Tradition Tuesday: Oh Yeah It's On

Let's talk a little football, shall we? Not the kind that normally appears in this space, the "Oh my God my team is so horrible and we'll never fire Herm" kind. I speak of real, red-blooded American football, the kind played on Sundays in open-air taxpayer-swindled coliseums. Cause it's Tradition Week, you hairy bitches.


First, the back story, for those who may be new to this particular unlicensed publication on the series of tubes. This is the House of Georges, and our rough focus is the rivalry between the Denver Broncos and the Kansas City Chiefs. There once was a time when those Chiefs had the upper hand, back in the old American Football League days. But then again, back then the football was round, the game was played twenty-five men to a side, there was a moat filled with alligators in front of the goal line (hence the term "red zone") and the whole world was broadcast in black and white.

Fast forward to modern times, and fate seems to have smiled upon the high-altitude franchise nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountain range. Two gleaming Vince Lombardi trophies rest in a glass case in Denver, while dust mites and cobwebs inhabit any display area reserved for recent Chief postseason glory. In Colorado, our per capita income and rates of college graduation are high, while obesity statistics show us as the fittest state in the land. Our women are lean and gorgeous while our saloons close at reasonable hours so we can obtain our beauty rest. Out in Kansas and Missourah, well, let's just say results are mixed.

So a few years back three friends conspired to hatch this web-log, or "eblo" in the parlance of the times. We named it the House of Georges, after some long-forgotten Canadian architect. We decided that we would, come hell or high water, always watch the Broncos play the Chiefs live and in person. In Kansas City. In Denver. In a parking lot of a Safeway in Constantinople. We'll be there. We'll be drunk. And we'll give you all of the boring details, along with a few cherry-picked statistics that occasionally back up our wild boasts of intolerance. You are now about to witness the strength of The Tradition.

KANSAS CITY @ DENVER, 2:15 SUNDAY DEC. 7

Quickly, to all you Kansas City residents whose blood may be boiling over my generalizations of your fair city, put down your pitchforks. I was simply making a little fun of you in the spirit of this game. We'll get all dressed up this weekend and yell at one another, then come Monday we'll go back to all the things we agree on. Like the fact that the Raiders are the worst. And that Nebraska is a God-awful place, even worse than where you live. And that puppies are just cute as all hell, and that the gays should never be allowed to marry. Agreed? Agreed.

Now let's talk about how much you suck.

You suck because the Hunt family is addicted to losing. Yeah I said it. Chiefs fans have way, way too much reverence for these bums. You erect statues to old Lamar and worship the ground he walked on, but where exactly are the fruits of his genius? You have an NFL team, whereas a lot of mid-sized American cities do not. End of tombstone.

Lamar Hunt and his inbred knucklehead of a kid wouldn't know a winning attitude if it bit them in the balls. All I hear from every single male (and most every female) I meet in Kansas City is how inept Carl Peterson and Herman Edwards are.

So fucking fire them already. It's easy. I'll do it for you. Hand me a phone and a number, and I'll do what your bitch owners have failed to do since I was born--set some standards for competence that lead to winning. In every other city in the league (even Detroit!), there are consequences to failure. Consequences like not getting a paycheck year after year after year.

Look, I don't know all the ins and outs about how Marty led to Dick led to Gunther led to Herm. I know that everyone worked together for the Eagles or UCLA or something, and that those teams never won shit either. Nepotism is great if you're John Quincy Adams and actually get elected, not so much if you're Frank Stallone.

I don't listen to your talk radio, Kansas City, or regularly read your columnists not named Joe Posnanski. I have no idea how much outrage exists out there, but I do know it's not getting you anywhere. How is it that you can not collectively get these clowns a ticket out of town? You can deface the national anthem without batting an eye, but you can't boo any louder? You can't fabricate a sex scandal implicating Herm, Carl and a Backstreet Boy? You can't quit going to these awful games, like lemmings headed toward a cliff, in order to show someone you're sick of the direction of your franchise? I'm almost embarrassed to be part of this "rivalry."

Better yet, why not fire the fucking owner? Is there not some blue-blood prick in the upper crust of KC society with enough juice to buy out the Hunts? We once had no hockey team and a shit-for-brains douchelicker who owned the Nuggets out here in Colorado. You know what we did? We found a random tool who married a billionaire's daughter, and that tool brought us the NHL, a watchable NBA team and a new arena we didn't even have to pay for. All of a sudden it's raining Stanley Cups around here, and we don't even know what a Stanley Cup is. And where did we find this Stan Kroenke, this mystical shaman who delivered us from evil and losing simply by spending money in a roughly intelligent fashion? Siberia? Uranus?

We fucking found him in Missouri. Right under your noses, while Clark Hunt was donating money to some hospital that immediately began killing its patients. Just go out in the Ozarks and find you some of that Wal-Mart money, I hear it's everywhere.

If you don't have the stones to recruit a new owner, perhaps the good people of Kansas City could buy the team themselves. Green Bay did it, and they're not nearly as grating to watch as the Chiefs. Or follow the example of the Montreal Expos, who allowed Major League Baseball to simply take the franchise over. Roger Goodell couldn't do any worse.