At the rate the team is going, this could very well be the only one we ever get. Note how grubby it is. I wonder if the fingerprints belong to Carl Peterson, on those days he's alone in the building, and cries over the trophy, knowing he won't see another one in his lifetime...
From there, we went to the press box, which was kind of impressive. Apparently, the press box is extremely quiet during game time. No cheering, yelling, etc. Unbiased reporters, ya know. I'm guessing Bill Grigsby has to sit somewhere else.This was the view from the press box. You can still see the lines from when the Wizards played. Flanking the press box is Hermy's office, which we were not allowed to see (I suspect that is where he keeps his alien space craft.), and the owner's suite. I didn't know this, but there is a three story apartment in Arrowhead that the Hunt family stays in when they are in town. I wonder if that is where Marty stayed when his wife kicked him out for banging that teenager.
Next stop: the dark underbelly of Arrowhead. The Chiefs locker room.Big, roomy, with slut-red carpet. And guess what? It smells like any other locker room. We got to walk around, looking inside various lockers. Some of these guys have more shoes than I do! At one point, a player (I don't know which one), popped out of the shower room wearing nothing but a towel. Upon seeing the 25 strangers milling around the locker room, he uttered an expletive and scampered back into the shower room. Regretfully, I didn't get a picture.
This was posted just as you leave the locker room. The Official Kansas City Chiefs Statement Concerning Violence. I'm guessing there are some players who haven't read it, or can't.
We make our way through the very plain "cafeteria", which is boring and consists of just some tables, two refrigerators, and a shitload of bananas, to the tunnel which is the same tunnel the players run out of on game day. Finally, out on the field. I don't know why I expected the field to be larger than life. It's the same size as any other football field. I should know, I marched on one toting a 40lb snare drum for 4 years. Anyway, after the crap-ton of rain, everything was soggy. Don't step on the grass!
Oops. I stepped on the grass. My bad.
After that, we went down the little tunnel from the 50 yard line to catch the elevators, and head back to the Pavilion. On our way, we encountered a surly Gunther Cunningham, who opted to take the stairs instead of having to share an elevator with us peons. Fuck him. I didn't take his picture because it wasn't worth the effort. There was one guy who I swore looked like Dick Vermeil. Mr. Recommendation vetoed this because he's gotten drunk with Dick before. And therefore, he knows Dick.
Back in the Pavilion, it was time for dinner, so everyone fixed a plate and found a seat in the dining area.
The food wasn't too bad. I liked the asparagus, the green beans were unremarkable. I'm a big fan of Caesar salad. For dessert they had a chocolate fountain with various things to dip into it. It gave me ideas for the next time I drag out the fondue pot. To wash it all down was all the beer you could drink...and wine...and more beer. Did I mention they had beer??
During dinner, some FedEx guys spoke about how wonderful they were and how wonderfully they could ship my FedEx packages. Take that, UPS!! The guy who was the ringleader was way too excited. I can't imagine how much Prozac I would have to take to sound that happy about my job.
Two players from the Chiefs made an appearance. Derrick Johnson and Boomer Grigsby. Before his appearance, Boomer tore into the parking lot in his super-charged Mustang. Upon seeing a group of people, he decided to spin out in an effort to make himself look more like an ass, and almost running over a couple people in the process. Security rushed over to him, and he physically pushed them aside, not to be bothered with such trivial things like being a responsible driver. Douchebag. Play one game well, and you apparently turn into a certifiable asshole. He had the top down on his car. I suspect that was the only way he could drive it with that big head of his. Before he disappeared, he barked at the security guards, "Don't let anything happen to my car!" If a security guard would have whipped out his weiner and pissed all over the leather seats, I would have asked for his autograph.So, for about 15-25 minutes, there is a Q&A session where these two get to masturbate themselves silly over how awesome they are. I must confess, Boomer's kind of a hottie, but the whole douchebag factor more than kills it for me. Fake-boobied Johnson County hos can have him. I prefer Respiratory Therapists anyway...
After the Q&A, we get to line up to have our picture taken with the players and have something autographed. Some people brought shirts, hats, or balls. Sadly, I came ill-prepared. Because FedEx is a wonderful company and can wonderfully ship my packages, they have thought of everything. For those of us who didn't bring anything, they provided mini Chiefs helmets. This was good because I was worried I'd have to wing out a boob for them to sign. I hear they do that.
My turn, and I get my picture taken. Neither player turns around to even look at me. I could have been a 6 foot drag queen in a gorilla costume for all they know. The photographer calls me by my mother's name, and I am momentarily confused. It lasts less than a second. He takes the pic, I get my signed helmet, and I am ushered off the stage.
All the excitement has worn me out, so I decide to cut out and go home. Mr. Recommendation opts to stay a little longer. Shortly after I get home, he calls to tell me that my name was drawn for one of the prizes: the autographed helmet. You had to be present to win.
Brother was eyeballing my loot from the event, including the miniature helmet. What does one do with such an item, anyway? It's not like the ones you get at Royals games that you can eat ice cream out of.