It's not really that I'm tired of waiting on them for otherwise mundane tasks, like, shopping at the World Bazaar or mugging for the camera. It's time that we threw off our chains and reclaimed our rightful spot among the drunken, car-spinning, Molotov-cocktail throwing hooligans whose cities have won the big one. I don't understood why fans, happy their team has won it all, set cars on fire to exemplify their outrageous sense of "we're better than you, nah, nah". Maybe because all that light and smoke brings to the surface those primordial emotions deep within all of us. Burning things in effigy (not a small town in Iowa) can muster thoughts of raw meat and clubs and dragging women by their hair and little purple dinosaurs that are used as garbage disposals and only being able to say, "ugh", and, basically, a much simpler time in our history. Kansas City has not had a world champ since Brett and the boys side-stepped every obstacle to win it huge.
The feeling of hysteria was rampant. The streets of KC flowed blue that great night, so, I guess I'm a wee bit jealous of the winner's fans who run through the streets, in packs, naked, except for the team logo on their belly. That's freedom! That's chutzpah! That's entertainment. Damn near as good as "World's Wildest Police Videos" special criminal beheading episode, "good cop, bad cop."
I can remember 1969 like it was 35 years ago. Those were the days of the old Municipal Stadium and parking on people's lawns for $2.00 all day. Whenever the crowd would get going and start stomping those old aluminum bleachers, I swear I thought the whole place was going to crash. Things today aren't like they were in ‘69.
If the Chiefs had a home game and it was not sold out, that meant you had to get yourself to a different city to watch the game. Seriously, I'm sure some of you reading this cannot even imagine a time like that, but, truthfully, my dad had to drive the whole family to Emporia, Ks; slaughterhouse capital of the world, and rent a crummy little motel room with a black and white TV about the size of a breadbox so that 8 of us could get into a gigantic family brawl about where we were and what a slaughterhouse does, exactly.
My brother, Billy, thought the place was run by Kurt Vonnegut because he, supposedly, had just read the book, "Slaughterhouse 5", and wanted to prove to us he knew what he was talking about.
The antennas on those old TV's always needed tin foil wrapped around them to get a decent picture. Is the tin foil still in the car? Yeah, right. My mom always made me knock on that go-between door thing and try to borrow some tin foil.
"Excuse me. Do you have some tin foil?" They didn't know exactly what to say to this little fat kid, begging for tin, waiting for the Chiefs to be all-powerful so we could all go home. We couldn't dig up enough tin so the picture was grainy and wavy, but if grandma turned at a certain angle, reception was great. That angle just happened to be with her back to the screen. We dropped that TV off at the slaughterhouse, stolen or not, hoping they would mangle and smash that forsaken thing into a million bits, but there was no public manglings or zappings that day. No tours, either. We were aghast at the sign on the front door, TODAY-PRIVATE DISMEMBERINGS ONLY.
Drag. The real drag was the ride home. Everybody's excited quivering like jelly, moving around and flailing and then, I accidentally snagged my grandma's thumbnail in my corduroy pants. Ouch! She had this way of pinching you, grabbing the loose skin between her ring and middle finger and twisting real hard. Good Lord did that hurt. It still hurts; all this in pure unwavering anticipation of the Chiefs next best game.
Sweet anticipation it was. The Chiefs beat the Vikings 23-7 and all those pre-season, barroom prophecies came true. Chiefs were champs. Chiefs were omnipotent. Chiefs ruled for a little while. Its funny how you absolutely believe, while basking in the glow of the L.T. (Lombardi Trophy, for those in the know), next season's big game was a sure thing. Easy street, 24K gold. How about 18K gold? 10K? OK, doesn't matter.
We've been waiting. And we're still waiting. We've been waiting so long that we forgot what we're waiting for. Oh, yeah, waiting for the big one.