Are female football fans less crazy than our male counterparts when it comes to stupid football rituals? Nah - it's all about our Broncos, so a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. We just do it with more style.
It's not beneath me to suck up to an orange cat during Bronco games.
You read that correctly and some of you even understood it. Scary, uh? Yes, Joey the Bronco mojo kitty is one of the weekly rituals that us girls have to assist our beloved Broncos with the win column. It's not about Elam's kicking skills, Bailey's sixth sense in reading the offense, or Henry's ability to eat up yardage and time. It's not about Shannahan's wisdom or even Cutler's resemblance to a young Elway.
It's all about ridiculously ritualistic fans and the stupid things we're willing to do to sway things in our team's favor.
So, why did the Broncos beat the Raiders? You can thank Joey, the Bronco mojo kitty (Denver's secret weapon) combined with orange Crocs, stints in the bathroom, knocking on wood and bad Raider karma (as if there were good Raider karma ... please!).
The recap:
Raiders ... bad karma coming back to bite them in the butts ... self-explanatory. Moving on.
As dictated by friends, on Sundays, I'm forbidden from entering anyone's house including God's house (as an orange-blooded deity Himself, I'm positive He'd understand ... see? ... no lightning strikes) without wearing my orange Crocs. If it's cold, I'm allowed to add the matching Bronco orange socks, but only if it snows and only if it doesn't interfere with the win. If we start losing, then it doesn't matter if my toes freeze and fall off; the socks are gone. When there are special plays needing help to sway things in our favor, I'm required to wiggle and rub my toes against the orange rubber of the Crocs. As a 37-year veteran fan, I'm happy to do so.
I was also thrilled to stay put after the Broncos started racking up yardage when, unable to hold it any longer, I went to the bathroom. Of course, I obeyed my friend Kay's order to stay in the bathroom while she shouted the play-by-play commentary. It was only when Cecil Sapp dropped a clean pass that I was allowed back into the living room because, after all, it's hard to pace in such a small space and rub your toes on the bottom of orange Crocs all at the same time. Clearly, it was not helping Cecil in the least.
When that failed, we determined Monica wasn't holding up her end of the bargain. This is the norm: while I wiggle my toes in my Crocs, and Kay knocks wood every time the announcer says something negative about the Broncos, Monica is supposed to force her nephews into holding footballs above their heads. We were doing our part, so clearly Monica wasn't. A quick phone call, however, nixed that. She was doing her job and the score was tied, so we decided it was time to get out the big guns.
Enter Joey, the Bronco mojo kitty!
Joey is Kay's orange tabby cat with mystical powers that are truly just plain weird. I can't explain it; really, you'll have to trust me on this one. I've witnessed it more than a few times and am flabbergasted every time. Stop shaking your heads; it's no different than some of the stupid things you men do.
If you need defensive mojo, simply pat Joey's butt. Offensive mojo requires scratching the side of his neck. Special teams? Stroke his back down to the tip of his tail. Now, a true miracle like needing the Raiders to miss the game-winning field goal (or say having said field goal overturned) requires full on, two handed coordination of the butt pat and neck scratch (Kay's duty) while I chant, "Joey, Joey, Joey..." You think I'm kidding!? Kay asked for a miracle before the kick. When it went through the uprights, I cursed (there's a surprise!) and she calmly said, "Joey, I asked for a miracle." The cat put one paw on her chest and simply stared at her.
Flag!
Joey tilted his head ever so slightly as if to say, "Oh, ye of little faith." Not to miss a good opportunity to help my team, immediately following the referee's announcement that the field goal was overturned, I said, "Joey, if you make the Raiders miss this field goal, I'll go to the store and buy you fresh cream." Stop dialing the nut house; it worked, didn't it?
Not much was needed after that. I will give Elam some credit. After all, Joey was exhausted and does have to rely on some of the players some of the time. And, yes, for those of you wondering, I did go get Joey fresh cream. The people at the grocery store think I'm crazy too, but if all you die-hard Bronco fans were honest, you'd admit that you're glad I fulfilled the promise and didn't upset the Bronco mojo kitty and possibly jinxing future games!
Next week, Jacksonville and the promise of tuna. Not that chicken of sea stuff, but white albacore packed in spring water. I wonder if we could get Joey to wear little itty, bitty orange Crocs...ummm.
I guess us ladies of football aren't really that different. We are just as superstitious and silly when it comes to being crazed Bronco fans. There is one thing, however, that puts us slightly ahead of the men: we're not willing to make those around us suffer. In other words, win or lose, we shower, change our underwear and socks and sometimes even shave. Come on, guys, you've gotta draw the line somewhere!