Delectable Junior Varsity Football In Unfriendly Territory

Yes. Coming at you from an alleged 10-minute walk from AmVesCoInCap Field at Mile High Stadium, the wife and I are holed up in a neighborhood basement discussing just how bad our Kansas City Chiefs might be on Sunday when they take on the hometown Denver Broncos. We're sure of a few things: a)the temperature has continued to plummet since our arrival and Cecil has assured us of a low-30s/possibly snowy kickoff come gametime; Brodie Croyle might be removed from the playing surface via a cart or a stretcher; and Travis Henry is an outstanding Denver County citizen employed by the most well-loved, humblest coach in the NFL, and together their salaries are paid by the most attractive, intelligent, polite ticket-holding fans in the wide wide world of sports.

Rest assured, HoGnation faithful, 2:15 MST on Sunday will be some contest. Upon the OT conclusion of last year's contest and the coolest horse-laden facility east of Reno, I was certain my Chiefs had crossed the proverbial streak of winless campaigns in Denver. And, had this exquisite three quarters of a season not gone as swimmingly as it has, I'd still be on track to predict a home-team loss. Things, however, have included a five-game losing streak, five losses at the cherished Truman Sports Complex (one of which was to these same hapless Broncos) injuries to three quarterbacks and two running backs, and handfuls of hair being pulled out by Chiefs fans every time Coach Herm makes a "decision."

Believe it or not, I could go on. And on. And on. It's a bitter bitter pill to swallow when it's realized that your team is not on the path to championship football. Of course, that pill must be washed down with rusty-razor-spiked sewage water in the form of knowing that one year's draft won't even solve a fraction of the problems. Thus, the Chiefs must plod along through the sad, sad remainder of this season with zero playoff hopes and very little to go on for next year. We know that the Damion McIntosh project has been so-so; he's about half of a Willie Roaf when he can stay healthy. It's time to close the door on the Kyle Turley/John Welbourn chapters, and the Ty Law/Pat Surtain saga must end. Now. In other splendid news, Larry Johnson's big-money summer appears to have been for naught, and, oh by the way, the Chiefs have a mild situation to deal with in the place-kicker department.

Brodie Croyle, though he was hurt after a mere two starts, shows promise. He's got his own version of a laser rocket arm, more mobility than any Chiefs QB since the short-lived Rich Gannon era, and in a word, promise. And try as I might, I cannot separate myself from football season, or from my team; we're attached at the heart. For sanity's sake, I've got to have something. Something that shows the positive in this club. And here, right now, in the hub of enemy ground, it's come to me. It's a love I've had before, one I've welcomed back on more than one occasion, and it looks a little like this:



That's right. It's the defense. And I credit the man in the yellow glasses. So, my wish, and my wife's wish for Sunday is damage. Damage in the form of dashing Donkey playoff hopes, annihilating T-Hen's (non-stoned) knee, and giving Cousin Cutler a smackdown sandwich. More to come as kickoff nears.