I Didn't Always Dream in Orange and Blue
I'm not going to paint my house orange and blue, but I understand.
My level of Broncomania remains at a semi-sane level, where I can tell you what time it is from a Broncos' clock, or change the channel with my official NFL authorized Broncos' remote control, complete with the horse head logo on it. And I'm considering finally tracking down the foam Bronco shaped head gear Shannon Sharpe wore a couple times during the championship years.
Based purely in Colorado vernacular, I'm a "Transplant" not a "Native." However, my story is not unique, we many who relocated to the state over the last few decades have banded together with the "Natives" to form Broncos Country.
My journey from Maryland was a surprise when my Grandmother announced she was moving west. Her, my Mom, my one brother at the time and two dogs ran the I-70 gauntlet for nearly two thousand road miles to the Mile High City. That was 1970, and I was five. But I was already a sports fanatic, who left behind family and 'home' teams. It was a tougher move for my Grandfather, who reluctantly moved all the family stuff to Colorado, but he jumped into the state with both feet. He started to cheer for the Denver Broncos, and at that time, the team had yet to enjoy a winning season in their first decade of existence. I asked my Grandfather why he was now pulling for this new team in Denver. And to put succinctly, he explained how important it was to be a part of the community, bond with the neighbors and pull together when common ground could be shared. This was where we lived now and those Broncos were ours too. Sports does this a lot, it's one of the cool aspects of being a fanatic.
I played little league football in Louisville in 1975-76 and that was the first time I realized how much the Denver Broncos enjoyed being a part of the community as well. Each year, this tiny league with a couple teams and maybe 30 micro football players would gather for a banquet in the fire hall to celebrate our season. And each year, a Bronco would show up, share a meal and tell us stories of the NFL. Barney Chavous (old number 79), a nose tackle who towered above the other humans in the room, maybe got a free meal and a couple bucks to hang out with us and make us feel cool about the sport we played. The next year we had two players, safety Billy Thompson (#36) and cornerback Louis Wright (#20) entertained the crowd and told us of their gridiron adventures.
A pile of us little league players wandered out to watch the Broncos practice, at their ancient facility in north Adams Country, just off I-25 on the north side of town. It was a cold November day, and we decided to ask for some autographs, and I recall Ring-of-Famer Tom Jackson, #57 reminding his fellow players who walked by us that we fans are the reason they play football. Mr. Jackson signed my scrap paper, and got about a dozen players to sign it too. Me and my Broncos, hanging out and talking football.
A year later I would watch Tom Jackson pick off Baltimore Colt quarterback Bert Jones and run that interception back for a touchdown to clinch Denver's first ever AFC West title, in only their fourth winning season ever. I got to be at old Mile High, and I've never heard a louder crowd before or since. That is the kind memory that gets glued into the brain forever, and it was glorious. Of course the team would lose that Super Bowl to the Dallas Cowboys, but "my" Broncos would be back. I just knew it.
My Mom then married the only man to earn the "Dad" title in life, and I thought I knew about being a Broncos' fan until meeting him. My Grandfather tended to watch fairly quietly, and suffer the bad moments in silence and occasionally go crazy on bigger plays. My Dad lived on the edge of his seat on every play. EVERY play, every game. Big yells, big claps and a sense of Bronco optimism that I carry with me to this very day.
As for the team itself, John Elway did eventually bring the Broncos back to the big game. Elway, old number 7, wasn't exactly loved in my old home state, as he refused to play for the Baltimore Colts. Knowing now what I know about the Irsay family, who would literally steal the Colts away, I can't say as I blame him. That aside, I was a traditionlist NFL fan, who thought players should go where they are drafted to play. I didn't like Elway's demands at first, but I learned to respect that Hall of Fame arm, and his endless will to win it all.
Yes, the Drive in Cleveland was amazing, the Fumble the next year that got the Broncos back in the Super Bowl was wildly fun, but we all know how those big finales turned out. Denver joined Minnesota as the only 0-4 teams in Super Bowl history. The Buffalo Bills caught up quickly by dropping four in a row, yet, four consecutive AFC Championships was still impressive.
By the time Mike Shanahan's Broncos found their way into Super Bowl XXXII, I recall many of my fellow Denver fans unsure of themselves against the defending Champion Green Bay Packers that year. My wife counts herself among those who almost didn't want to see the Broncos back in the land of potential disappointment. Elway. And that Terrell Davis #30 fellow. And a fantastic team effort won the world title. They would double down and trump the Falcons the following year in the only game I ever felt comfortable watching as a Broncos' fan. It was a two-year run that turned decades of loyalty into a dream-like existence of cheering for the best team in all the land.
And just when I thought the finest days of Bronco fandom were behind me, old number 7 returns but in the front office. He then lands future Hall of Famer, Peyton Manning, sporting his #18. Better known as PFM to the hardcore faithful, his 28-7, record breaking tear through the NFL has reminded me how fun it can be to dream in orange and blue. Yes, I know how last year ended with a brutal loss, strangely enough to another Baltimore team last year, but at least my Dad did get to see PFM play for his team. He got to see his Broncos on a great run during his amazing battle against cancer. Wherever Dad is now, I am fairly certain he helped all he could to keep the team on track this year.
It is great to be a part of this community, this city, among these incredibly loyal fans. The long, tough years tend to make these winning years far more enjoyable somehow. Last week, I watched hundreds and hundreds of fans line up at the grocery store for free Bronco window clings. It is crazy, but I understand. Win, lose or some kind of first ever, bizarre Super Bowl draw, I'm there.
Inspired by my elders, the Broncos' tradition is now shared with my family, my wife, her family, my brothers and my sons. Deliriously happy am I to be a Broncos' fan, with a capital 'D', from now until my last fist pump. May your orange and blue dreams come true too....
My level of Broncomania remains at a semi-sane level, where I can tell you what time it is from a Broncos' clock, or change the channel with my official NFL authorized Broncos' remote control, complete with the horse head logo on it. And I'm considering finally tracking down the foam Bronco shaped head gear Shannon Sharpe wore a couple times during the championship years.
Based purely in Colorado vernacular, I'm a "Transplant" not a "Native." However, my story is not unique, we many who relocated to the state over the last few decades have banded together with the "Natives" to form Broncos Country.
My journey from Maryland was a surprise when my Grandmother announced she was moving west. Her, my Mom, my one brother at the time and two dogs ran the I-70 gauntlet for nearly two thousand road miles to the Mile High City. That was 1970, and I was five. But I was already a sports fanatic, who left behind family and 'home' teams. It was a tougher move for my Grandfather, who reluctantly moved all the family stuff to Colorado, but he jumped into the state with both feet. He started to cheer for the Denver Broncos, and at that time, the team had yet to enjoy a winning season in their first decade of existence. I asked my Grandfather why he was now pulling for this new team in Denver. And to put succinctly, he explained how important it was to be a part of the community, bond with the neighbors and pull together when common ground could be shared. This was where we lived now and those Broncos were ours too. Sports does this a lot, it's one of the cool aspects of being a fanatic.
I played little league football in Louisville in 1975-76 and that was the first time I realized how much the Denver Broncos enjoyed being a part of the community as well. Each year, this tiny league with a couple teams and maybe 30 micro football players would gather for a banquet in the fire hall to celebrate our season. And each year, a Bronco would show up, share a meal and tell us stories of the NFL. Barney Chavous (old number 79), a nose tackle who towered above the other humans in the room, maybe got a free meal and a couple bucks to hang out with us and make us feel cool about the sport we played. The next year we had two players, safety Billy Thompson (#36) and cornerback Louis Wright (#20) entertained the crowd and told us of their gridiron adventures.
A pile of us little league players wandered out to watch the Broncos practice, at their ancient facility in north Adams Country, just off I-25 on the north side of town. It was a cold November day, and we decided to ask for some autographs, and I recall Ring-of-Famer Tom Jackson, #57 reminding his fellow players who walked by us that we fans are the reason they play football. Mr. Jackson signed my scrap paper, and got about a dozen players to sign it too. Me and my Broncos, hanging out and talking football.
A year later I would watch Tom Jackson pick off Baltimore Colt quarterback Bert Jones and run that interception back for a touchdown to clinch Denver's first ever AFC West title, in only their fourth winning season ever. I got to be at old Mile High, and I've never heard a louder crowd before or since. That is the kind memory that gets glued into the brain forever, and it was glorious. Of course the team would lose that Super Bowl to the Dallas Cowboys, but "my" Broncos would be back. I just knew it.
My Mom then married the only man to earn the "Dad" title in life, and I thought I knew about being a Broncos' fan until meeting him. My Grandfather tended to watch fairly quietly, and suffer the bad moments in silence and occasionally go crazy on bigger plays. My Dad lived on the edge of his seat on every play. EVERY play, every game. Big yells, big claps and a sense of Bronco optimism that I carry with me to this very day.
As for the team itself, John Elway did eventually bring the Broncos back to the big game. Elway, old number 7, wasn't exactly loved in my old home state, as he refused to play for the Baltimore Colts. Knowing now what I know about the Irsay family, who would literally steal the Colts away, I can't say as I blame him. That aside, I was a traditionlist NFL fan, who thought players should go where they are drafted to play. I didn't like Elway's demands at first, but I learned to respect that Hall of Fame arm, and his endless will to win it all.
Yes, the Drive in Cleveland was amazing, the Fumble the next year that got the Broncos back in the Super Bowl was wildly fun, but we all know how those big finales turned out. Denver joined Minnesota as the only 0-4 teams in Super Bowl history. The Buffalo Bills caught up quickly by dropping four in a row, yet, four consecutive AFC Championships was still impressive.
By the time Mike Shanahan's Broncos found their way into Super Bowl XXXII, I recall many of my fellow Denver fans unsure of themselves against the defending Champion Green Bay Packers that year. My wife counts herself among those who almost didn't want to see the Broncos back in the land of potential disappointment. Elway. And that Terrell Davis #30 fellow. And a fantastic team effort won the world title. They would double down and trump the Falcons the following year in the only game I ever felt comfortable watching as a Broncos' fan. It was a two-year run that turned decades of loyalty into a dream-like existence of cheering for the best team in all the land.
And just when I thought the finest days of Bronco fandom were behind me, old number 7 returns but in the front office. He then lands future Hall of Famer, Peyton Manning, sporting his #18. Better known as PFM to the hardcore faithful, his 28-7, record breaking tear through the NFL has reminded me how fun it can be to dream in orange and blue. Yes, I know how last year ended with a brutal loss, strangely enough to another Baltimore team last year, but at least my Dad did get to see PFM play for his team. He got to see his Broncos on a great run during his amazing battle against cancer. Wherever Dad is now, I am fairly certain he helped all he could to keep the team on track this year.
It is great to be a part of this community, this city, among these incredibly loyal fans. The long, tough years tend to make these winning years far more enjoyable somehow. Last week, I watched hundreds and hundreds of fans line up at the grocery store for free Bronco window clings. It is crazy, but I understand. Win, lose or some kind of first ever, bizarre Super Bowl draw, I'm there.
Inspired by my elders, the Broncos' tradition is now shared with my family, my wife, her family, my brothers and my sons. Deliriously happy am I to be a Broncos' fan, with a capital 'D', from now until my last fist pump. May your orange and blue dreams come true too....
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