Ahhh College...

You remember that one class you had in college? That really tough one that you dreaded going to every session? It was usually at an ungodly hour of the morning, and generally held the day after penny beer night at the local sorority stop, where the girls looked to drink the rest of us into their versions of superheroes. As the prof was diligently proffing on about whatever topic was keeping you and your pulsating brain from sleeping, there was always that one guy near you that didn’t know how to keep his damned mouth shut. One of those know it all types that although still an undergrad well into his thirties enjoyed consistently pointing out the shortcomings of the teach. Constantly contradicting everything the head of the class had to say even if it meant manipulating or molesting the facts to suit his argument just to spite the prof and be heard. You remember that guy? Kind of reminds me of some fans I had to listen to for the entire Charger experience this last week. I remember having to bite my tongue in class, let the moron sink his own ship, besides, no one needed to be subjected to the dead feline breath that was usually going on those mornings. But no more, this wasn’t college and I needed to be heard…

All day long in my ear were these hippie Colorodoans. Never have you met a louder group of less educated monkeys than these degenerates. Now, I have long known that Denver fans may not be the sharpest marbles in the bag, but these guys are the new poster children for surgeon general warning labels. Fetal alcohol syndrome is alive and well and very dangerous. As is binge drinking, as a group these guys were sharing five brain cells and doing their best to put a death grip stranglehold on the last three that were still functioning, albeit at half speed. The abominations and atrocities that were being spouted were bred merely out of hate of all things Charger and were laughable. This group painted with a very broad brush a huge scarlet “M” for moron over their entire state…

Now I am a patient person for the most part. I can’t really remember the last time I really lost the old temper. Well, yes I can but that is a whole other donut and not worth repeating here. Let’s just say I know what “Padre Jail” is, it really does exist.

Halftime bred some Denverites spewing nonsense about the game, our team and us, the fans. After the attacks deteriorated to the most personal of forms, being that they had nothing left to attack as their team was stinking like a steaming Plummer pile on the front lawn, they got really personal. It was about this point where I had to make a choice, allow my blood pressure to continue to skyrocket and risk the inevitable explosion of my entire vascular system, or launch into my own childish tirade. I analyzed my situation for a millisecond, which was a millisecond too long, and then I let them have it. There was nothing personal about it either, I focused on what a terrible football program they were involved with and I was sure after my minutes long eruption, they knew where I stood, along with where their program ranked. Somewhere between Peter McNeeley and the Special Olympic Rowing Team.

Now, I am not proud of what I did (that’s my attempt at remorse) but damned was it fun. Everything about it was pleasurable. To know that it was the Denvers that were on the receiving end made it that much better. At the final gun, all things in second place two games back of us Denver were quiet. There were even some congratulations exchanged. I politely took them and gave the obligatory handshakes and refrained from the middle finger display that seemed appropriate. To the loyal Denvers, Big time royal bite me from all that is Charger…