Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Things To Bitch About In Denver When You're An Eight-Year Loser

Old No. 7 is right on many fronts, but mostly with the title of his post earlier today. It was an amazing weekend, but no post-weekend rant from yours truly could be deemed authentic if I didn't scrape together the usual pile of steaming whineries, and I therefore am obligated to deliver another list of tops. Normally, I would bitch in the direction of Chief generalities. And normally, after this particular weekend, I would bitch about the Chiefs always losing at InVesCo. On this particular occasion, however, I have both topics to bitch about, which, in some pathetic sense, makes me real damn original. Somebody's gotta carry the stamp of authenticity around here, though. Have a look at a true waste of your time, and mine, after the jump.

Typically, this is where run the trap about Denver's dumb stadium, or the bathrooms, or the parking lot, or that confounded football team that plays eight regular-season contests there each year. For all of 30 minutes, though, I'm going to (mostly) leave the orange-and-blue football team alone, and focus on some miscellany. Now, over the course of time, we've experienced some highlights and lowlights at these games. Frequently, these specifics involve fans, and in every little pod or network of fans, there is "that guy." Two of them get honorable mention today.

Number Five: Coming in at number five is "that guy" that was cheering for the Broncos. He sat in the row in front of us, several seats down, and was the poster child for fratty. He had his nifty Broncos hat, with appropriate wear and tear, his jersey, and his designer jeans. He also had a spare 10 minutes (during the 60-minute football contest) to come chat with my wife and I, and make certain that we are aware that, in comparison, Broncos fans win the title of "Awesomest." In his own twist of originality, he informed us that ticket-toting Chiefs fans at Arrowhead comprise one big pack of drunken hillbilly. It is at the home of the Chiefs where fans get drunk, talk shit, and throw things including beers, snowballs, batteries, and whatever other snippet you feel like stealing from other stadiums (Editor's Note: See Oakland.) to make your story sound better. His speech also included that fans don't roll like that in Denver. They are kind, law-abiding, well-behaved, far-from-intoxicated devotees, very far from inbred. Furthermore, if and when visiting fans are observed dabbling in any of those outlawed behaviors, he and his boys take it upon themselves to pass along the message that "that doesn't fly" there.

To all of that, I say thank you, sire. I'll be sure to look you up next year for Bro-Down 2009.

And then, moments afterwards, ever-inspired to distill the myth of ChiefsNation being one large gene pool of incestuous lewd-icrousness, I find myself in the men's room near our seats, standing behind...

Number Four: "That guy" that was cheering for the Chiefs was standing directly in front of me, waiting for a pisser. In a crowd of about 30 fans in this particular john, he and I were the only ones in red and gold. Everyone was chatting about how great the game was, and everyone shared that mystical moment of having to go so bad you can taste urine-flavored Coors in your mouth. No one, however, was standing immediately next to the massive "No Smoking" sign, directly across from the "Colorado Clean Indoor Air" sign, with a lit cigarette smashed between his lips. No one, but my fellow Chiefs fan that is. And judging by the look on his pock-marked, snaggle-toothed face, he was half oblivious, half couldn't care less. Thanks, homes. 'Preciate it.

Number Three: I'll for a moment, lay off the fans, and resort to my usual Chief personnel bashing, and borrow an ancient line from Old No. 7. Here in this House, we have all had many an occasion, and often a desire to make fun of Peyton Manning, regardless of his talents and successes. The said line from Seven went something like "...that and Manning hasn't had to launder his jersey since his rookie year," and I assure you that, in context, it was funny. It is of course a reference to the great protection he gets, whether he chooses to acknowledge it or not. And I say that to say this: Look, I don't care if Ryan Clady was a home run of a pick. I don't care if he makes the Pro Bowl as a rookie or for the next 10 seasons (Note: Okay, I might care a little bit about that.). I'm aware that there are four other men cashing offensive-line paychecks for the Denver front, one of which is a former Chief, and no -- it doesn't bother me if Denver comes in first at least-sacks-allowed in the leauge.

But, come. On. Generate some freaking pressure on Jay Cutler, and knock him down at least once. It's now obvious that the Chiefs will shatter the fewest-sacks-in-a-season record this year. Through 14 weeks, they have six fucking sacks. Six. Sunday's contest was all the evidence I need to say that they will almost certainly finish the year at that number. They had one close opportunity to down The Messiah, and he ducked the lone chaser and chucked a 17 yard-ish completion for a first down. Hoping against hopes, I thought the team that can't sack a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tubeman might could get one against the team that doesn't surrender them. Oops. And thanks, Chiefs front four, for nothing in the most nothingness possible of ways.

Number Two: Dwayne Bowe's hands. Dear Number 82: I love you, man. I really do. I know you're a threat, that you're leading the club in receptions, and that you led the team in catches on Sunday. But please stop dropping balls. You don't have to abandon the concept entirely. Hell, give some of those drops to B-Marsh if you want to. But really. Knock it off.

Number One: This one gets the top slot because it hits the most sensitive of nerves. I get that every fan has his/her rights and tastes. I know that there are Chiefs fans living in Denver and Broncos fans living in KC, but this goes out to one fan in particular that was at Sunday's game. It is you, you fraction of a person that created and displayed the "KC NATIVE BLEEDS ORANGE AND BLUE" sign to whom I speak. It is very seldom that I actually wish an injury upon an opponent or harm upon an anti-fan. In this instance, however, I wish a cold, thoughtless beating to the death to the person who claims to have been born in Kansas City, and matriculated out to the field with the aforementioned sign in tow. Now, I don't really wish death upon you except for the fact that I actually do. You are a disgrace to the human race and your existence should be swiftly erased from the annals of Mother Earth. I cast the (edited) words of Magua upon you:

"When" KC native Bronco fan "is dead, Magua will eat his heart. Before he dies, Magua will put his children under the knife, so" KC native Bronco fan "will know his seed is wiped out forever."

But, yeah. Aside from that, awesome weekend. Have a wonderful evening and may God bless!