About twice a year, my wife Barbara asks me, "Do you want to go camping?" I say sure. She asks when. I say whenever. She picks a date. Two weeks before that weekend, she tells me to pick a spot. I select a remote state park way up in the mountains. We drive there. It's all full up. So we go somewhere else and have a great time anyway.

This year, Barbara happened to pick the weekend of the Kansas State-Oklahoma tilt. As a Mizzou alum, it's always fun to watch some quality old school Big 8 football now and again, and K-State-OU happened to be a national game. But the camping trip froze me out of an afternoon in front of the TV.

No worries. I just set the VCR. Then, when scanning the weekend listings, I noticed another eminently tapeable game. Kansas City-Washington. Probably my only chance to watch an entire Chiefs game all year. I'm not positive that's true, though, because I haven't taken the time to scan the schedule and see if they're scheduled for Monday or Sunday night sometime. Shows you how much faith I have in the Chiefs this year.

As should my solution to this dilemma. Since all I have are 6-hour tapes, I couldn't record both games. I decided to tape all of the K-State-OU game on Saturday and the K.C.-Washington game starting at 2 p.m. on Sunday.

On our way back from a wonderful, if decidedly chilly and windy, weekend camping and hiking near the Blue Ridge Parkway, we happened into a Hardee's in Yadkinville. Noticed an ad in the paper for the local Washington affiliate (until the Carolina Panthers came into being a few years back, just about the entire mid-Atlantic seaboard from D.C. to Columbia, S.C., was Washington Redskins territory, and much of the old radio network still remains) and needled Barbara into flicking on the radio.

Just into the second half, the Chiefs led 28-10. And all this without the benefit of a Washington turnover or penalty. The Chiefs were simply pounding the heck out of Washington. It was so bad that after a Washington field goal made the score 28-13, Sonny Jurgensen cracked "Five more a those an we're right back in the game."

That's right. Sonny's tag-teaming color on Washington Redskins radio along with Sam Huff. I assume they've been doing this for a long time, but I just don't know for sure. What I can say is that they, along with play-by-play man Frank Herzog, are about the most entertaining radio sports team I've heard in ages.

Most local sports broadcasters at least pay lip service to the notion that they are mouthpieces of the organization whose games they announce. In other words, they're homers. If a 50-50 call goes against the home team, the announcers will scream about the "terrible, awful refs." That sorta thing.

Not these guys. Now, remember, Washington had already lost to San Diego 30-3 and Green Bay 37-0 coming into Sunday's home opener against the Chiefs. Kansas City looked to be a likely patsy, blowing its first two games at home. And so, after coming out and grabbing a lead (alright, it was only 3-0, but it was still a lead), Washington then allowed the Chiefs to score on seven consecutive possessions. Six touchdowns and a field goal, for all you keeping score. Even bad teams force a punt now and again, but Washington is absolutely horrible.

When faced with such a dilemma, many very good broadcasters simply go into autopilot, kick back and wait for the carnage to finish. Not so with Sonny, Sam and Frank. When the going gets rough, they get even rougher.

Sam and Sonny just happen to be Hall of Famers who played on good (and bad) Washington teams, so they probably have a lot more leeway when it comes to insulting their own team. They took every inch, comparing the many ex-Redskins on the Chiefs roster to their current Washington replacements. Not a pretty discussion on this particular day, to be sure. They provided local color, including the first sighting of a spectator wearing a bag on his head. After the Chiefs made the score 45-13 (which turned out to be the final), Frank went through the Washington media guide and tried to find any three games in Redskin history when the local boys were outscored by anything approaching 2001's 112-16 totals after three games. No luck, not even when taking into account the team's 73-0 drubbing by the Chicago Bears in the 1940 NFL Championship game.

But just when it seemed the day was done and all hope for further enlightenment was gone, Washington QB Tony Banks dropped back to pass. The pass fell incomplete. The reason for said incompletion? Tight end Stephen Alexander didn't bother to turn around to catch the ball. Sonny summed up the play (and the game) perfectly: "He dropped back to pass, and he hit the tight end in the ass." Sam, apparently commenting on the play and not the Jurgensenism, followed up with a somewhat more subdued "That's just unreal."

If your broadcasts originated in Charlotte, your ass would be on the pavement the next day for uttering the "a-word," no matter how cleverly you placed it in verse. In fact, outside of the west coast or northeast, I figure most teams would, at the very least, frown upon the use of such language. I remember a remarkable afternoon during the one season former 49ers coach Bill Walsh served as a color commentator on NBC's NFL broadcasts. A player made a great catch. Walsh spit out, "That was a hell of a play." Then a pause, during which I assume the producer pointed out to Walsh that announcers aren't supposed use the word "hell" during family programming like NFL football. Walsh responded, on air, "Well, I'm sorry, but that was a hell of a play." Emphasis decidedly on the "h-word."

Well, I have Sunday's play on video at home. What happened was he (Banks) dropped back to pass, and he (Banks) hit the tight end (Alexander, a guy who made the Pro Bowl last year) in the ass because Alexander wasn't looking for the pass. An act more emblematic of the Washington season to date can not be found. And Sonny's epigram is most apt.

He dropped back to pass, and he hit the tight end in the ass.

The language may be coarse and the meter a bit muddled, but as jock poetry goes, it just don't get much better than that.

Jon Worley remembers the days when he could worm his way out of chores by pointing out to his parents (Washington fans from the days of Sonny and Sam) that there just might be a Redskins game on the TV that afternoon.