They beat the hell out of us, us, us, us us us

This post is the story I referenced in my class blog for the Columbia Missourian. The title, for those of you who aren't Chiefs fans, stems from the chant that rises from Arrowhead Stadium every time the Chiefs score a touchdown: "We're gonna beat the hell out of you, you, you, you you you!"

KANSAS CITY, Mo. — You need to know, first of all, that my fandom is a little bit confused.

So I hope you’ll forgive me, if you’re a Chiefs fan, that I wore blue on Sunday at my first NFL game, when my beloved New York Giants played the Chiefs at Arrowhead Stadium. You, Chiefs fan, had the last laugh.

I’m a New Yorker by birth but a Vermonter by upbringing. In eighth grade, I walked into algebra to find a poster laid out on a table, Magic Markers scattered across it. On one side it said “Yankees,” and on the other it said “Red Sox.” I signed my name on the Boston Red Sox side, with whatever eighth-grade reason I could muster (probably my friends signed that side), and that fall the Red Sox won their first World Series in 86 years.

Sweet, I thought.

But my baby brother has grown into a baseball-playing teen who loves the New York Yankees like some people love their dogs. And then my dad rediscovered his love for the Yankees. And then my mom caught on, which is when I really lost the battle. I can’t think of a time my sisters and I could’ve talked her into leaving the TV on while we ate dinner, except on movie nights, but if a Yankees game is on we will listen to it as we eat our squash kebobs and steak. Summer equals Yankees at my house. It’s tough to be a Boston fan.

Then, when Super Bowl XLII came around and the New York Giants faced the New England Patriots, I had the chance to choose again. I picked the Giants. (This time, at least my mom was sympathetic.) The Giants stunned poor undefeated Tom Brady with David Tyree’s famous helmet catch and a comeback touchdown with 35 seconds on the clock.

Four years later, the Giants did it again.

My brother? A Patriots fan.

But I’ve managed to stay true to my teams, so maybe you won’t hold it against me that I went to the Chiefs game Sunday (they’re 4-0, baby!) in my blue-and-white striped dress, ready to scream my heart out for wide receiver Victor Cruz and dynastic quarterback Eli Manning.

We made it up to our cloud-level seats, and I was lucky enough to see a Giants shirt to my left, stark blue against the red chairs and red jerseys and red everything. But the wearer was really a Bears fan, and he left early. My friend Lee Anne sat to my right, politely clapping for the Chiefs but not really caring who did what because her San Francisco 49ers weren’t playing.

I turned to Lee Anne, excitedly, early, when the slate was blank and the game was anyone’s and hope was high. “This is as close as I’ll ever be to Eli Manning!”

He was a tiny speck on the field but a lot closer than he is when I can count his teeth on the TV screen. Manning, Cruz, defensive end Justin Tuck — this was real life. Cruz could bust out his touchdown salsa move right in front of me. He’d be just a few hundred seats and half an end zone away.

And for awhile, my men didn’t disappoint. Manning answered Chiefs quarterback Alex Smith’s first touchdown pass with a 69-yard pass to Cruz.

Cruz danced.

I was thrilled.

But the rest of the time, as the New York crew struggled to break through Kansas City’s defense, I sunk lower and lower into my seat. I watched thousand of red-and-gold-clad fans pushing the decibel meter up to 98, 104, even 109. My seat shook as the guys behind us beat on the red stadium seats. I saw the joy, the unabashed glee, as guys took photos holding up four fingers on one hand and none on the other: 4-0! Me alone with the field in the background! Me with my buddy! Me with my buddy and my girlfriend!

Midwestern hospitality aside, they crushed us. 10-7. 17-7. 24-7. Fans happily teetered down the steps, shaking each other victoriously, leaving the stadium. 31-7.

I walked past the Giants fans I had earlier regarded as my stalwart brethren, now smoking morosely by the exit.

Now we’re 0-4. Cringe. Ouch.

My Kansas City friend at the game texted me after, reasoning that at least the Giants have two Super Bowls in the past ten years. Yeah, whatever. When you’re getting the hell beat out of you, two rings can’t really make you feel better.

Ok, maybe a little bit.

And with that consolation in mind, I have no problem with the Chiefs going 5-0. Or 6-0, next time they’re home. Bring it on, Oakland.

Amateur tips from an NFL game first-timer

1. Wear sunscreen! I know I sound like a mom, but I haven’t been this burned since I was a limnophobic lifeguard. And because I was sitting in the same seat the whole game, I have a nice sunglasses burn on the left side of my face. Trust me. Please.

2. You may be tempted to think the NFL game bag size limit is like an airline carry-on restriction: airline attendants never really shove your bag in that box to see if the dimensions are correct, and if it’s too big, they’ll gate-check it for you. No. This is the TSA. Three-three-one or those liquids are going in the trash, my friend.

3. From a fellow fan: Don’t forget your tickets in the car. If you do, try to do it when you’re at a game with your buddies, not your wife.

An earlier version of this story incorrectly identified my father as a Patriots fan. Sorry, Dad.