
We shall meet it with a stocked tailgate, a raised flag, a little perspective, and enough noise to remind the visitors whose harbor this is.
Support the rookie.
Appreciate the good plays.
Demand better football without forgetting how to be good company.
And do not let three difficult Sundays steal the reason we gathered in the first place.
They may call it Raymond Graves Stadium in the captain’s haunted imagination.
We are still showing up at Raymond James to bring the place to life.
Raise the red sail. Reclaim the bow. Find me other boot.
There is a new chapter waiting, and I refuse to let a shipment of cheese write the ending.
GO BUCS! FIRE THE CANNONS!
PASS THE CRACKERS—AND SOMEBODY PLEASE WASH THAT SAIL.
Captain’s postscript: The parrot has withdrawn his request for a transfer. His request for hazard pay remains under review.
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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