And now let's break away from our Waiver-Wire Cam for just a moment – Don't worry! We'll have you back and scanning the cut lists before Reggie White even has time for another heavenly reconsideration! – and quickly take in the view from the guy in the cheap seats who's had his hand up for the last hour.

	Wide receiver Yancey Thigpen was part of the Titans' roster purge.

The view:

The NFL salary cap still blows.

This is an unscientific opinion, delivered without the assistance of a certified capologist or even a glossary of "designated franchise player" terms. The salary cap blows. Its implementation in the NFL's offseason extends to football fans all the salutary benefits of a grenade lobbed into an outhouse.

And this week simply smells. It isn't about football in the slightest. It's about roster-wrecking. It's about money, a subject which is interesting usually only when 1) it's yours that we're talking about and 2) you're making it in such bucket-loads that you actually need advice on what to do with it all.

This has to be the most depressing week on the NFL calendar. For every player decision that even remotely appears to have football performance factored in, there seem to be a fat handful in which football was the last thing considered, if it was considered at all. For every Ryan Leaf, that is, you've got at least a couple of situations like the one in Tennessee.

Maneuvering frantically to get under the league's mandated $67.4 million cap for next season, the Titans cut a raft of talent – Yancey Thigpen, Carl Pickens, Al Del Greco, Marcus Robertson, on and on. You could go through and argue each case down to the picked-over bone (Del Greco was losing it, Thigpen had been hurt), but the net result is that the Titans are turning over a huge chunk of their roster because ... because why, again? Because they weren't competitive? Nope. Because these players are finished? In a couple of particulars, maybe; in total, not at all.

No: The Titans' roster is doing the Tilt-a-Whirl because the NFL wants its sacred parity. And here's parity in a nutshell for anyone who is an actual fan of an actual team, as opposed to being a fan of "the league": You love that guy, the cornerback? Don't get too attached to him. He's got a roster bonus coming up, which means he's out of here.

"The saddest part of our business," said Titans general manager Floyd Reece, "is looking at names and the (assigned) dollar value."

The saddest part of being a fan? That's easy: John Randle and the Minnesota Vikings.

You know who Randle is; he's brilliant – and he is a Viking. Can't imagine it any other way. Yet partly because Randle refused to restructure his contract and partly because the Vikes were ballooning so far over the cap they needed to jettison luggage just to see it, Randle is out.

Sure, Randle criticized the organization following its 41-0 thrashing by the Giants in the NFC title game. Who didn't? Randy Moss sure did. But Randle didn't get whacked because he had a mouth; he got whacked because Minnesota got itself $7 million over the cap and couldn't figure any other way under it. And just for good measure, Vikes fans, they released Randle's backup, too.

But the point isn't that Minnesota is doing it wrong, it's that the NFL's use of the cap to promote parity is patently ludicrous. The NBA has a salary cap, too, but it bends its rules drastically in favor of the home team being able to re-sign its best and most revered players. In the NFL, the Seattle Seahawks look at their top two receivers from last season (Sean Dawkins and Derrick Mayes), study the numbers for a while and – bling bling! – send 'em packing.

	What the hometown fans get, on the other hand, is crystal clear: They're down to rooting for the laundry. Why? Because they have almost no idea who might be occupying it from season to season.

When the San Francisco 49ers re-signed defensive tackle Bryant Young for a bunch of years and a bunch of money, Bill Walsh flat-out admitted that doing so will "cost us any number of other players" in terms of salary space. That's what this week is all about: Identifying not the essential core of your team, but perhaps a really good player or two. That's it.

Money-wise, it really is something like the NBA. The trouble is, the very best football player on a team could never have the impact that one member of an NBA starting five can exert. Put it this way: Brett Favre just signed a new deal with the Packers that was described as a "lifetime" contract. Neat. Who's Favre going to play with, Dorsey Levens? Almost everybody else is long gone. The Pack couldn't afford to keep a Super Bowl winner together.

Anybody wonder why quarterbacks can't seem to stay upright anymore? Could it have anything to do with the fact that by the time a franchise gets finishing doing the QB's contract, it doesn't have enough left in the kitty to keep a decent offensive line together for more than a season or two?

It is hard to say what the league gets out of this whole proposition besides relative cost certainty and the opportunity to spin its dubious "any given Sunday" theorem ad infinitum. What the hometown fans get, on the other hand, is crystal clear: They're down to rooting for the laundry. Why? Because they have almost no idea who might be occupying it from season to season.

When reporters covering the 49ers asked Walsh about the team's focus for the first round of this year's draft, especially in the wake of the team likely losing 1,000-yard rusher Charlie Garner to money woes, Walsh replied that running back might indeed be the priority. So also might right tackle, inside linebacker defensive lineman...

"Our No. 1 draft pick could be any one of those positions," Walsh said. Then he smiled, adding, "But I think I just named the whole team."

At least Walsh was able to. It's doubtful that a fan could. And there's a lot of that going around this week.

Mark Kreidler is a columnist for the Sacramento Bee, which has a web site at http://www.sacbee.com/.