Monday, December 22, 2008

Monday Morning Palindrome Postage: 12-22-08

Typically, I'd take this opportunity to congratulate Old No. 7 on hammering out, not only a weekend post, not only one of two weekend posts, but also sliding in to score post number 1000 here in this House of Georges. I'd then try and make a pun about this being 1001, but I'd probably be ridiculed somewhere in the commentary. So instead, I'll stick to some things that I know. Like, the fact that it's freaking cold out. Yesterday's loss to the Dolphins was 10 degrees at kickoff with a windchill of -12, making it the second-coldest game ever played at Arrowhead Stadium. Miami has never fondled the skins of pig in such chilly weather.

I knew this was coming, though. I predicted it in the RealLife Tubes back in June. Mild winter in 2007, topped with mild '08 summer equals a giant heap of frozen frickin' tundra. And like so many contests of this delectable season, Tyler Thigpen and the Kansas City Chiefs took to the literally frozen blades of grass and pretended like they were going to win for most of an American football game. And then didn't.

It's ridiculously sad and painfully true that 2007's 4-12 record looks pretty good from here. I mean, aside from the fact that it doesn't, that is. I've said before that I want to win every week, no matter what, but when it comes down to the difference between winning two games versus three or four, it's like picking your slice of pizza based on size. Yeah. That one's an eighth of an inch thinner, so it won't fill you up as much. Mmm-hmm. Funny thing is, folks've been making such commotion over these last two losses as if they really mean something. It's true that next week, both Missouri clubs will Indian leg-wrestle for the two slot in the draft, and the Chiefs will finish with one of their worst records in franchise history, and barring a six-sack day in Ohio, they will set a new all-time mark for the lowest in a season.

The point, though -- and I can now say I've learned this from experience -- is that the losses just stopped hurting. I type that with a straight face and honest meaning. They really do, and they really did. I think it was somewhere around the Saints game. That loss really pissed me off. The Chiefs were really in position to win it on a couple of occasions, but couldn't keep their act together. Then the Buffalo Bills come to town and score 14 touchdowns and some field goals, and yeah -- I was embarrassed to my inner core, but it didn't really hurt. It was nice to beat the Raiders for victory number two, and it would've been awesome to win in Denver, but I'm able to say that every year, lucky guy that I am. Somehow, though, it didn't surprise me that we lost to the Chargers by one point again, at the end of the game again last week, and I never expected us to beat Miami. Hell, they've played to win the game at least 10 times this year, and've nestled themselves into first place in the AFC East.

So even though I'm not certain that I realized it before this moment, I checked out on this season some time ago. When losses stop hurting, you as a fan have parted with your investment in the campaign. I'm sure there are fans that disagree, and to them I'll ask what the point is in caring. What does it matter if you score a win now? You buildin' a momentum clubhouse? 'Cause guys deserve it? Perhaps you think the fans do? Forget it. There is no deserve in winning. There're no sympathy victories, no pity parade, none of any of that. The Chiefs are perhaps "heading in the right direction," but the road they're taking to get there is called Awful Avenue.

So what do you do? Look west says I. Look west. Now, if I were a Broncos fan (Editor's Note: Thank you, Tom Cruise for not making me a Broncos fan.), I'd be weeping with the likes of Shannon Sharpe and Tom Jackson (Note: Mo' like Freddy Jackson) as they unsuccesfully try to break down this game, this stretch for Denver without bias. But I ain't. I's an Irish-Catholic, God-fearing Chiefs fan who is always there, waiting and ready with a box of Morton, all Pavlovian at the site of wounds like the ones the Buffalo Bills created yesterday. Therefore, I'm obligated, based on my faith and my DNA, to say "Thanks, God. You did some darn fine work, there."

Come 3:15 Central next Sunday, we'll be watching to see who's gonna call this game, and we'll be listening for the HochuliGate reference over/under, and some of us will be hoping for the San Diego fans to a) learn a little bit about football, b) purchase some tickets, c) attend the game in its entirety, d) remember the Alamo, e) at least try to make some noise -- wait, when Cutlerfucker has the ball, non Marmalard, and f) win this damn division. I'm well aware that that is a massive list, that in all likelihood, the Denver Broncos will pull the covers off this bed of feces they've been sleeping in since the Chiefs came to town, and rebound, securing themselves a post-season slot. Frankly, I don't give a damn who wins the game because the winner will only get hosed in the playoffs and officially send the entire AFC West away with its suitcase of shame.

In essence, this all makes me a cynical slimeball of a bitter, mean jerk. But you know, something's gotta take the place of pain via losses. Something.

2 comments:

old no. 7 said...

By my count this is Post No. 1000, and mine was 999, which if you flip it over is the number of the beast.

But whatever, yay, a thousand posts. I can't think of anything I've done a thousand times, other than jerk off to photos of Rustoleum's mom.

bankmeister said...

Cecil got the beast some time ago. You got 1000; mine was 1001, and Mrs. Rustoleum? Well, she'll always be a 10 by my count.