Friday, September 30, 2011

You're Suspect, Denver

This week isn’t Packers/Bears. It isn’t Packers/Vikings and it isn’t even close. This week, the lowly AFC Denver Broncos come to town probably just hoping to escape injury because they most likely aren't going to escape embarrassment. The intensity, smack and rivalry you look for in the NFL games just isn’t going to be there. That’s fine. We’ll take the win and start preparing for Atlanta.

That said, I thought it would be nice to come up with a few interesting things about broncos as a fun little filler piece. I figured I could talk about how the Ford Bronco was cool back in the day, get into the legend that is Bronko Nagurski, and maybe even joke how Kyle Orton looks like that nerdy kid from the mostly forgettable movie, Gentlemen Broncos (I already did the photoshop, so I’m going to show it, damn it).


But in my research, I came across something that at first made me read it twice, then turned me off, then boiled my blood. Did you know that the official symbol for the State of Wyoming is a cowboy on a bronco? That’s right, a bronco. You know the image I’m talking about – it’s a great one. I mean, this says it all – the Wild West.
So naturally, this begs the question, WTF Denver? Doesn’t Colorado have enough going for them already? Beautiful state, nice metro area, hippie adventure spots galore, etc. So why in the hell did Denver/Colorado steal the symbol of a bronco for their NFL team when it so clearly belongs to Wyoming?

I’ll tell you why – insecurity and insane jealously.

Is it just me or does Colorado seem to lay claim to just about any and everything that comes even remotely near their state? How about this so-called “Colorado” River? Only like 1/5th of the entire river system goes through their state. Or what about the Colorado Rockies. The Rocky Mountains cover numerous states, thousands of miles, and stretch further into Canada alone than through their entire state. Yet, Colorado’s crack tourism and marketing wizards took the cheap “I called it first!” route when naming their precious baseball team (yet another team name fail).

Look, I know Coloradoans’ only sense of direction is two-fold (toward the mountains/away from the mountains) and their main food groups are granola and tofu, but what right does that give them to adopt the Rockies as their own? And by the way, who names their team after a rock? Honestly.

You know what I think, Colorado? I think you're still pissed about your demarcation lines. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t think the rest of the world hasn’t noticed your unbelievable boring state shape – that of a rectangle. No one, and I mean NO ONE, wants their state to be a rectangle. I know it’s not your fault per se, but you didn’t have to take it out on Wyoming by stealing their state symbol. Now, what are they left with? A park.

But now that I look at the US map, the only other rectangular state is... Wyoming. NOW I’m starting see the bigger picture. This is your way of proving you are better than your “neighbor” to the North. The jealousy runs deeper than I thought, my friends. Colorado, in your quest to prove yourself appear more desirable than you actually are, you have made yourself look more cartoon than cool.

I take solace in the fact that there’s apparently two types of broncos. First, there’s the cool, retro broncos who live the majority of their lives in the wild, untrained and untamed. Those are the broncos you see in imagery for Wyoming as in the license plate above. Then there’s the “modern” bronco. This new-age bronco, while still strong and imposing, was bred and pampered to be showcased to the world. As Doctor Wikipedia says, these “Denver” broncos are nothing more than “spoiled riding horses.” You might lay claim to being the least obese state, Colorado, but you are certainly among the most spoiled.

Colorado? The Denver Broncos? Phhrrrt. Give me Wyoming any day of the week. They might not look like much, but at least they’re a quadrilateral with integrity. Enjoy getting your ass whipped Sunday, Denver.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Sit. Stand. Stay Home.

Robert and I had a blast a couple weeks ago in Green Bay for the Saints game. Some of our shenanigans cannot be discussed here, as I'm pretty sure we are now being monitored by numerous security agencies, both domestic and foreign. Don't worry though, my tin-foil hat will keep them out....and also all my thoughts in.

It has taken a couple weeks for the hazy green and gold glow to wear off, and while 99.65% of our experiences were positive, I began to have an uneasy feeling that all was not right during the 2011 Merry Ranters' Lambeau Adventure. I couldn't put my finger on it. It was like an itch that I couldn't scratch with an extra large BBQ tongs, a hunger that I could not satiate with a thousand bratwurst, a hangover that I could not weaken with a bucket of Bloody Mary's.

However, it all came back to me when I visited a local Packer bar to watch the Bears game. I ambled in, most likely smelling strongly of the previous night's libations. The hostess smiled and said, "Have a seat anywhere."

Have a seat....Sit....SIT DOWN!

I immediately started to sweat and shake with rage. The reason? Robert and I had an unfortunate experience at the Packers/Saints game, one that has occurred in prior years, but one that I had apparently repressed until this past Sunday. By some stroke of luck, Robert's aunt has amazing season tickets, and we are fortunate enough to be able to use them for one game a year. The issue we are faced with though is we have a large number of people behind us, namely everyone, and among these Packer fans are some very vocal curmudgeons. These individuals have taken it upon themselves to be Lambeau Field's volunteer ushers. Any time Robert and I would stand up, we would immediately be pelted with, "Sit down!" and "Down in front!" exclamations. At first, my tailgating courage allowed me to ignore these people and remain standing, but slowly, I realized that it would be best to just acquiesce as they would never stop and may turn to throwing things at us...us fellow Packer fans. Several times I turned around to see who these jackwagons were, but they remained hidden and blended in with the sea of cheeseheads and jerseys, not courageous enough to make their location known.

By halftime, I had sufficiently been beaten down, and only stood when all others around had taken their feet. Well, tonight I've gotten my courage back, as well as my rage, and I have something to say to these people who feel the need to impart their self-created Lambeau-cheering protocols upon other Packer fans:

STAY THE @$#% HOME IF YOU DON'T WANT TO STAND UP!

That's right. You've been spoiled by your season tickets. You no longer get excited by attending a Packers game like others do. You feel that because you go to every game, you can tell others how to cheer for their team. You know what? You can't, and I won't let you anymore. I like to cheer standing up, and that's my Saint Vince-given right. You prefer to sit on your fat, spoiled ass and watch like you are on your couch. Well, I say stay in your living room and tell your family and friends how to watch the game, not people you don't know who are enjoying themselves. You can watch your HD TV, drink your own beer, and eat your own food with no one standing in front of you for the entire 3 hours.

In the end, you'll be happier, and I sure as hell will be happier. You know why? Because I appreciate being at the game more than you do, and if I want to stand, I should damn well be able to do so without having a so-called Packer fan telling me to sit down. Certainly not one who yells "Sit down!" and then hides in the crowd.

Okay, I have to calm down now, it's bedtime, but in parting I have this message for you: Man the @$#% up...and stand the @$#% up while you're at it. The game is better from up here.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Helmet

“My roommate’s melon is huge. He’s got this giant, blue, custom-made football helmet that was like $600. It’s true. The helmet was so abnormal that they didn’t offer returns so when he tore his MCL he was basically screwed because no one wanted to buy it – even on craigslist. Now it’s just sitting in his closet. We could just put a giant orange “C” on the side – it’s perfect.”

How big are we talking? We measured the circumference to be slightly over four feet, which is the likely the largest this side – if not both sides – of the Mississippi.”

“I don’t know but I’m telling you it’s enormous. He was once offered a job traveling with this freak show. They wanted to shave his head, dress him up like a supervillain and call him “The Brainiac.” His booth was going to be right next to this bodybuilder guy called the “The Veiniac,” a dude with hundreds of purple earthworm veins popping out all over his body. The only reason he didn’t do it was because they didn’t have a website and his dad told him never to trust a company without a website, which I kind of agree with.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever you! Google Image Search “Veiniac” or “King of Veins” and you’ll get like a hundred results. They’ve got his arms next to Stallone’s and Maddonna’s in a few pictures too – puts ‘em both to shame. And he’s got a blog.

“Oh yeah, what’s the URL?”

“Imsovein.com. You know, spelled V-E-I-N.”

“I get it. But if we’re really going to make a Cutler Bear/Pig Halloween costume we need a dang Cutler jersey. Even though he sucks and is douchey, they’re still pretty expensive.”

“We could always revisit Sloth Pig. I figure since Scuttlebutt already has that yellow tuft of hair we could just throw on a cheap Superman tee from Walmart, sweatpants, some red suspenders and we’re good to go.”

“Yeah, but the Superman “S” emblem is on the chest so it’d be facing the ground. People might not get that it’s Sloth unless you put the shirt on backwards but that’d just be stupid. I really think we should reconsider Cutler Bear/Pig. I know I can get that helmet.”

“You put a helmet on this pig and he’s gonna go nuts. Remember when we put a Santa hat on him for Christmas and he would not stop running around, squealing like someone was branding him with a hot poker. He stopped eating for a week and has since become incredibly skiddish about being touched on the head. And that was just with a Santa hat.”

“What kind of hat was it?”

“Santa, you idiot. I just said that.”

“No, I mean what material – you know, fabric? Yarn, cotton, velvet?”

“Dude, I don’t know. Cotton, I think.”

“You should’ve gone with hemp. Recent developments in the way they process it make it incredibly light and soft. I’ve got some hemp underwear and half the time it feels like I’m going commando – they’re that comfortable.”

“Just how much of a pothead are you nowadays? You’re always incorporating your hemp propaganda into everything, no matter how far it seemingly is from the realm of conversation.”

“That’s because it’s everywhere! There’s hemp paper, plastics, clothes, ah….food, fuel….ah….construction materials. Hemp seed can even be used as fishing bait! And it all comes from a single plant!”

“Whatever, you’ve changed. That’s what mom and dad get for sending you to the University of Boulder.”

“This coming from a temp! A freaking temp!”

“Least I got a job.”

“Fine. Cutler Bear/Pig.”
Google requires us to state we use third-party advertising, who may use information (not including your name, address, email, or phone) about your visits to provide ads of possible interest. For more information or to opt out, click here.
To contact us or to advertise, email packerranter {at} yahoo.com