TAMPA, Fla. -- They celebrated their crucial division win Sunday evening in the manner the Tampa Bay Buccaneers characteristically embrace victory, which is to say tentatively and haltingly, and with the unmistakable lack of passion which can best be described as a kind of incongruously borderline bemusement.

In short, the Buccaneers veterans almost had to be reminded they came out on the winning end of the 14-10 squeaker with the Green Bay Packers, and with good reason.

"It's hard to describe how we got this victory," Bucs defensive end Simeon Rice said. He didn't mean it the way it sounded, but he could have, because that described a benumbed feeling in the Tampa Bay dressing quarters.

Win or lose, this team's demeanor never seems to alter, and one doesn't venture into its locker room anticipating the popping of champagne corks or the boyish raucousness and revelry that is meant to accompany victory at any level of the game. Take the pulse of a Tampa Bay graybeard, any of the players who have survived the unfulfilled promises of the last several seasons, and it neither races nor recedes based on the scoreboard numbers.

	“	I know it seems like the same story every week. But we're going to get it right. You can feel us getting better out there. ”
		— Mike Alstott

"I just don't think we're the kind of team that gets into all the 'rah-rah' stuff," said strong safety John Lynch after the Bucs survived a breakneck, last-minute Brett Favre rally that finally faltered on an unsuccessful pass into the end zone. "This is kind of our persona, I guess. We're just the same old Bucs, you know?"

And therein lies the problem for a franchise once again trumpeted as a viable Super Bowl contender. Because if the Bucs are their same, old selves again in 2001 -- as the first three games of the season have certainly hinted -- then they once again probably won't be good enough to be playing in the final week of the season.

You hate to storm on anybody's parade, especially when a procession of players make it such a point to mention how much they hope their victory helped the Air Force personnel stationed at the nearby Mac Dill base, but the Bucs rationalization is growing hackneyed.

There are the usual bromides about sterling character, the clichés about hanging together and staying close in crucial contests, and the happy-talk rhetoric that has become a staple for a team split along offensive and defensive lines. "We did what we had to do to win," noted cornerback Ronde Barber, succinctly synopsizing both the strength and weakness of the Bucs in nine pithy syllables.

Acknowledged loquacious defensive tackle Warren Sapp, whose act has worn thin with many of his teammates who long ago tired of his public harangues: "Sometimes the more you change . . . well, you know."

The bottom line for the Bucs, though, remains decidedly unchanged: Unless a sputtering Tampa Bay offense gets things in gear, the 2001 season will end shy of expectations.

Coach Tony Dungy is working on his third offensive coordinator since arriving here in '96 and on his third "savior" quarterback. But no matter how much the Bucs insist they have tinkered with the ingredients, the offense still lacks flow and consistency.

Green Bay was guilty of dubious clock management in the final minutes, when Favre drove his team to the Tampa Bay 8-yard line with a second down, then watched his usual magic act disappear in a sequence that included a false-start penalty, a sack and a desperation pass to the back of the end zone that was swatted away by Lynch. The Bucs offense, on the other hand, was out of sync just about all afternoon.

Then again, this is a bunch that has tried so many formulas in recent seasons, it might not know in sync if that level was ever achieved.

One veteran offensive player, as he exited into the humid night, referred to the package on offense as "gumbo." That is, truth be told, a lot of mumbo-jumbo. The faces certainly change but the playbook, and the conservative bent, are all too familiar.

Consider this nugget: Were it not for an incredible individual effort by Mike Alstott, the fill-in at tailback for the injured Warrick Dunn, the Bucs would have lost on a day when they authored the longest scoring play and the longest scoring drive of a mostly futile 26-year history. The first occurred on strongside linebacker Shelton Quarles' interception and 98-yard return in the second quarter. The second, a 95-yard possesion that needed but eight plays and less than five minutes, was consummated by Alstott's 39-yard run.

In between, there were a lot of short pass completions and between-the-tackle runs, the kind of conservative play-calling that Dungy and coordinator Clyde Christensen have employed this season. That the Bucs actually converted six of 14 snaps on third down was rather amazing, given that the standard third-and-10 play for Tampa Bay is an eight-yard completion.

Of course, not everyone agreed with that assessment, particularly Brad Johnson, who was supposed to be the final piece of an offensive puzzle. Or, at the very least, an experienced performer at quarterback, one capable of getting Humpty Dumpty together again.

"Geez, we completed something like 75 percent of our passes," said Johnson, who hit on 23 of his 29 attempts for 184 yards. "So that's a positive."

Maybe, but not in the big picture the Bucs keep presenting. Johnson's longest completion was for 22 yards. Sixteen completions were for nine yards or less and a dozen were for six yards or less. Take away those nine catches for 82 yards that Keyshawn Johnson had and the rest of the Tampa Bay wide receivers seemed to be on the field only because the rules say you're supposed to line up with 11 players.

By unofficial count, the Buccaneers only twice put the ball in the air for more than 30 yards. All but ignoring the deep ball, the Green Bay defense crowded the line and played tight on the corners. Second-year defensive end Kabeer Gbaja-Biamila had three sacks and forced a fumble that led to a field goal, and the Packers dumped Johnson five times.

The scoring run by Alstott, who finished with a deceptive 77 yards on 15 rushes, occurred midway through the fourth quarter and lifted Tampa Bay from a 10-7 deficit. On a simple play off the left side, Alstott, one of the NFL's most overrated players, found enough of a crease to make a cut. He stepped out of a would-be stop by tackle Santana Dotson and got through the arms of strongside linebacker Na'il Diggs.

As he chugged to the sideline, Alstott picked up some nice shield blocks, especially one that kept Green Bay strong safety LeRoy Butler from getting an angle on him.

The signature effort elicited one of the few eruptions from a crowd that seemed nervous throughout, likely because of the events a half-world away that began as parking lots at Raymond James Stadium were opening early in the afternoon, and which jeered nearly every time the listless Tampa Bay offense trudged to the sideline.

"I know it seems like the same story every week," said Alstott, "but we're going to get it right. You can feel us getting better out there."

Such alleged improvement, though, is hardly discernable to anyone not wearing pewter on his back and a pirate on the side of his helmet. Then again, the Tampa Bay defense, which talks a much better game than it plays and might have been suicidal had Favre gotten his team into the end zone in the final minutes, is about as flimsy of late as those press clippings it keeps collecting.

To compete with the elite of the NFC, like the high-octane St. Louis Rams, the Bucs need far more from their offense. In three games, the unit has just five plays of 20 yards or more and has scored only three touchdowns. Johnson has yet to throw a touchdown pass and, while he bristles at suggestions his arm strength has waned, his velocity is a huge question mark.

Even in a division that doesn't score much the Bucs, who are only 19-23 versus the NFC Central under Dungy, need more points. And they vow they will get them in time. How long a time, of course, no one was saying.

"All I know," said Favre, "is that they are the usual, tough, SOBs they always are."

That was meant, it should be noted, as flattery. But in this city it is bad news. Here those initials translate into "Same Ol' Bucs." And even in victory on Sunday, the local team did little to shake that dubious moniker.

Len Pasquarelli is a senior NFL writer for ESPN.com.