A Kansas City Chief in King Peyton’s Court

Other than a short period of insanity in the 1990’s when I was swept up in fan mania for both the Dallas Cowboys (America’s Team) and the Tazmanian Devil, I have always had the purely objective understanding that my hometown, Kansas City, Missouri, had the greatest football team in the NFL. This is a matter of science and logic. 

Kansas City is the best, therefore, things from Kansas City are the best. The Chefs are from Kansas City. Therefore, the Chiefs are the best.

See, irrefutable logic.

Now, this was all well and good when I was living in Kansas City. Even during my years in Springfield, where most people are loyal to the evil municipality of St Louis, life was easy for a Chiefs fan. You could watch the games on television, every Sunday.

But now, I live in Montana.

Montana doesn’t have a professional football team. Montana doesn’t have professional sports of any kind. Well, that’s not true… there are several minor league hockey and baseball teams. But, there are definitely no professional football teams. Not even a minor league team. (Does the NFL have a minor league?)

This leaves Montanans with a choice between the incorrect but, ultimately, acceptable Seattle Seahawks and the dangerously misguided decision to show support for the Denver Broncos.

You’d be surprised at how often Montanans make the wrong decision here. It happens often enough to put this firmly in Broncos Country. You can probably imagine how much worse it was when Brock Osweiler was at the helm. At least then, I understood. The tribal association is difficult to overcome. Osweiler is a Montanan. Montanans are programmed to support each other.

So, now, this is definitely Broncos country.

Everywhere I go, blue and orange horses. BLUE AND ORANGE! I’m not really a horse person, but I don’t think blue and orange horses actually exist. It’s annoying.

The worst part, despite my obvious superiority (see logic above regarding things from Kansas City being inherently the best), they absolutely refuse to accept their lifestyle choices as being invalid.

Being a Denver fan is unnatural and wrong… like eating carob chip cookies.

So, much like Twain’s Yankee, I find myself in a backward land of superstition and Papa John’s pizza franchises, surrounded by barbarians who still worship their backwards football deities. And, like Twain’s Yankee, it is my duty to use my superior knowledge and skill to lead them to a golden age and introduce them to soap.

It won’t be easy, but I’m up to the challenge. After all, six months ago, I had a hard time convincing them of the superiority of the Royals, too.

(Mark Twain was also from Missouri, even if it was the wrong side)