Um... it was 20-17...
Still makes me happy. 5-0, whodathunkit?
Cool. I lived outside of Boulder for 8 years. Got there the summer of 1977, just in time for the Orange Crush season, was at Mile High for Elway's first rookie appearance. Granted, it was a preseason game, but what the hell...and it was in a luxury box...my buddy Norm was head draftsman/designer for Arapahoe Chemical, now called Centex, I believe, and part of his job was ordering the materials for the systems he designed. The biggest supplier of pvc pipe in the Denver area had the box, and invited Norm to bring a friend to two games a season, so twice a year, I'd get a phone call along the lines of, "so, you think you might want to go see the Broncos from the box?"
"Is a wild bear Catholic? Does the Pope shit in the woods?"
Big time fun. Saw Elway's first home start from the box. Saw a Monday night game with Madden and Summerall the day after a sizeable snow storm, and shortly before the end of the first half, Madden was reminiscing about the visiting team at Mile High after a snowstorm having to run the gantlet at halftime through the snowball-throwing fans in the South Stands. This was the separate section of the stands at the open end of the horse shoe shaped stadium, under which the locker rooms were located, and on top of which were the rowdiest fans at Mile High. Just as he finished his story, the fans below the press box, which was almost directly across th e stadium from ours, turned and started throwing snowballs up at Madden and Summerall, and we got to see the first salvo go up from across the stadium, and then turn to see the camera shot of the snowballs arcing into the press box on our box's projection TV. After their initial shock (Summerall yelled, "Incoming!") wore off, both were catching the snowballs, leaning out the windows, and laughing as they returned fire, teaching the crowd the advantage of holding the high ground.
The same supplier invited us to his Superbowl party in the Quarterback Club, a private bar in the bowels of Mile High for the Redskins/Dolphins Superbowl. I'd grown up outside of DC, so when we got to the club, we grabbed a large table and announced that was to be the NFC table, figuring on safety in numbers. It turned out to be a tactical blunder, as it presented the rest of the crowd, naturally all AFC fans, a single target for their verbal abuse and occasional projectiles. We suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous football fans in stoic silence, until Riggins broke to the outside on 4th and short, straight-armed the safety into the cheap seats, and hauled ass down the sideline for the TD that sealed the win, at which point all the game's projectiles were returned to their sources, along with the requisite verbal abuse. The AFC fans were stunned: "Jesus christ! Since when is Riggins that fast?"
"Since he ran the 100 in 9.5 as a senior at Kansas," I offered helpfully.
Went to one game there on a beautiful early fall Sunday in Denver (yeah, i know that's redundant), with sunny skies and 68 degrees at game time, so we had all the windows in the box open. Typical of those boxes, they hinge at the top and swing out 45 degrees, and those of us in the front row of the box can lean our elbows on the counter in front of us and peer down at the crowd below, where i discover a woman with her hair up in a bun on top of her head directly below me. Until that day, I had no idea that a bun could have an opening at the top, and as I looked down at this bun, then over at the bowl of beer nuts next to my bottle of St. Pauli Girl, the woman's do ceased being merely the bun, a slightly out of fashion hairdo, and became
The Bun, target of opportunity. Taking a beer nut twixt thumb and forefinger, I leaned out the window ever so slightly, adjusted for windage and the Coriolis effect, whispered, "one away," and released the beer nut... Direct hit!...straight down the smoke stack! Who he hell needs a Norden?? Norm leaned over and asked me, "what th e fuck are you doing over there?" By way of explanation, i pointed down to
The Bun below me, made my adjustments, said, "two away," and let the beer nut go. Another direct hit!! and what's even better is that she's completely oblivious to the fact that there are now two beer nuts in her hair, and best . Norm: "a buck says you can't do it again."
"I'm sorry?"
Norm, a little louder: "A buck says you can't do that again."
"I'm sorry, I still can't hear you."
The guy on the other side of me, obviously a Captain of Denver Industry: "can't do what again?"
"See
The Bun below me? There currently are two beer nuts residing in that cavity. The third is in my hand, but my compatriot is apparently unaware that his currency is speaking too softly for me to hear it."
CoDI: "Well, I've got five bucks that says you can't do it again without her noticing."
"I heard that. three away...God
DAMN, i'm good!"
Murmurs from he rest of the C'soDI: "what the hell is going on?"
Norm, feigning irritation: "Okay, Goddamnit. Five."
"Now you're loud and clear...four away...Sa
WEET!! And thank you for your support. What am i bid on five?"
New voice: "you're pushing your luck. Ten says you choke this time."
"It's your money...five away...now it's my money."
Norm: "let me try one."
"Norm, doing a pretty fair Dwight Frye, "Yes, master."
"Very good, Igor...out a bit...now right...your other right."
"Sorry , master."
"Ten says Igor blows it."
"You're on...steady...six away...YES!! Who's next? Captain?"
"Make it so, Number One."
Not exactly what I had in mind, but pretty quick, so the judge will accept that answer: "steady on...fire photon torpedos...why didn't you let go?
CoDi, quietly: "You didn't say seven away."
I like this guy: "just seeing if you were paying attention."
Norm, "coughing": "Bullshit, master,"
"That's enough out of you, Igor. No more beer for you. And no more flies." (yeah, I know that's Renfield. Don't start with me.)
This went on for ten minutes, with all these businessmen, most of whom were wearing blazers and ties, and two or three even wearing suits, taking turns leaning out the window, letting the Zoom bombsight do it's thing, releasing on command, and before we knew it, I was calling, "15 away...WOW, I can't believe she doesn't feel that weight on her head. I know it's not much...beer nuts aren't exactly lead." So i grabbed a handful of nuts, counted out 15, dumped them into Norm's hand, and said, "How many more do you think we can do?"
"Three, max"
"I'm sorry?"
"Three, master."
"
That's better" Same thing to the original CoDI. "Whaddaya think?"
"I'm with Igor. Three."
"Thank you, master."
"Who the hell told
you it was acceptable for
you to call
him maaster?"
Norm, sounding more like Peter Lorre, who played Igor in Son of Frankenstein: "Fuck you, master!"
So Norm, Terry (CoDI), and i dropped the last three, we got our dozen and a half
In The Bun, and this woman has absolutely no clue what's in her hair, and we're laughing and exchanging high fives in the front row, and one of th esuits announces he's going to take a shot. Norm, Terry (CoDI), and I in unison: "NO!!"
Norm: "Hey, that was pretty good."
Terry, beating me to the punch line by a half second: "I thought the tenors were weak."
Me, recovering: "Don't let the suit have the beer nuts. He'll fuck it up for sure. I mean, who the hell wears a black suit to a football game, besides the Secret Service, that is?"
But my protests went for naught, and the suit, since he wouldn't let me sight the drop for him, fucked it up. As suits can be guaranted to do, regardless of the venue of human accomplishment: popular music is now mostly formulaic crap, because the suits have no clue what they are doing, but ecause they are suits with MBAs, insist on sticking their hands in where they don't belong. TV and movies: ditto. Don't believe me? Both Jethro Tull and Soundgarden won Grammies in the Heavy Metal category a few years apart. Ian Anderson of Tull and Chris Cornell of Soundgarden each made comments about the misclassificaton at their acceptance. Star Trek cancelled, for low ratings despite a flood of letters pleading to keep it on, because the suits didn't think it would go anywhere. Yeah, and all it did was spawn a dozen movies, and four spin off series.
Anyway, this particular suit hurried his drop, bounced the beer nut off the bridge of her nose, causing her to look up and spill the 18 nuts out on the shoes of the guy behind her, so half the section is looking up to see the source of this indignity.
What a bonehead.