Sunday, October 7, 2012

chiefs! ravens! initial overreaction part i! ...

“Just try to understand,
I’ve given all I can,
And you’ve got the best of me.

Feels like I’m going to lose my mind.
But you just keep on pushing my love
Over the borderline.

Feels like I’m going to lose my mind.
And you just keep on pushing my love,
Over the borderline …”

-- “Borderline” by Madonna.  Other than the closing lyrics to “Hotel California” by the Eagles: “You can check out anytime you like, but you can NEVER leave”?  NOTHING more perfectly describes my feelings toward One Arrowhead Drive, Clark Hunt, Scott Pioli, “Coach Fat F*cking Baffoon”, and his Wrong 53, than “Borderline”.   That line has been crossed, pissed on, defiled, and I’m ready to start returning shot for shot …


(Note up front: this is an initial reaction.  Full recap will come tomorrow, after I rewatch this abortion, dissect the game recaps and reviews, and drown my sorrows in vodka.  Also, and this will come up multiple times since we basically spent two hours together, but mad kudos to "the Chica", for an awesome couple hours of conversation that made my day, if not my year.  I miss how things used to be girl.  Today was an absolute good.  And Dusty punted so far beyond his coverage to get you, that the f*cking football hasn't landed yet.  You rock girl.  Even if this Dunston guy doesn't always let you know that.

And now ... my initial reaction to whatever the hell we just witnessed ... and if Todd Akin were to describe "it"?  "It" would at least be a "fake abortion" ...)


I hope you cheered.

Twelve hours ago, those were words I never imagined typing, but I mean them as sincerely as I type them – I hope you cheered. 

I hope that wherever you were, be it section 336, section 132, section 133, section 135, section (whoever I’m missing here), sitting on a couch in front of your television, or glancing at the bedroom TV as you took Marvin Gaye’s “let’s get it on!” words to heart, I hope …

Scratch that.  

I PRAY you cheered.

I PRAY you cheered as a concussed, possibly seriously injured Matt Cassel lay on the turf with 10:02 to play, unable to know who he was, where he was, or simply stand up.

I PRAY you cheered.

In tailgating today, my buddy Brent ominously noted: “I cannot wait to read your overreaction to today”.  Sir, I only hope I can deliver the goods.  I fear that posting a quick “this is what pissed me off most” quick take, will fall short of your goal.

But I do think absolving people cheering for a man to die on the field?  Is a good start.

And I'm guessing giving me 24, 25 hours to truly compose how angry I am?  Is gonna grow wood in wherever the hell in Johnson County you live nowadays.

Because honestly?  And this is sick, twisted, pathetic, and possibly insane: I was pissed when Matt Cassel stood up.  I gave a standing ovation as Cassel laid writhing on the turf.  The guy in front of me was irate.  I told him to go f*ck himself.  Cassel – and using him as a conduit, the ENTIRE Chiefs organization – deserved to be cheered as they flounder to their death.  They’ve EARNED the derisive cheers.

We cheered today as our quarterback laid unconscious, probably not dead, but definitely hurt.

Go figure, by a team that employs a double murderer at linebacker.

Mr. Hunt?  I hope you were listening.  Your hire(s) are epic failures sir.  EPIC.  FAILURES.  And in the words of (running for at the time) Vice President Al Gore – look at your watch sir, because it is time.

It’s time for them to go.


Clean house sir.  There’s not ONE fucking person -- unedited on purpose -- not ONE FUCKING PERSON in this organization that can justify their continued employment after today.  We didn’t give up a touchdown at home, and LOST IN A GAME WE NEVER LED!  I’d bash my head against the desk at this point, but my head is reeling from bashing it against the seat in front of me all day, and unlike your “franchise” quarterback, I have to show up for work tomorrow, lest I forfeit my $180 for the day. 

As opposed to Matt Cassel never taking another snap in his life, and pocketing some $15 million and change for the privilege of looking like the drooling retard on the sidelines.

Maybe at some point, I might calm down enough to do a proper recap.  (Calm down, calm down: that some point is tomorrow ... tonight if the Benadryl doesn't knock me out.)  

There were some genuinely funny moments today to hit on, including:

* the lynched donkey making his return!  I know "The Chica" wasn't happy about it ... so for the next home game, said donkey may or may not have his D logo replaced by an "Obama / Biden" sticker or three.  30 days to go folks.  30 days to save OUR country.  DO.  YOUR.  PART!

* the “I only get to drop it once a year if it’s to remain funny” joke between Dusty, Kellie and I that never fails to bring down the house.  (And kudos to “The Chica”, for not only “earning the beads”, but dropping the funniest comeback possible to said “once a year” joke: “of course you saw me when my arms were raised!”  There’s comedy, there’s high comedy, and then there’s “The Family” mocking itself over an awkward moment of a lifetime*.  And no matter what tensions and tempers were triggered the last few months, we’re family, dammit.  That means something in my book.)

(*: kudos to Dusty for the comeback to the comeback that beyond brought the house down: “was that the last time you saw a pair, Stevo?”  I could not stop laughing.  Mona damned near spit out her drink from laughing so hard.  That was brilliant sir.  Take a bow – you’ve earned it.)

* the latest in parking regulation nazism.  Today’s was a classic.

* the new Mixology Playlist, which played to rave reviews across the board.

* the idiot at the gate who couldn’t figure out that a metal detector detects metal.

* My seven year old buddy Brett*, sitting next to me all game, imitating and impersonating every reaction I had to the events on the field.  I’m still on the fence as to whether this was good or not.  I’ll just say this: explaining this awesome game we all know and love, at a level a seven year old can understand, just teaching a kid to love this game?  ALMOST makes me want one.  ALMOST.   For now, I’m perfectly content to live through friend’s kids.

(*: yes, this is THE Brett of the “aw!  shit!” fame playing washers.  I love that kid.  When I got up to pee after the first quarter, he tugged at my arm, and asked “Steve?  Can I save your seat for you?”  (cue the “awwww…..” hearts melting here).  I’m not an emotional person … ok fine, not even I can type that without laughing.  I am an emotional person … but that got to me.  That was awesome.)

* the first, and to date only, flyover I liked.  And to go with that …

* the poor chica doing the Anthem, who had to wait for like 90 seconds to start, to coordinate her ending with said flyover.  And slightly earlier …

* as I texted Gregg: “the password is family guy”.  Oh hell to the mo fo yes, THE BIRD IS THE WORD!  In section 336, the “Family Guy” jokes were FLYING for a solid five minutes after KC Wolf came out to chase down the Ravens fans to that song.  “Have the boys at the lab confirm it!”  "Cracked?  Jesus Christ!  Unbelievable!"  And my personal favorite: "The Tonight Show: Providing Background Noise for Intercourse Since 1992!" as Jesus walks out to meet Jay Leno as "O Little Town of Bethlehem" plays.)

* the black guy two rows in front of me, who took offense to my “Built By US” Romney button I wore today.  Led to one moment of hilarity, when I asked him to name one thing Barack Obama has done to improve his life.  TWENTY seconds of silence later, he didn’t say another word to me.  30 days to go folks.  30 days of hell on earth left to pay as our punishment for letting the fucking idiots determine 2008.

* the “whoa, we lost the brick!” stop of a lifetime this morning on the way to the game.  On the heels of …

* Stevo and Joe Griffin plow through a case of wine in 90 minutes, finally passing out close to midnight.  Everyone else went to bed by 10.  I’d be lying if I said I could recall one second of conversation … but I guess it went well, judging by all the empty 14 Hands bottles this morning.  (Note: I counted 14 empty bottles.  We were responsible for at least 8 between us.)

* the 20th annual (and probably last) Ralph Wayne’s Motorcycle Rally, well known around here in South KC.  Mr. Griffin’s Harley took first prize again, as it should – it’s a sweet ass ride. 

* finally paid a visit to the new bar out my way, the Dirty Bird, at 67th and Blue Ridge, in the old Stephenson’s / Santa Fe Inn location.  Well worth the trip.  For $36, three of us got (2) Makers Mark and Diets, (3) Beam and Coke’s, (1) vodka tonic, and (2) SoCo on the rocks with lime, plus sliders and fries. 

But despite all there is to highlight … since Brent requested an overreaction, and I’m not ready to do a full recap yet, let me note two things. 

(1) there can never be an overreaction, unless there is something to overreact to.  "Champ", re-read that previous sentence.  Then maybe you’ll get it.  Christ, I’ll spell it out for you: there CANNOT be an overreaction to something, UNLESS THERE IS SOMETHING TO OVERREACT TO.  The person who overreacts?  Is NOT the person responsible for the shitpile in the middle of the room.  The person who dropped the shitpile in the middle of the room, is who is responsible for it.  Got it?  No?  Well, I’m not surprised.  But still, again – an overreaction, by the very definition of the word, REQUIRES an action beforehand to overreact to.   The person who overreacts, is not wrong.  The person who fucked up to begin with?  Owns the mess left behind. 

Having said that …

I apologize.  Because what Romeo Crennel and his brain dead staff pulled before the half today, is not only the worst play call in Chiefs history, it’s not only the most retarded, idiotic, indefensible, stupid, absolutely insane decision in Chiefs history, it damned well might be THE single stupidest thing EVER executed in NFL history.

Let me set the scene, per the game play-by-play:

:12 on the clock left in the first half.  The Chiefs have 4th and 1 at the Ravens 43.  In the opinion of this hot-as-hell 35 year old wanna be blogger who does NOT live in his mommy’s basement (even if he got drunk and/or high there a time or fifty), there are three options on the table for how to proceed:

(1) You try the 61 yard field goal.  Given the wind in the west end zone (where I sit), this should be called 0 times out of 100.  But it’s at least on the table for discussion.

(2) You call a quick pass play, ideally quad out routes, two at 2-3 yards downfield, 2 at 5-7 downfield, with the goal being catch, get out of bounds, and then try the field goal, or try option (3).  I’d try this 95 times out of 100 if I was in charge.  It certainly should have been THE first thought in the decision making process.

(3) Hail Mary.  I’d try this 5 times out of 100.  I am fully aware the 1998 Chiefs season essentially was roo-eened by opting for this at halftime the opening week of the season, as the raiders separated Elvis Grbac’s shoulder on the pass attempt.  But still, the ONLY options ANY sane, rational, “iq above room temperature” coach thinks of, is (1), (2), or (3), or some combination of (2) with (1) and (3).

Romeo Crennel? 

Chooses (4).  Punt.

To say I was irate, makes “irate” sound like a happy adjective.  I was FURIOUS.  And in my defense?  I wasn’t alone!  My buddy Phil texted me that “if you charge field and kill romeo Ill post ur bail”.  (Which led to me soliciting bail commitments from my friends, because oh hell yes I contemplated doing it.)

Even “The Voice of Reason”, so named because he, I don’t know, is REASONABLE, even HE had no defense for that play.  “Indefensible” was his reply to my text.

The Chiefs, at 1-3, having led for 0:00 this entire season, with a golden chance to steal an unearned lead at the half, PUNTED.


I’m done defending this shit folks.  I’m done.  If you want to come out the rest of the year and join me in my misery, thanks.  If you wash your hands and walk away?  Even better.

This team has broken me.  I can deal with losing.  I can deal with insane parking restrictions, outrageous prices for basic commodities of life, ridiculous bathroom lines, pathetically weak $12 vodka and tonics, parking attendants who curse you out, Missouri Highway Patrolmen who swear at you at your music noise level because they “can’t hear their (alert) radio”.  I can deal with stupid cones, idiotic blocked parking lots, forcing buses onto the grass, illogical parking patterns, no escalators to the upper deck, one bar concession stand in a 25 section radius, foul smelling bathrooms, a lack of port-a-potties for tailgating.

I can deal with $27 to park, $78 to enter, and $95 windbreakers to brave the elements.

I CANNOT, and I WILL NOT, abide incompetence.  

The Chiefs?  Are incompetent.  

And if the final play of the first half doesn’t convince you of that, then God help you, because no confirmed to be real person ever will ...

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