I’m not a big seasonal decoration guy, despite the best efforts of my wife and daughters. And I especially hated the House of Horrors that the 49ers put on Sunday afternoon.
This game seemed scientifically designed to crush the souls of fans as methodically and thoroughly as possible.
We have gotten used to — this year — the steady thud of players falling to injuries like the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan. To the glacial pace of C.J. Beathard’s decision making and throwing motion, perfectly capturing that sensation in your literal nightmares where a monster (lineman) is chasing you and you’re stuck in slow motion, slogging through invisible molasses and can’t get away.