This tale begins on Sunday, November 11th, 1990. My sister, stepbrother, and I sat on the sofa watching the greatest single-game performance by a linebacker in NFL history. Derrick Thomas of the Kansas City Chiefs kept sacking Seattle’s quarterback Dave Krieg as the day progressed. We expected the first sack, also the second. The third got my sister and I out of our seats, taunting my Raiders-fan stepbrother. But it didn’t end there. A fourth sack, then a fifth.
By the time Derrick recorded sack number six, football fans across America were aware that something special was happening in Kansas City. Even my brother was watching with wide-eyed amazement. Derrick recorded sack number seven and Arrowhead Stadium went berserk.
I point to that game as the moment I became a true Kansas City Chiefs fan. My family grew up in Kansas City, on both sides of the state line — Dad was from Kansas City, Missouri, Mom was from Kansas City, Kansas — and all of them were Chiefs fans through and through. I was indoctrinated at a young age, but the Chiefs sucked so badly during my early childhood in the 1980’s that it never really took root. Dad would take us to Chiefs/Raiders games in the L.A. Coliseum but I only ever remembered getting jeered at for watching “scabs” during the 1987 players strike. It all seemed dumb to me. I went home and re-watched Rambo for the hundredth time on HBO and was much more entertained.
But Derrick Thomas changed all that. He not only made the Chiefs fun to watch; he redefined the linebacker position, propelled Kansas City to the playoffs every season of the 1990’s, and gave Chiefs fans something to look forward to again. The only Chiefs jersey I’ve ever worn is the red #58 D. Thomas jersey I got for my fifteenth birthday.
We have a tradition in Chiefs Kingdom (what we, the fan base, call ourselves) of donning red every Friday before a game. You might see us wearing a hoodie or a hat, flying a flag, wearing our jerseys, or any other variety of colorful representation to let the world know we love our team.
I’ve worn my DT jersey while cradling several of my newborn children in the early mornings on game days while my exhausted wife slept. I’ve worn my jersey while pacing around the living room in dreaded anticipation of another painful playoff loss. I’ve worn my jersey chopping wood to remove the sting of such losses, and to recalibrate on what truly matters. I’d head back inside, turn off the TV, and gather up a toddler to read a story to. He or she soon put their head on my old #58 covered chest and we got through it together.
And if you are a Chiefs fan, you know all too well how often games end in disappointment — like that same day in early November, 1990.
On the last play of the game, Derrick Thomas had a hand on Dave Kreig and was about to record sack number eight, but Kreig got off the throw, which was caught in the endzone for Seattle’s game-winning touchdown. For years later in interviews — right up until his untimely and tragic death —Derrick Thomas would speak about that sack record with a hint of frustration at the missed sack that cost them the game. But to me, that was beside the point. I got to watch something great for a couple hours, and joined in my family legacy as I too fell in love with a seemingly irrelevant little piece of entertainment called the NFL.
Even though I know the years will be filled with a multitude of silly disappointments, wasted time, and even some squandered cash, I’ll still continue to sport my red on Friday and get my hopes up on Sundays. Because in the grand scheme of God’s design, sports — like every other form of entertainment — may indeed be irrelevant, but that’s not why we watch them. We watch them because from time to time we get to witness another person do something remarkable, and for a brief moment it brings us out of our seats to applaud, and fills us with some much needed joy or awestruck inspiration.
And the randomness of life can use a little inspirational distraction on any given Sunday. Or the occasional Monday, or Thursday, or even on Red Friday.