The Atlanta Falcons embarrassed themselves Monday night, and I'm not talking about the final score, which was 45-16 in favor of the New Orleans Saints.
I'm not talking about being victimized by Saints quarterback Drew Brees for the 304 passing yards he needed to break Dan Marino's single-season record of 5,084 yards (Brees finished with 307 yards, for a season total of 5,087).
I'm talking about the Falcons' reaction, late in the game and then afterward, to the sight -- shocking! -- of Brees still in the game, still throwing passes, in the final minutes.
The Falcons gestured and stared. They pouted and sulked. They gave our Pete Prisco passive-aggressive comments of the most gutless variety -- anonymously, because none of them had the stones to attach his name to it -- about the nerve (the nerve!) of Saints coach Sean Payton, who let Brees play the game for 60 full minutes.
See, the Falcons wanted pity. They wanted Payton to feel sorry for them by letting off the gas, stop playing the game, stop trying. That would have made the Falcons feel better, I guess: The sight of the Saints feeling sorry for their woebegone little defense.
So at this point, I have a question for the Falcons and their coaches: Are you guys professionals, or are you babies?
This isn't high school, and that wasn't one Class 5A monster running up the score on a tiny Class 1A opponent. This was one NFL playoff team playing another NFL playoff team, in a league with a salary cap and reverse draft order and other rules designed to promote parity.
Sure, Brees could have stopped playing in the fourth quarter, could have come up a few yards short of the record, could have subjected himself and his team to a week's worth of distraction entering the regular-season finale Sunday against Carolina -- a game the Saints need to win to have any shot of a first-round playoff bye.
But never mind that!
The Saints should have worried about the feelings of the poor Atlanta Falcons!
Hey, Atlanta, when you're done with that baby's bib ... please send it my way. I think I'm going to be sick.