Tradition Tuesday: 2007 Chapter I Wrap-Up

The rough focus of this blog is the rivalry between the Kansas City Chiefs (heralded by Bankmeister) and the Denver Broncos (championed by Cecil and Old No. 7). It may seem unfair that it's two versus one, but once KC gets that second Super Bowl win we'll even out the delegation.

Seven years ago we started The Tradition, in which Bronco fans travel out to the Truman Sports Complex with their team, and Chief lovers return to the Rocky Mountains with theirs. We tailgate, we talk massive amounts of shit, our wives are occasionally assaulted by rival fans, and we almost always watch the visiting team lose. It's a grand old time.

Here at the HoG, we're going to keep The Tradition going with Tradition Tuesday--a weekly state-of-the-rivalry address.

Well, there you have it. The first installment of The Tradition has come and gone, the results of which proved Old No. 7 write: nothing shy of ugly. Granted, for himself and the witty Cecil, the end result was nice, it was still an awful game in most every sense of the word. The contest, if you care to call it that, that is.

Regardless of a mildly late start (compliments of DfromKC), we made it to Arrowhead and had our coals going by a few minutes after nine.

In a fit of fear of el huevo grande I imagined the Chiefs might lay, my uninspiration to concoct a menu for the afternoon trickled into the cuisine preparation. Perhaps sensing the upcoming Denver success, Seven obliged us with a pilfered recipe for some delicious brats that we talentfully drowned in Pabst (both pan and gut). While the company to our north left much to be desired, all else in the lot was grand: nice day, pigskin tossing, pre-game music, etc.

It was when we entered the stadium that the suck threatened to unleash. We did enjoy seats in the closest vicinity to the field either of us had ever experienced, and we did have the pleasure of watching a large Priest Holmes-jersey-laden man with a hair sweater strip repeatedly and fondle his nipples in a near Oscar-worthy Fat Bastard impersonation several rows in front of us. We also had the privilege of having a massive prick tell us off (with F-bombs) in front of his 14-year-old son for talking during the halftime show. His shrewdly accurate assumption that we were the only ones talking (in the entire stadium) during said ceremony didn't spark fits of sarcastic comments from any of us. None whatsoever.

Alas, the match itself. We all know the highlights:

An 8-6 Chiefs lead at halftime (Editor's Note: This was only slightly more obnoxious than their 6-0 lead at halftime in Denver last year -- bonus points for the safety, hampered, however by lack of touchdowns); wrath of the boobirds for little-to-no defensive production and a shaky start at best for the man under center; the successes of Brandon Marshall and Selvin Young; the prowess of Jay Cutler in that he played through injury and became the first Broncos QB to win at Arrowhead in his first start since pre-HFCD days); the abundance of yellow flags littering the field; and finally, the turnovers.

It was downright awful.

We at the HoG is well aware that every club has its bad games, but this contest spelled out something much greater: The Broncos have been barely better than terrible this year, and they were ripe for the Chiefs to humiliate them. Only it was the home club that hung its collective head in shame. Their offense, regardless of a nice rushing display from Holmes, is decrepit; the D takes large steps toward progression, then falters; and the offensive line will likely be responsible for an injury to the recently appointed-as-starter Brodie Croyle. This of course will mean that Damon Huard will be called upon once more.

I've shunned any notions of rebuilding since last year's playoff debacle in Indianapolis. I suppose it's only fitting that facing Indy once more brings the ugly truth of reality full circle.

Good times, I say. Good. Times.