Published: October 21, 2026 at 03:17 PM
TAMPA FL — W.P. Rader aka Captain Booty — BuccaneersFan.com
Week 7 Pre-Game Report
A Pirate & Parrot pregame adventure featuring real football stakes, fictional roadside mischief, and one deeply regrettable dinner.
Tampa Bay Buccaneers (1-5) at Carolina Panthers (3-2)
Sunday, October 25, 2026 • 1:00 PM ET
Bank of America Stadium • Charlotte, North Carolina
Captain Booty packed for Carolina with the usual essentials: a weathered pirate hat, a Buccaneers flag, a telescope entirely unsuitable for interstate navigation, and whatever optimism remained after Pittsburgh.
The Parrot packed a map, a pair of earplugs, and a laminated sign:
DO NOT CELEBRATE UNTIL THE CLOCK READS ZERO.
Our BUCS had carried a 16–3 lead into the fourth quarter against the Steelers, only to watch it dissolve into a 26–19 overtime loss. Thirteen points of breathing room had somehow become another Sunday spent staring at the television after everyone else had left the room.
“I still don’t understand where the lead went,” muttered the Captain, searching beneath the passenger seat.
“Try lost and found,” said the Parrot. “Ask whether anyone turned in a fourth quarter.”
Now came Carolina. First place in the division. A road game. And, remarkably, Tampa Bay’s first NFC South matchup of the season. Todd Bowles had described the contest as “critical.”
The Captain nodded solemnly.
“Critical. Aye. That calls for discipline, preparation, and the most efficient route to Charlotte.”
The Parrot looked at the itinerary.
“Then why does this say ‘DINOSAURS, POSSIBLY CAMELS, GIANT HAT’?”
“Team building.”
“We’re two passengers.”
“And morale is low.”
First Stop: Boyett’s Grove, Where Florida Has Refused to Become Boring
Before committing themselves to the interstate, our traveling troublemakers pulled into Boyett’s Grove & Citrus Attraction near Brooksville.
Dating to the 1960s, this Old Florida attraction combines citrus-shop nostalgia with a wildlife park, dinosaur cave, miniature golf, an aviary, and enough unexpected diversions to make a quick stop a questionable promise.
The Captain was immediately delighted.
The Parrot was immediately suspicious.
“This place has everything,” declared Booty.
“So does your glove compartment. That doesn’t make it an attraction.”
Inside, the Captain found the pirate displays and straightened his coat. Larger-than-life pirates were, after all, his preferred professional network.
“Finally,” he announced, “a board meeting where everyone understands the business.”
He posed beside a fellow buccaneer, lifted his chin, and instructed the Parrot to take a photograph.
“Make me look commanding.”
The Parrot tilted the camera.
“I can get you and the other stationary object in the same frame.”
Emergency Tryouts in the Dinosaur Cave
The dinosaur cave soon became an unofficial scouting department.
With Tampa Bay’s offense having allowed 22 sacks through six games a pace that would reach approximately 62 over the season the Captain believed the search for pass protection should include every available species.
He studied a Tyrannosaurus rex.
“Powerful legs. Intimidating presence. Excellent teeth.”
“Short arms,” observed the Parrot.
“Exactly! Impossible to get called for holding.”
“Also difficult to block anybody.”
The Captain moved on to a larger dinosaur.
“Now this one has potential. Look at that base. Nobody’s moving him.”
“He’s attached to the floor.”
“Outstanding commitment.”
Booty began composing an imaginary contract on the back of a receipt. The dinosaur declined to comment, which the Captain considered a refreshing departure from the usual postgame interview.
The Parrot took another picture.
PHOTO CAPTION: CAPTAIN DISCOVERS OFFENSIVE TACKLE WHO HASN’T ALLOWED A SACK IN 65 MILLION YEARS.
“Don’t put that online,” said Booty.
“Too late. The comments are asking whether he can start Sunday.”
Zebras, Camels & a Brief Dispute Over Management
The animal encounters offered a welcome change of scenery. Boyett’s has been home to zebras, a camel, goats, parrots, and assorted other residents capable of stealing the spotlight from a man dressed like he had misplaced his schooner.
The Captain spotted a zebra and immediately began explaining a disputed football call.
The zebra continued eating.
“Typical,” Booty grumbled. “Won’t even discuss it.”
At the camel, he posed another question.
“How do you get over a difficult hump?”
The Parrot answered before the camel had an opportunity.
“Usually by not blowing a thirteen-point lead.”
Then came the aviary, where macaws, cockatiels, parrots, and other birds provided the Parrot with an appreciative audience.
He introduced himself as chief navigator, assistant photographer, and acting director of Captain Management.
“Acting?” Booty objected.
“I’m waiting for the permanent position to come with benefits.”
After several minutes of loud conversation, the Captain became uneasy.
“What are you telling them?”
“Nothing they haven’t already figured out.”
Booty finally coaxed his traveling companion away with the promise of miniature golf.
There, after several unfortunate ricochets and a lengthy argument about whether a pirate hook counted as a regulation club, the Captain sank a putt.
He stared at the hole.
Then at the Parrot.
“Did that count?”
“Yes.”
“No flag?”
“No.”
“No review?”
“No.”
The Captain raised both arms.
The Parrot sighed.
“We’ve reached the point where successfully completing miniature golf feels like a statement win.”
The Parrot Finds a Tampa Bay Team Worth Squawking About
Back on the road, the Parrot produced the best news either traveler had heard all week.
“The Rays are going to the World Series!”
“The Devil Rays?”
“The Rays.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you added a word.”
“I’ve had that word longer than some of these players have been alive. It’s staying.”
Tampa Bay had beaten Cleveland 7–3 in Game 6 of the ALCS to secure another American League pennant. The Rays were headed to their third World Series, following appearances in 2008 and 2020, to face the Milwaukee Brewers.
Neither franchise had ever won the championship. For the first time since 1980, the World Series would feature two teams chasing their first title.
The Captain brightened.
“Milwaukee, you say?”
“Don’t.”
“Brewers, you say?”
“Absolutely not.”
“A city that advertises its priorities right there on the uniform”
“We are going to Charlotte.”
Game 1 was scheduled for Friday, October 23, at 8:00 PM ET at American Family Field in Milwaukee.
The Parrot penciled it into the itinerary.
“For once,” he said, “we can spend Friday night watching a Tampa Bay team with a chance to make us happy.”
The Captain adjusted his hat.
“Good for the lads. Perhaps they can send some of that winning spirit over to the football crew.”
“Express delivery.”
“Signature required.”
“And somebody needs to be there to receive it in the fourth quarter.”
For a few miles, the conversation grew lighter. Tampa Bay still had a championship to chase. The Parrot hummed. The Captain stopped arguing with last Sunday.
Then he noticed another roadside billboard.
South of the Border: The Giant Hat Wins the Argument
The Parrot checked the map.
Then the road signs.
Then the map again.
“Captain. Charlotte is inland.”
“Aye.”
“And yet we have maneuvered ourselves toward South of the Border.”
“Aye.”
“This is a detour.”
“Aye.”
“Was any part of that accidental?”
“Not after the sixth billboard.”
By the time the 200-foot Sombrero Tower appeared at South of the Border in Hamer, South Carolina, the Captain had developed a firm conviction that any journey passing within the general gravitational influence of a giant hat required investigation.
The Parrot called it poor navigation.
Booty called it cultural enrichment.
The GPS declined to participate.
Standing beneath the enormous sombrero, the Captain spread his arms for another photograph.
“Make sure you capture the scale.”
“The hat or the mistake?”
“Both, if you can.”
The Captain studied the tower.
“Think how much you could see from up there.”
“Perhaps the direct route to Charlotte.”
“Perhaps an open receiver.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
Dinner: The Captain Goes Off Script
Then came the meal.
Every road trip has a moment when a tired traveler makes a sensible choice, eats something reasonable, and returns to the highway refreshed.
Captain Booty had heard of this tradition and wanted no part of it.
He began assembling an entirely unauthorized creation he named The Captain’s Border Blitz: a burrito reinforced with chili, cheese, crushed chips, and an escalating quantity of hot sauce from his own emergency provisions.
No one had put it on a menu.
No one had recommended it.
The Captain had simply continued adding things.
“That’s enough,” said the Parrot.
“That’s what timid men say before greatness.”
“That’s what functioning stomachs say before retirement.”
Booty took a bite.
He paused.
His eyes watered.
He removed his hat.
The Parrot leaned forward.
“Well?”
“Complex.”
“You’ve stopped blinking.”
“Many layers.”
“You’re sweating through your belt.”
The Captain reached for a napkin and began fanning himself.
“I may have overcommitted.”
“You sent every condiment on a blitz and left your stomach in single coverage.”
Booty attempted a second bite, apparently believing the first had been a scouting error.
It was not.
Somewhere between the chili and the Captain’s private hot-sauce reserve, the meal had become a construction project.
He pressed a fork into the center.
The fork reconsidered its career.
“Nothing’s getting through this,” Booty whispered.
The Parrot examined the plate.
“Then stop eating it and see if it can play left guard.”
The Captain awarded his creation one cannon out of five.
The cannon, he explained, was for the noise it seemed likely to produce later.
Panthers Ahead: The Part of the Trip That Actually Matters
With dinner abandoned and the map finally pointed toward Charlotte, the conversation turned serious.
Well, as serious as it could get with the Captain periodically accusing his burrito of unnecessary roughness.
Whoever Takes the Snap Needs Time to Throw
Baker Mayfield’s availability remained unsettled as he worked toward a return from a dislocated right thumb. If he could not play, rookie Jalon Daniels would be in line for his fourth consecutive start.
“Baker or Jalon,” said the Captain, “we need to give the quarterback a fighting chance.”
Daniels had been sacked five times against Pittsburgh.
The Parrot folded his wings.
“A quarterback ought to have enough time to read the defense before becoming personally acquainted with it.”
This was where the jokes stopped being quite so funny. Protection had to improve. The offense needed manageable situations, dependable execution, and possessions that ended with something better than the quarterback staring up at the Carolina sky.
The Captain glanced into the back seat.
“Could we have fitted that dinosaur in here?”
“Only if we left your hat.”
“Unacceptable.”
Bryce Young Isn’t Coming to Admire the Costumes
Carolina’s quarterback had thrown 11 touchdowns against just two interceptions, while the Panthers were averaging 29.2 points per game, fourth in the NFL.
The Captain studied the numbers.
“So we should probably avoid letting him get comfortable.”
“That would be an excellent departure from hospitality,” replied the Parrot.
There was reason to hope Tampa Bay could make things difficult. David Walker had recorded two sacks against Pittsburgh. His 28.6% pressure rate ranked second among players with at least 45 pass-rush snaps, and he led that qualifying group in sack rate.
“Send him a map to Bryce Young,” Booty said.
“He appears to be finding quarterbacks without your assistance.”
“Fair.”
But pressure would only be part of the assignment. Chuba Hubbard had rushed for 122 yards against Detroit and 120 against Philadelphia in his last two games.
Tampa Bay needed to tackle cleanly, close running lanes, and prevent Carolina from choosing whatever it pleased on the offensive menu.
The Captain shifted uncomfortably.
“Choosing whatever you please from the menu can have consequences.”
The Parrot looked at him.
“At last. Film study.”
Accept the Gifts. Don’t Send Any Back.
Carolina had beaten Philadelphia 25–14, but the victory came with 13 penalties for a franchise-record 149 yards.
The Captain nearly dropped his scouting notes.
“One hundred forty-nine yards?”
“A considerable donation.”
“We ought to send a thank-you card in advance.”
“We ought to avoid matching it.”
That was the opportunity and the warning. If the Panthers offered free yards, Tampa Bay needed to make them count. No retaliatory foolishness. No extending a drive that should have ended. No turning a promising possession into a long-yardage scavenger hunt.
The Captain nodded.
“Discipline.”
“Correct.”
“Composure.”
“Yes.”
“Knowing when to stop adding hot sauce.”
“We may finally be reaching you.”
Charlotte, One More Time With Feeling
As the road carried them toward Charlotte, the Captain grew quieter.
The ridiculous photographs were safely stored. The Parrot had survived a family reunion in the aviary. The giant sombrero had been properly admired. The remains of dinner had been sealed away with the caution normally reserved for unexploded ammunition.
Ahead waited Bank of America Stadium.
The Captain considered the name.
“A bank should know how to protect a lead.”
“Try asking about a secure deposit,” said the Parrot. “Preferably one we can keep until closing.”
At 1–5, there was no pretending the season had unfolded according to plan. There were mistakes to correct, opportunities already wasted, and a division leader waiting to make the climb steeper.
But this was also the beginning of Tampa Bay’s divisional schedule, with all six NFC South games still available to change its position.
The Captain didn’t need a speech about mathematical possibilities.
He needed the BUCS to block, tackle, protect the football, and finish what they started.
One sound possession.
One timely stop.
One Sunday that ended with the pirate flag flying and the Parrot having to search for something else to complain about.
“You still believe?” the bird asked.
Booty looked toward Charlotte.
“I packed the flag, didn’t I?”
For once, the Parrot had no immediate comeback.
He straightened his feathers and climbed back onto his perch.
“All right, Captain. One more road battle.”
“One more chance to turn this ship.”
“And when we get a lead?”
The Captain smiled.
“We keep it.”
The Parrot nodded.
“Good. Now promise me something else.”
“Anything.”
“No burritos on the ride home.”
Raise the flags, Buccaneers faithful. Ruffle those feathers. And let’s bring a victory back from Carolina.
GO BUCS! GO RAYS! GO DEVIL RAYS...
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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