There's a common phenomenon that takes place in the NFL when a star starting-quarterback goes down with an injury. Frequently, his replacement comes in and sets the league on fire for six or seven games.

This phenomenon could be called the "Damon Huard Syndrome," after the justly-forgotten quarterback who stepped in for the injured future Hall-of-Famer Dan Marino in Miami during the 1999 season and led the team to a 5-1 record in Marino's absence.

Smart coaches know that it is a temporary phenomenon, that an entire team often steps up its game in the wake of an injury to a star, and that ultimately, "hey, we're dealing with Damon Freakin' Huard here."

Dumb coaches think that the temporary phenomenon is permanent, and that the "Damon Huard" character is actually somehow better than the "Dan Marino" character. They listen to the no-attention-span fans who think that the guy who played well today is the best there ever was.

Unfortunately, the St. Louis Rams are currently saddled with one of the dumb variety. Mike Martz, who doesn't like two-time league MVP Kurt Warner because Warner happens to have an annoying wife, somehow got it into his head that somebody named Marc Bulger, who took over at QB last year after a Warner injury, is as talented as Kurt Warner. Bulger had the predictable run of good games (see "Huard, Damon" above; also see "Reich, Frank," and "Hostetler, Jeff") in Warner's absence, giving Martz the bright idea to permanently give Bulger the job.

Now, of course, Martz is having to come to terms with the fact that a 100% healthy Marc Bulger doesn't even have the talent of a 60% healthy Kurt Warner. Or, to put it another way, "we're dealing with Marc Freakin' Bulger here."

Bulger headed up the most painful offensive "effort" I've ever seen from a St. Louis football team on Sunday night--and I say that as someone who watched the football Cardinals for 15 years. It was horrific. It was unendurable. It should be shown on a loop as punishment to prisoners in solitary confinement.

So now Martz has a decision to make, having squandered the once-best offense in NFL history: Do I pop a Pamprin and leave a two-time MVP on the bench because his wife said some mean things about me in the press, thus peeing away any hope I have of ever sniffing a Super Bowl again in my soon-to-be-shortened NFL career? Or do I suck it up, be a man, and put the best player out on the field--the one who was an integral cog in the best offense in NFL history--even though some may see it as an admission that I was wrong, which I was?