You see, I am a Denver Broncos fan.
I go to my closet to get dressed. Inside, along side the rest of my clothes, I see three Tshirts, two jerseys, one polo shirt, and three hats- all adorned with that glorious logo, that white stallion that is so prominent back home in Denver. Its a significant part of my wardrobe and it spawns the same question quite often:
"Broncos fan, huh?" A few years ago this was always followed by, "Are you a Tebow fan?", thank goodness that's over! I always respond in the affirmative, the gusto varying depending on how the team is doing. I wear these colors with pride, even when things go wrong.
Washed and ready for next year
You see, being a Denver Broncos fan often means that you are left with a broken heart.
I'm 40 this year, and I've followed the Broncos for as long as I can remember. It started on a little black and white TV in the kitchen with my Dad. He'd putz around the house, walk up to the TV, stare at it for a few minutes, shake his head, mutter something unintelligible, and then walk away for awhile. These days, Dad doesn't even watch, just waits for the highlights in the aftermath. He has high blood pressure, and he knows that they'll get him all riled up if he let's them. What I remember most from those early days of watching the team was wondering why they kept running it up the middle. I was too young to understand that that was Dan Reeves' M.O. Winder up the middle for 2, Winder up the middle for 3, Winder up the middle for 2, punt.
Then Elway came to town
He looked like a gunfighter, straight out of the Wild West, walking with a swagger and hurling the football like a bullet from a gun. He owned that town from the moment he rolled in, and to say that John and Janet Elway were the Charles and Di of Denver is by no means an exaggeration. "I love Elway", sung to the tune of "I Love L.A.", was on the radio constantly back then.
The Three Amigos- Jackson, Johnson and Nattiel followed a few years later. Mecklenberg and Atwater and Rulon Jones and Dennis Smith and the bare footed kicker Karlis and my favorite player of all Steve Watson rounded out a roster that was on my bedroom wall each and every year. This was my team.
The Drive was something that I will never forget for a million different reasons, not the least of which was that Dad didn't move from the TV. Yesterday was the 28th anniversary of The Drive, and did I hope just a bit that a little of that magic would find its way to present day? I'd be lying if I said I didn't. I was hooked.
It all came falling back to earth in with the Super Bowl losses in 87, 88, and 1990. We'd get oh so close and then just watch the wheels fall off. We'd walk away stunned, in disbelief, and in shock. Those Monday mornings were rough, I tell ya. Our hearts were broken, but our spirits would never be.
Then came the 90's. Reeves' was sent packing. Wade Phillips came and went. Shanahan and Elway reunited at last! TD came rushing into town and didn't stop until he hit 2000. Atwater absolutely blew up Okoye. Zone blocking became a smash with Zim leading the way. Shannon Sharpe's mouth wrote checks that his play easily cashed. Eddy Mac and Rod seemingly caught every pass that came their way. Treadwell proved to be more than an adequate replacement at kicker. Oh, we were a force to be reckoned with. Yes, there were the moments to be forgotten- Jacksonville broke our hearts- but then it all came together. I still get chills and teary eyed when I think of Elway leaping over the Packer defenders, sacrificing himself for his team and ultimately for his legacy, spinning like a helicopter after being hit in midair, and falling for the first down. He popped back up with a look that said, bring it! And they did. There were no broken hearts for Broncos fans for the 97 and 98 season, I assure you of that.
All things must end of course, and soon enough Elway rode out of the stadium if not the town. He cried at his retirement announcement, and so did my wife and I. We were left with Brian Griese and hope- hey, at least it wasn't Tommy Maddox! The heir apparent was found to be lacking , and Jake Plummer came to town, and seemed destined to restore us to glory. We destroyed the New England Patriots! On a sunny Sunday in January though it all came crashing down at the hands of the Steelers. There is nothing worse for a brokenhearted Broncos fan than to watch them lose an AFC championship game to Pittsburgh in what turns out to be a Steelers bar in the middle of Orlando, no matter how many $1.00 Miller Lites are consumed (and there were many). Jake The Snake was cast aside for Jay Cutler. Brandon Marshall was drafted. Jay was diagnosed with diabetes. Now that that's under control, we'll be fine!
Shanahan's era came to an end. Josh McDaniels took the reins and promptly went about trading the entire offense to the Chicago Bears and putting all of his chips on something named Tim Tebow. Tebowmania, for better or worse, swept the town and indeed the nation. I screamed, "throw the f*(king ball, Tim!" more than I ever had before and (God I hope) ever will again in my life. Then, what's this? A spark? An 80 yard strike in OT to beat the Steelers in the playoffs! Maybe Tebow was the real deal? Reality struck the following week.
Then Elway came back!
I like to believe that McDaniels' feet never hit the ground, that John picked him up by the neck and threw him out of Dove Valley. I like to think that he struggled not to chuckle just a bit when Tebow pled for another shot before being rode out of town for Kyle Orton. And I like to hope that Elway knew all along that returning was his destiny.
Manning chose us! He could have gone anywhere, and he chose us! The Thomases came to town, Decker came and went, Sanders took his place. Talib and Ware and Pot Roast were added to actually give us a defense. Records were shattered. We were a force to be reckoned with once again. Yet I knew deep down the second that Ray Lewis announced he was retiring that 2012 wasn't going to be our year. And yes, I knew the millisecond the ball sailed over Peyton's head that the next four hours of my life to end the 2013 season were going to be terrible. Both years brought heartbreak and heartache.
After 35 years of active Broncomania, being United In Orange, wearing predominately orange jerseys, naming fantasy football teams the Orange Crush, using 7 as a lucky number, and slowly, steadily getting my wife to not only care about football, but love the Broncos as well, I've developed a bit of a sixth sense around the team. I don't usually have a feeling about when they will win, but I do seem to know the games that they will lose (the Rams notwithstanding; anyone that says they saw that coming is a filthy liar). I tried all last week to talk myself out of that feeling, but deep down I knew. 2014 was not our year either.
I feel for the Cubs of the world, the Red Sox of yesteryear, the Jaguars, the Timberwolves and Twins here locally, but not the Raiders. Never the Raiders. No self serving Broncos fan will ever feel anything but contempt and hatred of the Raiders. I don't however try to equate our torment with what they must feel. We've had more than our share of success, and we win far more than we lose. But those losses go deep. They twist your soul, they nag at you, they burn and burn and burn. But we get up. We dust ourselves off. We believe in John. We grab our cap on our way out the door. And we wait for next year and whatever it may bring us.
For you see, we are Broncos fans.
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