I don’t get the nation’s obsession with the Broncos. I mean, I get it (in a marketers dream-come-true sort of way), but I don’t.
Case in point: since the Bronco’s football game on Sunday against the Chargers, the radio stations have been full of conversation over Peyton Manning’s miked calls on the field. His “Omaha, Omaha!” play has prompted the mayor of Omaha, NE to see if he can get Manning to do some sort of plug for his city. Really, Omaha Mayor? Have at it and best of luck with that effort. I personally wouldn’t take advice from football dudes about where to visit with my tourism dollars. And if I did, then the calls would have to start out, “Paris! Paris!”
And Manning’s comments after the game about having a Bud Light have prompted a variety of artisan beer companies to send him their wares in the hopes of supplanting Budweiser in his heart and mind and subsequently getting a positive word out of him about his beer-of-choice at the NEXT press conference.
[As a side note, the one thing about football I am on board with is the beer drinking afterwards. And before. And during. Especially during. Lots and lots during has the surprisingly positive effect of making football bearable.]
Broncos-fever has gotten to the point where even the PRIEST is announcing God’s football team preference from the pulpit on Sundays. Knowing the rules about the separation of Church and Football, he wouldn’t come right out and say as much, but he did tell the following joke which I will repeat to you now. Because it was kinda funny…
After living a long and full life, the coach of the Chargers (I can’t remember his name – why would you think that I could?) dies and goes to Heaven. He meets God at the Pearly Gates and God shows him to a little cottage with a faded Chargers lightning bolt flag hanging off the mailbox. [Hi. It’s me talking now. Anyone else think the Chargers lightning bolt looks like a banana from far away? They should NEVER have formed it into that semi-circle. Because lightning-in-the-wild is more jagged and not as tidy as that tame-half-moon-shaped lightning they got goin’ on. Which has the unintended consequence of making it look like everyone on the Chargers sidelines has bananas on their ski hats. Or are supporting some Middle Eastern country. That one with the crescent moon and star on their flag. Or maybe it’s just me?? Naw! Couldn’t be–not possible.] God talks very highly of the cottage the coach will be in because the cottage is special. Not many people get their own cottage. But from the front window, the coach can see a huge mansion. The sidewalks and driveway are blue and orange and there’s a horse-head shaped pool in the back yard. A huge Broncos flag is flying from the flagpole out in front of the house and there’s a big Peyton Manning jersey on the front door. The Chargers’ coach (nope, still don’t remember his name) turns to God and says, “Well, I’m a Hall of Famer and have gone to Superbowls and have led a winning football team blah blah blah [Me again. The deets get a little fuzzy here because I don’t even remember the guy’s name, much less his football accomplishments]. So why do I only get this little cottage and Peyton Manning gets a house like that?!?”
God turns to the coach and says, “Oh, ho-ho, Chargers’ Coach. That’s not Peyton Manning’s house. That’s MY house!”
See? Funny. Because we all know God doesn’t really live in a house.