A lonely Seahawk flies over the most raucous stadium in America, looking for food to feed his family before the masses arrive.
Somewhere to the East, Greg Schiano walks the hallowed grounds of Little Big Horn, searching for clues that will help him and his players avoid the fate that befell Gen. Custard and his men.
The future is known only by a band of brothers named Glazer. They remain silent, and it is uncertain if they hear the masses crying out for a breath of hope.
These dyed-in-the-wool Buccaneer fans are determined to have their voices heard and have concocted a plan that will become required reading at West Point.
The mission is to burn Schiano chestnuts on an open fire in front of One Buc Place. When the smoke billows into the hallways of the building and the evacuation begins, they will don their gas masks and storm the facility.
They will chain themselves to the offices of Schiano and his evil defensive coordinator, refusing to leave until the Bucs are Schiano-less.
These are the true Buccaneer Men that Schiano said he was going to create when he took over the Bucs. But they have turned on the master and assumed a level of intelligence that exceeds anyone on his coaching staff.
They have abandoned their wives and children for the cause. They have vowed not to return home until Mission Accomplished.
As we began this Sunday ritual of NFL football, the Bucs' exact location was uncertain.
They slipped out of Tampa, fearing fans would stow away in the plane to help defensive coordinator Bill Sheridan put together his game plan.
Bucs fans suffering from a Rutgers staph infection that causes cranial depression had a moment of bliss when it was reported that a guy name Lovie led the team off the plane in Seattle.
Unfortunately, it was a hoax caused by a well-meaning Bucs season-ticket holder tired of sitting alone in the expensive-seat section.
The "no fly zone" that was supposed to epitomize the Sheridan defense and put fear into opposing quarterbacks has fallen.
What's left doesn't even scare Nick Foles and a few lonely birds.
Everyone working at One Buc Place was seen wearing Roger Goodell-approved headgear because darts are flying all over.
Despite being chastised and hung in effigy in the minds of nearly all Bucs fans, Schiano says he is enjoying his job.
Keeping the peace at One Buc Place is harder than trying to get Obama supporters and Tea Party enthusiasts to share a pizza.
It took a new spin last week when Pro Bowl defensive tackle Gerald McCoy lambasted some of his coaches.
McCoy is the mayor of the Bucs locker room. He goes out of his way to spin the company line and never says anything bad about anyone.
But when Bucs assistant coaches Bryan Cox and Randy Melvin criticized him for helping opponents up after he knocked them down, McCoy took on his Atilla the Hun persona.
"They got upset with me because I helped somebody up (in the game). So what! I don't care. Kiss my butt. If I want to help somebody, I'm going to help somebody," McCoy said on his radio show last week.
Only true Buccaneer Men can extinguish these fires. But they have abandoned ship until the captain walks the plank.
The words above were written by a lonely scribe suffering from the Tampa Bay Buccaneer Paranoia-Schizophrenic Delusional Syndrome.
There is no known cure to mankind, and he is not responsible for anything Buccaneer.
Have a good day.
Alan Dell, Herald sports writer, can be reached at 941-745-7056. Follow him on Twitter at @ADellSports.