Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Tradition Tuesday: A Farewell To Arms

If we're going to throw around titles of World War I-based novels, we might as well get them right. It wasn't all quiet on the western front, as my Chief colleague snidely quipped yesterday, it was just that Bronco Nation was in a state of shock. We won a game we should have lost, a big game that gave our club a two-game lead in the division halfway through September. But I'm getting ahead of myself--we need some italicized preamble.

The year was 2001, and a few Fort Lewis College alumni decided to ramble around the Missouri River drainage basin in order to watch some AFC West football. Thus was born The Tradition, a pageant of pigskin performance unmatched in recorded history. Actually, who are we kidding? The games usually stink, it's all about the arguing. Gonzalez or Sharpe? Whitlock or Schefter? Losing with stoic Midwestern dignity or winning with cut-blocking shame? These are our battlegrounds, and this is our eternal war. Join us every Tuesday for a state-of-the-rivalry address.

Back to the controversy at hand--what is the appropriate reaction to Denver's scandalous ref-aided gimmick win Sunday? How much indignation should rival fans display without looking like petty whiners? Where should neutral observers cast blame and/or dole out credit? And what shall Bronco fans do? Should we give the victory back? Should we act contrite all season, knowing we now possess something that isn't rightfully ours? Um, no, actually. You know why?

Because fuck San Diego, that's why.

I am elated that this travesty occurred at the expense of the San Diego Chargers. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving bunch of fucktarded slimebags as the Bolts. All I've heard for the last three years is how "talented" this San Diego squad is. Yet for all that "talent," they've displayed an annoying knack for yapping big yet performing tiny while under the hot spotlight of the NFL. The Patriots have won championships to justify their clippings, and the Colts climbed the mountain as well. Supposedly less-"talented" teams like the Bears and the Panthers and the Giants have advanced to the Super Bowl during this recent run of faux Charger greatness.

Bitch all you want about Ed Hochuli's boner, but where was Ladanian Tomlinson Sunday afternoon? We must remember that it was a big game, and thus LT found a way to shrink from the challenge. This week's excuse was a bum toe, but we all know the Chargers' training staff did not pack enough super-absorbent maxi pads to get their prima donna superstar ready for the game. LT's really skilled at running up big meaningless fantasy stats against the Raiders but squealing like a teenage Jonas Bros. groupie when it's time for real tackle football. And don't make fun of his friends, because he will totally slap you in the neck.

What I'm saying is, if I'm not making myself clear enough, had LT showed an ounce of testosterone at Invesco we would not be discussing a bad call in the fourth quarter or the wisdom of going for two. We'd instead be moaning about how the Broncos blew a certain victory over the Chargers because they can't stop the run.

But since you mentioned Shawne Merriman, where was he for this key game? Rehabbing from injuries sustained because he does steroids. Lots and lots of steroids.

But let's get to the quarterback, the always classy Phil Rivers. Why do I get the feeling that Philip wears a pink polo shirt on his day off? The kid had a nice day Sunday, passing for 377 yards and singlehandedly reviving the career of Chris Chambers. He later celebrated by berating a stewardess and exposing himself to a taxi driver. Do you think Philip ever wonders about the trade that brought him to San Diego? Could Phil have scored a ring for the Giants, as Eli did last February? My guess is no. Because Phil Rivers is a giant gaping douche.

Thanks to the knuckleheaded replay decisions, Antonio Cromartie has escaped much scrutiny for his play on Sunday. But how was his clumsy performance not seen as a deciding factor? In addition to yielding 18 Brandon Marshall receptions (that's second-most in the history of the game), Cromartie ran up a litany of personal fouls and automatic first downs. And along the way he kept talking. And talking. And talking. Maybe you should just sit this one out, champ.

I'm sure somewhere there are some hard core Chargers fans that are really steamed about the outcome of this game. And by "somewhere" I mean "nowhere"--there truly are no hard core Chargers fans. I've never seen such a lightweight specimen of partisan booster. We get it--your city is beautiful, your weather is perfect, and your women are amazing. Just know this: your team is soft and so are you.

At least they've found the perfect career loser to run this operation in Norv. His huffy indignation at Hochuli was cute, and I'm sure he garnered the respect of his men with whatever barnburner of a postgame speech he gave in the locker room. Something about making sure you don't leave your duffel bags behind.

So really, that game was fantastic, in that it was a red-hot bucket of suck it poured over the heads of the San Diego Chargers. I really hope that the Charger blogs are aflame with indignation--heck, if God has a sense of humor he'll remind someone of Matt Holliday's phantom run in the one-game playoff against the Padres. It's a conspiracy!

Update: The reaction is even better than I thought possible.


Cecil said...

Ironically, the last time Hochuli worked a Denver game was eight years ago--in a victory over San Diego that saw him call numerous shady personal fouls on Denver's line.


I love the indignation. Like bad calls don't happen in every single damn game to every single damn team.

I also appreciate that practically every talking head, from Cris Collinsworth to Michael Lombardi (who might still be steamed that Shanahan didn't offer him a full-time job) said that the game "shouldn't end like that."

It didn't. That wasn't the end of the game.

(If we wanna be perfectly fair, and we do, we should also mention that the call actually screwed Denver as well, since the ball should have been spotted around the 4, not the 10.)

Whale's Vag still had three chances to keep us out of the end zone and didn't. Fuck 'em.

And to you, oh loudmouth smack-talkin' Navy brats and silicone whores of the Bolt fanbase: Go cry in your Pacifico, you skin-cancer-havin' right-wing douchenozzles.