Tradition-al Side Effects: The Top Ten Worst Things About Games at InVesCo

The work just keeps crankin' itself out here in Tradition Week, and I've compiled a list of loathsome things I subject myself -- and on occasion my wife -- to at least once a year, and they are all tied very tightly to attending football contests at InVesCo Field at Mile High Stadium. It's quite possible that I've, at one time or another in the past, listed each of these things in one post or another. It's also quite possible that I don't care; I'm sayin' 'em again. Don't get me wrong, here. I love these games, and I would one day like for my team to win one of them, because that would be awesome, the largest, most grandeur of monkeys off of my pasty, hairy, non-physiqued back. Therefore, without any further ado, I bring you "The Top Ten Worst Things About Games at InVesCo." But, you'll have to click your mouse to read them.

Number Ten: The Digs

I once had the pleasure of attending a Chiefs game at the Old Mile High. That was an awesome stadium. InVesCo is but a poorly engineered pile of plastic heap in comparison, one that reeks of corporate newness and outright lameness.



The Broncos won a ton of playoff games there. The place was raucous and downright frightening. InVesCo, with its cheap, hollowish-plastic floors that facilitate the supreme gayness of Rocky Mountain Thunder, totally, completely blows.

Number Nine: The Lot

Now, InVesCo, like Mile High sits in the heart of downtown Denver, so the possibility of having sprawling acres of parking like we do at Arrowhead seems, well, un-possible. I can't imagine, however, a design more poorer than the one in place.



There are roughly 179 "lots" to park in at the new Mile High, and each costs the equivalent of a season ticket per game to stow your vehicle and belongings in. I'm not going to sit here and wax tailgating, because any smart fan in any city can tailgate well, and my Mile-High companions do just that. There's just little convenience attached to the process.

Number Eight: Getting Tickets

One great thing about tickets to Chiefs games is that our crew seldom has to worry about not sitting together. Now, it's possible that there's a direct correlation to the winning and non-winning of the franchises here, but I'm not trying to be logical. No, stubborn and grudge-holding is more my forte. But don't sell me obstructed-view seats. And please, every once in a while, throw a guy a bone.



I'm already at a higher elevation in the parking lot. When I finally get to my nosebleed seats, I don't want to be reminded that I'm a fat, out-of-shape, chain-smoking midwesterner (who still has time and occasion to marry each of his sisters). How about a gondola, or a dumb waiter? At the very least, some oxygen coming out of my cupholder would be awesome if you're not going to make lower-level seats available.

Number Seven: Number Seven

Broncos Fans -- John Elway hasn't taken a snap in over ten years. If you wish to jerk off to the Horse-Faced Colts Draft for the remainder of your existence on this planet, please do so in the confines of your own home.



He was a great quarterback. He didn't win any Pulitzers, and he, last time I checked, didn't cure any major diseases. Get. Over. Him.

Number Six: The Jerseys

An insider tip tells me that both Webster's and Random House will be removing "1) having or showing a lively mood; merry. 2) bright or showy: gay colors. 3) homosexual. 4) a homosexual person, esp. a male" as their definition for "gay" and replacing it with "the collection of hometown fans' jerseys on any given Sunday at InVesCo" in their 2009 edition. For real.



Still sportin' a Romanowski? You're gay. Like how you look in that oversized Mecklenberg throwback? You. Are. Ghey. Let me guess: You pick special Sundays to bust out that Bailey road replica. What? I'm right? Santa's sled rings geigh bells when he prepares to land on your roof. And, please, if you are the proud owner of a Shannon Sharpe jersey, then you, your father, his father, and your son...gay in the mouth. The aforementioned of course excludes any of the following: a) my friends, b) their friends, c) anyone I've ever met, and d) anyone capable of kicking my ass. We're all cool.

Number Five: The Pisser

Hey, remember when you thought it would be a good idea to have like six portable bathrooms within 10 square miles outside your stadium and more for women than men inside?



Good thinkin'. Fucktards.

Number Four: The Cheer

Look, call us Chiefs fans rednecks. Call us hillbillies, and ridicule us for goofing with the national anthem. At least we're original. I will never, in all my time on this planet, understand why BroncosCountry is so infatuated with the two words "Go" and "Broncos." It is with this three-syllabled phrase that every orange-and-blue-clad fan of the Denver club communicates whenever they're discussing football. It is the capital city of Lamesville, the president of Dullvania.



I don't care who you are. When you -- no matter the cadence or the pitch -- shout "Go Broncos," you sound as tough and admirable as pile of dead leaves. I'm begging you all for your own sakes: Coin something new.

Number Three: The Chant

This one's the greatest, and lobbied for a two spot, even. I love it when Broncos fans acknowledge how totally obnoxious, tired, and should've-been-buried-already the "In-Com-Plete!" chant is, and has been, since like two weeks after Steve Bono inspired your old PA dude to say it. Now it's transcended announcers, and the fans keep it up, and even, when the time is right, gather to holler it in opposing venues.



That chant bothered me for about one quarter of Chiefs-Broncos football many moons ago. Now, it only instills empathy from within my heart, for you sad, sad breed of people. But keep doing it. You know, for aesthetics.

Number Two: The Team

I can't say this in any other fashion that would more passionately and confusingly express my sentiments: I hate the Denver Broncos.



I would like more than anything to attend Chiefs-Broncos games, only without the Denver Broncos present.

Number One: The Truth

All name-calling and finger-pointing aside, the Broncos, in my lifetime, have abundantly had more on-the-field success than their 'cross-the-plains rivals, my Chiefs. I never got to fulfill my dreams of taking a knight stick to John Elway's knees in a quiet Englewood pub, and I never got to cram a glowing-red bag of hot, rusty nails down the non-enunciative mouth of Shannon Sharpe. Truth be told, I'm likely too chicken to do either, and certainly not crafty enough to pull those feats off without getting caught, maimed, and/or killed, so maybe it's for the better. The fact remains, though, that no Broncos fan can possibly hate the Chiefs with as much vigor as the reverse. The one exception would be anyone that jumped on the Bronco bandwagon since 1999, and we all know that there has never, in the annals of time, been a Denver fan like that.



Over the course of 30-ish years, Denver has molested the pigskin with better digit manipulation than Kansas City, often at the expense of the Chiefs, and that burns, burns, burns, like, you guessed it, a ring of fire.
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Tradition Tuesday: Ten Down, Six to Go

Frankly, the rough focus of this blog -- that'd be the rivalry between the Kansas City Chiefs and the Denver Broncos -- has become quite the embarrassment. The Denver Broncos are in first place in the AFC West, but that's no surprise; I picked them to go 10-6. The staggering truth about the scenario in this division is that the Kansas City Chiefs have lost 18 of their last 19 professional football contests. This city is brimming with anger, shame, and defeat, and so is the football team. I think. There remain, nevertheless, six splendid weeks in the NFL schedule, and that month and-a-half is tied together with promise, despair, false hope, and times of goodness. Cecil and Old No. 7 are harnessed to the promise, while I bathe in the despair, false hope, and that poster child of sarcasm, the times of goodness. It may seem unfair that I and I alone must break down the future standings of our division, but maybe, if KC ever gets that second Super Bowl, we'll even out the work load. Nonetheless, with the assistance of some lolcatness, we'll break it down after the jump.

Those beloved, frontrunner Broncos, fresh off their win at Atlanta, will return home to the friendly confines of InVesCo. It is there, in the city of Denver, that they will host the 2-8 Oakland Raiders. Said Raiders are led fearlessly by Tom Cable, who will be making his first appearance in the mile-high city as an NFL head coach. For good measure, it may be his last, as the great mystery that is Al Davis' cerebral cortex continues to cast clouds over the crystals of the soothsayers. JaMarcus Russell and his injury-plagued stars will not help this team win via ground or air, so there is win number seven for Denver. After that, the Broncos travel to the Meadowlands for a visit with the Jet Favres in New York. If I stick with my original prognosis, they win that game, then beat KC and Carolina before falling to the Bills and Chargers to wrap things up. If I were wishy-washier, I'd swap that Carolina win for a loss, and do the opposite for the Buffalo game, but I'll stick to (the latter half of) my 10-6 guns just how they are. If the season ended today, they'd face Baltimore, Miami, Indianapolis, or New England, neither of which probably looks good to BroncoNation.

On the Kansas City end of things, "dismaller" is now officially a word.



They host the Bills this Sunday, then travel to Oakland, Denver (Editor's Note: I may or may not have a pair of compactible brooms for the wife and I at this game.) before hosting San Diego, Miami, and traveling to Cincinnati for bragging rights to the first overall pick in the 2009 NFL draft. One of the many joyous topics yesterday on the local TalkRadios was just how losable each one of those games are for these Chiefs. The Bills seem to make easy work of the Chiefs, and given that they are likely a wee bit bummed by the outcome of last night's game, they'll be the hungrier squad, and happy to hand the Chiefs 19 of 20. Okay, there's a chance we could beat the Raiders. It'd be nice, and swell, and cozy for that Thanksgivingy weekend. But let's be honest: If we're going to squeak one more win out of this 'paign, let's save it for early December. Outside of that one Sunday, December 7, who cares what happens? Sure, sure. I'm jinxing it now. Whatever. There's no way we beat the Chargers; I'm sure we'll muff another P.A.T., or something. The Dolphins look listo to come alive, and the Bengals? See the above sentence about Buffalo and "easy work."

So, with all that, it's safe to say (Note: Not really.) that this will be a 2-14 season, which puts me four games off the mark, and a cool 11 contests wrong of the last two seasons. Ah...ya' win lose some, ya' lose some.


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