An Open Letter to Denver Fans
Oh, cute little Broncos fans sitting there bravely putting on a confident front —we know. Jesus, do we know. We know what it’s like to host an inferior team in the Divisional Round who frankly has little shot of winning. We know what it’s like to be seven-point favorites — a freakishly large number that may as well be 7,000. Hahaha! NO TEAM could lose that!!
[Vanderjagts computer screen at the office window … misses right by 286 yards]
We know. We know what these weeks and days and hours before a home playoff game against a feeble underdog are like. We know it feels like being imprisoned in a zero-gravity holding cell of dread where you wait and worry and start considering the 600,000 things that could go wrong/pick-six’d, and then your chest starts hurting and now you're sweating and oh God it is so very, very unpleasant. We know.
We know that perhaps you know too, after all, what with that … well, that one game … and also the … [makes fart noise]. You too have taken the Universe’s steel-toed boot of indifference right to your solar plexus — but not often. Certainly not as many times as we did. Nor as graphically, unimaginably WTF-ish either. After all, we once got our souls tea-bagged in the face by Billy Fuckin’ Volek, if that helps. (It helps nothing, I know.) We were a mess before every playoff game too.
But now? Now is different. We wait for Sunday, as fans, patiently and carefree. We wait in this bizarro green room of sorts, excited for what this team might do … but probably won’t. Perhaps this Colts team will be lucky enough to someday terrify us/leave us deranged and broken and diabetic. But it won’t happen before Sunday, when even a game-winning Vinatieri field goal could get blocked by a goddamn snow owl in the most unlucky play in NFL history, and we’d simply doff our caps and be all, “Tough break, boys — ‘twas a good run!” and move on with our lives, none the worse for wear.
Be good, Denver fans. And don’t worry — you’ve got this one in the bag!