Originally Posted by DJ's left nut:
When I turn the "Prick" sign on, it's a little too hard for me to get it turned back off again.
So by and large, that's a 'break glass in case of emergency' mode only.
But I ain't gonna pretend like I haven't had to replace that glass pane a time or two...
:-)
Yeah, metoo, pal. Probably more often than I care to admit, but what the hell.
:-)
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This thread made me remember this article, that I know someone posted here in CP shortly after we won the SB in 2019, and thought it should be reposted here in remembrance.
Originally Posted by :
Kansas City is about to play in the Super Bowl for the first time in 50 years. This is more than just a breakthrough for a long-suffering franchise. It’s the culmination of a journey that defines an entire fan base.
I am 15 years old, and the Kansas City Chiefs have been terrible my entire life. Growing up as a little boy in Wichita, Kansas, I had heard of the team’s glorious past in the AFL, the league founded by Chiefs owner Lamar Hunt. The league was born in 1960, and Hunt’s franchise played as the Dallas Texans for three seasons, winning the AFL championship in 1962 before moving to Kansas City and continuing to find success. The Chiefs played in (and lost) the very first Super Bowl in 1967, and three years later won Super Bowl IV, right after it stopped being known as the AFL-NFL World Championship Game. The two leagues officially merged after that, though, and the Chiefs hadn’t won a title since. They lost a double-overtime playoff game on Christmas Day 1971—still the longest NFL game ever played—and in the ensuing 18 years had played in (and lost) just one postseason game. So I did what most teenage boys do when confronted with a local sports team that doesn’t win: I ignored it. I gravitated to the Royals instead, because now there was a franchise with a long legacy of success.
But in 1990, the Chiefs are not terrible. They have a new head coach, Marty Schottenheimer, and a new identity, built on stout defenders in Derrick Thomas and Neil Smith, a bruising running back in Christian Okoye, and a workmanlike quarterback who stays within himself in Steve DeBerg. Some of the names will change, but this is the basic formula the Chiefs will use throughout the decade. And this team is good—good enough that my brother Roukan and I become devoted fans by season’s end. The Chiefs go 11-5, qualify for the playoffs, and take a 16-3 lead on Dan Marino and the Miami Dolphins in the wild-card round. But the Dolphins have Dan Marino. He throws two fourth-quarter touchdowns and the Chiefs miss a long field goal at the end, losing 17-16. I am disappointed, but also hooked. Those hooks haven’t left me yet.
I am 16 years old, and the 1991 Chiefs are 10-6 and back in the playoffs. This time they host the archrival Raiders in the wild-card round, and win a 10-6 game that’s MartyBall distilled to its purest form: Both teams combine for just 229 passing yards. I can’t say this is my favorite form of football—the proto analyst in me is already convinced that an aggressive passing offense is the most efficient way to score points—but to quote Walter Sobchak, at least it’s an ethos. The Buffalo Bills destroy the Chiefs 37-14 the following week, but the season nonetheless feels like progress.
I am 17 years old, and the 1992 Chiefs are 10-6 again. They’ve replaced veteran game manager DeBerg with veteran game manager Dave Krieg, and their offense goes silent in the playoffs, a 17-0 whitewash in San Diego. The any given Sunday mantra seems to be colliding with the need to score points to win a playoff game. I feel like the Chiefs need to show a sense of urgency.
I am 18 years old, a college junior, and the 1993 Chiefs have shown a sense of urgency. They’ve traded away a first-round draft pick to acquire the greatest veteran game manager of them all: Joe Montana, who is 37 and has missed most of the last two seasons with injury, but is still, now and always, Joe Cool. He is everything we could have expected. The Chiefs go 11-5, win the AFC West, and host a wild-card game against the Pittsburgh Steelers. I watch from my basement apartment on a 24-inch TV as the Chiefs trail late, until Montana ties the game by finding Tim Barnett in the end zone on a fourth-and-goal with the season hanging in the balance. The Chiefs win on an overtime field goal.
The next week I am in Chicago for a Strat-O-Matic baseball tournament, and convince my partner to play our games in my hotel room so I can watch the Chiefs take on the Houston Oilers. The Chiefs trail 10-0 at halftime, and I am panicking. My opponent consoles me. “What are you worried about?” he asks. “You have Joe Montana. You’ll be fine.” Montana throws for three touchdowns in the second half, and the Chiefs win 28-20. It won’t be the last time a team from Kansas City comes back in dramatic fashion against a team from Houston.
The Chiefs are in the AFC championship game for the first time in my life, on the road against the Bills, who have won each of the last three conference titles. I am on a college-sponsored ski trip to Vermont, and I leave the slopes early for the local sports bar, place an order for unlimited buffalo wings, and sit down to watch the game. Montana gets knocked out by a concussion, Thurman Thomas runs for 186 yards, and the Bills rout the Chiefs 30-13. It is a disappointment, but the thing about being 18 is that neither the game nor the 60 wings I housed leave me with heartburn. I have my whole adult life ahead of me, and it feels like the Chiefs are beginning something.
It turns out they are beginning something: a playoff losing streak that will stretch for eight games—the longest in NFL history to that point—and 22 years
Rest of article
https://www.theringer.com/nfl-playof...l-breakthrough
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