You're trying, you fail.
But still you keep going.
You're crashing, you stall.
You sink 'til you sail,
'Cause you never know when ...
The tide's gonna turn.
The wind's gonna change.
We're gonna make it!
The world's gonna learn,
And remember our name,
As bend -- never breaking!
Through blood and tears?
We rise!
And tonight?
We come alive!
We are the sons of a promised dream!
Daughters of hope who will not give up!
They say we're broken; they say we're weak.
But strong beats the heart of a champion!
We're gonna stand when we've been knocked down!
We crawl! We walk! Until we run!
We're gonna fight and will hold our ground!
Because we've got the heart of a champion ...
We are the soul!
We are the proud!
We are the dreamers!
Not letting go!
Not backing down!
Not gonna leave here!
And seeing the prize?
We'll keep reaching out
Until we hold it.
This is our time!
This is our house!
This is our moment!
We are the sons of a promised dream!
Daughters of hope who will not give up!
They say we're broken; they say we're weak.
But strong beats the heart of a champion!
We're gonna stand when we've been knocked down!
We crawl! We walk! Until we run!
We're gonna fight and will hold our ground!
Because we've got the heart?
Of a champion!!!!!! ..."
-- "Champion" by Clark Beckham.
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Yes, this really is Post One Thousand on this site. All of you who thought my liver would last long enough to post enough, uuh, posts, to have a comma in the number, raise your hands. (No hands raised.) Yeah, me neither.
So ... let's do this. Because yesterday I talked about the Seven T's that have defined this postseason run for me so far. Today -- no, really, tomorrow -- is all about the most important T of them all, when you get down to (don henley voice) the heart of the matter * .
And sorry, Mr. T -- I pity the foo' who thinks I'm talking about you ...
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(*: I f*cking love this song. And I mean f*cking LOVE, this song. If only because I've had to practice what it preaches, one too many times in this amazing life God has gifted me.)
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To be honest with all of y'all ... reality didn't really set in for me, until I started this post on Friday morning.
For the last two weeks, it's all seemed like the sweetest dream ever that didn't involve the opposite sex involved in some kinky and frisky, uuh, sex with me. It still seems unreal to type ... but if I understand things right, here goes:
The Kansas City Chiefs have brought Lamar's Trophy home.
Which means the Kansas City Chiefs are playing in the Super Bowl.
Which means the Kansas City Chiefs are just sixty minutes away, from hoarding that Lombardi dude's trophy as well.
Hang on. Let me b*tch slap myself to make sure this is real, and not just a (mariah carey voice) sweet, sweet fantasy.
(Pause).
(Smack).
Ouch! That stung! That hand print ain't fading anytime soon! Which means ...
Holy hell Batman! The Chiefs brought Lamar's Trophy home!
The Chiefs are in the Super Bowl!
And that Lombardi dude's trophy is next!
This is a thing!
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After work on Friday, I met the Second Parents and their neighbor down at Union Station, to take in the festivities. And go figure, those fine folks were charging $10 to park. I immediately groused that "we're staying a while; I'm getting my $10 worth out of this".
(l to r: my second folks neighbor Mary, my second mom, me, my second dad, and tailgating friend Fran. Image credit: me, via the iPhone 11 Plus.)
Well, get my $10 out of it, I did, thanks to being the "King of Useless Trivia". It paid off (gulp) over a decade ago when this site first began, and it paid off handsomely last night. By the time I was banned from answering any more Chiefs related trivia (note: this was probably smart on the emcee's part), I had already won a conference champions t-shirt, an official Super Bowl LIV rally towel (Ron Prince would be so damned proud), an official Super Bowl LIV GameDay pin, a few rally signs, and the piece de resistance: an autographed Tyreek Hill football:
(I had a choice between Tyreek and Chris "Stone Cold" Jones. I chose Mr. Hill because I already have Mr. Jones' autograph on another football on the "Wall of Memories" in the Casa de Stevo. Image credit: me, via the iPhone 11 Plus.)
(The trivia question was "who was the first Chief inducted into the Hall of Fame". Duh. Lamar Hunt. Somehow, out of fifty some odd "die hard fans", I was the only one who knew that. Sweet Jesus.)
And yet, the coolest moment had to be as I was trying to record a video of The Rumble playing, before they and that buffoon KC Wolf boarded the street car to take the party to P&L. When the artist known as "bts" and his family showed up. I totally dug that he approached and greeted himself exactly as I do, when someone doesn't see me coming: rub the head and f*ck up the hair. (jimmy johnson voice) Not cool man! (stevo voice) Do it anytime!
Also, y'all who know me know I love kids, so long as they aren't mine. So long as Unca Teve gets to go home at the end of the day and plow through a couple bottles of merlot after letting your kids beat him up, it's all good.
Which is why I regret that the only picture I didn't snap, was "bts" having his daughter up on his shoulders, so she could see the action going on as the Chiefs street car was boarding. That, was beyond awesome. (Thankfully, his wife did snap it. Great minds think alike! Don't necessarily act alike, but think alike!)
And how cool was this street car:
(image credit: me, via my iPhone 11 Plus.)
Then again, all of Union Station was one awesome place:
(all image credits me, via the iPhone 11 Plus.)
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But neither you, nor I, came here for pictures, or (diana ross and the supremes voice) reflections of, the way life was yesterday.
You came here to read my prediction for tomorrow.
So let's just address the Captain Oats in the room here. Y'all already know who I'm picking to win.
And this is probably a good thing! I am 13-4 picking the Chiefs straight up this year (the losses being the Jaguars, the Colts, the Texans, and the Packers; note, no pick was submitted in Week Ten (at Titans) due to real-life issues making a post impossible to, uuh, post ** ), and I am also 13-4 against the spread picking the Chiefs this year (the losses being the Jaguars, the Lions, the Colts, and the Packers, again, with no Week Ten pick submitted).
(Also, can you believe I thought the Jaguars would beat us? What the f*ck was I smoking making that pick to open the season? (Pause). What? (Pause). Yeah, good point -- my mom has been known to read these things. So on second thought, don't ask that question.)
Sunday is going to be fun, win or lose. Much funner via a win, but it's still satisfying even with a loss. But a loss isn't on the agenda people.
It's time for the greatest T of them all, to finally show up for the Red and Gold.
And no, the T word isn't "Trophy". Although you'd be on the right path, if you think that ...
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(**: dad's doing quite well, thank God very much. Although I apparently nearly induced a second "cardiac event" in three weeks when he saw the damage I did to his credit card on Broadway down there in Nashville. Let this be a lesson, kids -- actually, two of them. First, always ask your folks to front the cost of your trip, especially if they are, uuh, tripping on pain meds from a "cardiac event". And second, it is always, always, always easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission. The second lesson matters more, than the first.)
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The Game Plan for Sunday is to be at my Second Parents' house. A DirecTV dude is coming out this morning to install a fifth line into the house, to accommodate the new TV in the basement bought for this day. The menu is a sh*t ton of appetizers, and even more adult beverages.
I only ask one request of anyone who comes over on Sunday: if you're not there solely and only to watch the Chiefs attain the greatest T word of them all? Go down to the basement. There's a TV by the bar. There's a 65 incher above the fireplace wall. There's a pool table, a dart board, and a sh*tter if need be. Just leave me alone. For the first time in my life, I don't give a damn about the singers, the commercials, the pageantry of the event.
(And if need be, I'm bringing my flat screen to put out on The Deck. It's going to be seventy tomorrow! Seventy! In Kansas City! In February! I can so watch this ultimate ... (can't reveal the word yet) ... on The Deck!)
Because for the first time in my life, my team is in this game. If you aren't prepared to witness an emotional train wreck, just stay away from me. I will live and die on damned near every play. And I will never apologize for it.
(I'm putting the over / under on number of things I break in celebration and/or disgust, at three. And I'd bet the over.)
If you wish to join us, I can DM you the directions; just click on one of my contact links on the profile page. Anyone and everyone willing the Red and Gold to victory, is always welcome and wanted.
(Pause).
Well sh*t. Both teams wear Red and Gold. Dammit, this matchup is so perfect, I can't even properly discriminate against the enemy ...
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The Ultimate T.
It doesn't begin with Mister. It isn't Two (as in, the Chiefs lose, to finish in the runner up position this season), or Terrible, or Terrific, or Title, or Thirty One (where the Chiefs will pick with a loss), or Thirty Two (where the Chiefs will pick with a victory).
It isn't Travel (which so many Chiefs fans are doing this weekend), or Type (which so many Chiefs fans are doing across every platform of social and old school media available). It isn't (old school "voice of reason" voice) "Turn Down The TV; Turn Up the FOX!" *** (which I absolutely plan to do for the final few minutes tomorrow).
Speaking of which ...
It's isn't the promise of Tomorrow, the hope and hype of Today, and it ain't coming in the air Tonight. (With apologies to Phil Collins.) It isn't even the three magical T's from what up until now is the most epic forty eight hours of sports history in this town -- the Patriots flogging on Monday, September 29, 2014 ... and the greatest sporting event I've ever attended the following day, the Royals epic win over the A's in the Wild Card game.
"Tomorrow Trumps Tonight".
(Also, it sure as hell itself isn't Trump. But let's move on; I refuse to let this devolve into a political debate nobody can win. My name isn't Vince ... whose name still ain't on the Cayman ,,, Trophy, another T word that doesn't apply Sunday, if we're being Totally Truthful here ... and to be fair, I rarely am.)
It isn't Toke (although I'm guessing I will tomorrow), it isn't Tanked (although a 7 might be, uuh, tanked by me tomorrow). It isn't Through (although the season -- win or lose -- is after tomorrow). It isn't Try (although we all know the Chiefs will give it everything they've got). It isn't True. (Thank God. That's one word I'm rarely accused of being.)
It isn't Thankful (although that word describes perfectly how I feel about the last four months, both involving the Chiefs, and my real life).
It's one magical word every person that has ever drawn breath, aspires to. Because it's the only word that truly defines not only sports, but real life, if you think about it.
And of all things, it's the name of a hand puppet dog, for Christ's sake.
Because that word is ...
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(***: somehow, it seems fitting that 101 The Fox's final Chiefs broadcast, is the Super Bowl. Also, it is beyond fitting that the two announcers who have dignified and graced that fine station's airwaves broadcasting Chiefs games, who have made our lives so much richer over the last thirty years, Kevin Harlan and Mitch Holtgus, will both be calling the game on radio Sunday. (Pause). That's yet another T word -- Terrific. And Totally perfect.)
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That word is?
Triumph.
As Mr. Reason, Jasson, Tim, My Second Parents, our great friend Susan, the Mahomies Folks, Ryan and Ron and the Springfield folks, Chase and his girlfriend who sit next to me -- as anyone there two Sundays ago can attest, I literally screamed myself into a lost voice, simply shouting four words, as emphatically and emotionally as I could, as often as I could, during that epic tailgate.
"This! Is! OUR! Time!"
Then four more words:
"We! Have! EARNED! This!"
Triumph.
In the words of Mr. Weeknd: "I feel it coming ... I feel it coming baby ..."
In the words of Archie: "We ready ... We ready ... We ready ..."
Or, in the words of American Idol runner-up Clark Beckham ...
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"We are the soul!
We are the proud!
We are the dreamers!
Not letting go!
Not backing down!
Not gonna leave here!
And seeing the prize?
We'll keep reaching out
Until we hold it.
This is OUR time!
This is OUR house!
This is OUR moment!"
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More T's I guess, but they all apply.
This? Is OUR time!
This? Is OUR house!
And This?
IS OUR MOMENT!
The triumph we have waited a lifetime for, is less than thirty six hours away.
And in case anyone questions your loyalty as a Chiefs fan, in case any dumb f*ck idiot dares question your fandom?
Remember -- you don't deserve this.
You have EARNED this!
I'm ready to cry like I never have before. My 2004 meltdown at Projekt Revolution will have nothing on tomorrow, when it's all said and done. And I am fully aware what an emotional train wreck I was thirteen days ago.
* Chiefs (-1 1/2) 38, 49ers 17.
Triumph happens Tomorrow, Chiefs Kingdom.
Triumph happens Tomorrow! ...
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