Wednesday Whatnot: Hells to the Yeah

Haven't had reason to get fired up about the Chiefs for a lil' bit. This cures what ails:




(courtesy of Josh Looney)
Read more

Advice & Consent

As we all count down the days until George Bush fucking leaves Tuesday's Inauguration, I keep stumbling across the same two questions. One, can I take the day off? And two, how come every single big appointment made by a president is grilled by a Congressional committee, yet an NFL team can hire coaches and not hire GMs without any oversight whatsoever?

As to the first, I'm pretty sure the answer is no. I took a half-day when we voted in Colorado's caucus in February, I ditched for nearly a week to attend the convention in Denver, and I was absent on both Election Day and the day before. I'm certain that if I play hooky over this election one more time I'll be joining the ranks of the unemployed.

But then I read this and wondered if I found my loophole. Either that or my caucasianality is once again a handicap to my social advancement.

Oh well, there's always my second idea--hauling Pat Bowlen before an elected council of Bronco fans and forcing him to testify under oath as to why the Denver Broncos are stuck in the mud...

Hold up there, mister, I can hear you saying. It's his team, can't he run it the way he sees fit? To which I say of course, up until the moment he asked me, the Colorado taxpayer, to buy his team a new house. At that point it became our team, and I demand more say in its assembly than the right to buy a ticket and a sweatshirt and yell.

I say any team that demands public financing for its facilities has to allow its fans to vote for a board of directors. This board gets to subpoena team employees and demand explanations for boneheaded moves. And every time a big hire is made, the board has to sign off on it.

In the U.S. Constitution, it's spelled out like this:

[The President] shall have Power, by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, to make Treaties, provided two thirds of the Senators present concur; and he shall nominate, and by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, shall appoint Ambassadors, other public Ministers and Consuls, Judges of the supreme Court, and all other Officers of the United States, whose Appointments are not herein otherwise provided for, and which shall be established by Law: but the Congress may by Law vest the Appointment of such inferior Officers, as they think proper, in the President alone, in the Courts of Law, or in the Heads of Departments.

If you don't like it, buy your own God damned stadium.
Read more

Tradition Tuesday: Tradition Week Matchups Re-Cap, The Year 2001

Them other guys on those other blogs have focuses. They hammer out handfuls of posts a day, and cover sporting events in a timely fashion. We have, regardless of our venturings into the more unknown realms, one single focus. It's rough. And it's jaded. And it is the rivalry between the Denver Broncos (once heralded as back-to-back champions when, as C.S. Lewis might've said, things were run by a horse and his boy), cheered on by Cecil and Seven, and the Kansas City Chiefs (championship groundlayers -- authors/stars of the pigskin Old Testament -- for the New Book skimmers), proudly represented by the author of this post. Perhaps it appears unfair that the representation is skewed, but rest assured, the day Kansas City hoists the Lombardi again, a co-Chief author has been promised.

Some time ago, before the bin Ladens made videos and the women and minorities were told that they too could run for president of the United States, The Tradition was born. It is a twice-yearly event in which Denver fans fly their pro-Bronco, Ron Paulesque blimps out to the Truman Sports Complex with their team, and pretend to know something about meast rubbing and 'skin tossing. Conversely, those of us Chiefly interested, make short refuge in the mile-high city with our own. Whilst in attendance at said contests, we, in quite an unhealthy fashion, gorge ourselves like Shakespearean sidekicks on all of the slow-roasted swine and ale we can get our hands on. As of late, we have, on occasion, permitted the wives to attend one of these two annual galas, and when they do, their presence is quite pleasant, though they make us take pictures, and use napkins, and keep track of our spendings. Whether an all-chaps, or a mixed-company outing, however, it is always quite splendid. Especially considering the visiting fans almost always go home in defeat.

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

Two thousand one was indeed the coronation of what we've dubbed "The Tradition." It was back when us HoGsters were still young and dumb, convinced that driving was better, and somehow more economically efficient than flying. Stupid us. Our backs are still suffering from those loathesome treks. And what a grand year it was to begun our little ordeal. Mile High Field at CoInVes Stadium still had shiny beams and glistening paint, Cecil was a freshly married -- which meant he was automatically grounded from The Tradition until it was at least five years old -- chap, and Seven and I still thought we could kick ass and crop dust better than anyone on the average tailgate scene. Oh, and there was some football being played, too. Believe me like I'm Lima Time. Foot. Ball. Oh, there were Frerottes and Grieses, and Deltha O'Neils. Marvin Minnii, Olandis Garys, and Romanowskis, too. Don't forget the Crocketts, and the Bartees, and the McGlocktons, as well.

So I rolled, solo, as I was prone to back then, out of some Missouri, across a lotta Kansas, and into a bit of Colorado. I picked up The Heater, who will join, once every third year, as my co-Chief attendee, and we went. And I should mention that Old No. 7, in his eloquent hospitality, had procured me a ticket to this sporting event wherein the Chiefs would attempt to play football against the Broncos. I had been to a Chiefs game -- '99, I believe -- at the Old Mile High, and it was pleasant, largely because 98.3 per cent of the fans around me were AARP members, but also because Tamarick Vanover returned a punt for the game-winning touchdown. I was also with three other Bronco fans. Here at the new digs, though, what I didn't know was that the seat was a loner. And I didn't know that getting hammered and stripping down to a wife-beater (on top, of course) and challenging fans to a duel of wits wasn't going to sit well with the natives. I suppose, in hindsight, the game's outcome worked in my favor, to an extent.

Anyway, the Chiefs' Todd Peterson managed to kick a couple of field goals, but so did Denver's Jason Elam. Denver also managed to score other than that. There was probably a Rod Smith touchdown somewhere in the mix, and a Mike Anderson touchdown run for like 4000 yards, and good times were had by all not wearing red and gold. That was the early match that year.

Late in the season, the Bronco clan came out, and, as it stands, memory recalls that: we were parked right behind the guy we were looking for in the parking lot; we ate ribs; someone needed a ticket; someone had to poop; and not very many of us had cell phones. Oh, and I'm sure there were plenty of rednecks and fat chicks. That's how professional our lot scene was. Inside the game, I'm pretty sure there was some awesome flyover to kick it off, and the Chiefs did more than kick two Peterson field goals. I mean, there were three-point conversions had all around, but some of the seven-point variety was attained that day, as well. But of course, Rod Smith was probably around for a touchdown or two, and that fill-in-the-blank, early-part-of-the-decade 1000-yard Denver back probably did some damage, and lo and behold, overtime. Seven and I said "Eff it." We were going down from our place in the clouds. And we scored some pretty sweet seats.

All I remember is that Denver won the toss (Editor's Note: Big surprise), but had to punt against that sewage-resembling Chiefs defense. Then, we have our chance for the win from a driveway's length away, and Peterson misses. Game over. Wha'? Doubling my previous shock, the Chiefs hold Denver again. Peterson gets his chance at redemption, and, damn skippy, he made it.

Thus it was born. One year of The Tradition under our belt, we pledged to make it an annual gig. Of course, until the following year, when I didn't make it out, but that's another story, for another Tradition Tuesday.
Read more