Dear Kansas City Chiefs,
I was born into a Chiefs household. There was never a moment I randomly picked a team because they were “good” or had the best player or I liked their colors. I was born a Chiefs fan. Frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
For as long as I can remember, I grew up watching football. I remember there was a stint where I felt like my dad always went to KC for the divisional matchup against Seattle. I would try to spot him on tv. One year he came back with a nasty cold from screaming in that Midwest cold for 3+ hours. Worth it to him then. Worth it to me now.
My parents spoiled my sister and I with jerseys of our favorite players one year. My sister donned Marcus Allen. For me it was Derrick Thomas. I remember in 1997 my family was having Thanksgiving on the plaza and Allen was the person flipping the light switch. My dad took my sister and I down to get a good view of him. In my memory, I thought I was no more than ten feet from him, but I can’t be sure that’s accurate.
Being a Chiefs fan is something I’ve always identified with. I didn’t care about college sports until middle school. Baseball didn’t become interesting to me until I took the time to understand the game when I was in college despite me always claiming I was a Royals fan. I thought the game was *gasp* boring. Thank god Taylor Garretson showed me the error of my ways in 2008, but I digress.
I’ve attended multiple games with my dad and he is leaps and bounds my favorite companion at game time. When I still lived in my hometown, every kickoff I was planted on the couch next to my dad. This was my first year not getting to watch every game with him and it’s been more of a bummer than I can describe.
My dad was 8 years old when the Chiefs won the super bowl January 11, 1970. When I think back to me watching football at 8, I didn’t appreciate or understand it as well as I do as an adult. I have to believe it’s the same for my dad.
I want my team to win the super bowl for all the selfish reasons you can name. Finally proclaiming “this is our year” and having it be true it’s an awesome thought. But the older I’ve gotten, the more I want to see my team play in (and hopefully win) the super bowl for my dad. My dad, the loyal fan for more than five decades, deserves that moment. He deserves that game.
My uncles that call my dad before, during, after big plays/games deserve it too. This is a family affair after all.
I need you men to take that field with the passion, ferocity, and hunger that you did against Indianapolis. I need you to remind the Patriots they don’t win in our house. I need you to want it more than the other three teams left.
I need you to win.
For my dad.
For all the other 80s kids who look at their dads with the same pride and love as me. Who so desperately want this win on Sunday so they can see their dads have that moment of pure elation.
For all of us born to bleed that beautiful, bright red and yellow. For us, who have broken noise records, celebrated victories, wept for defeats, and never lost hope.
You’re playing for more than the guys on the field with you. For more than Kansas City. You’re playing for generations of fans. Many that have never experienced this kind of game. Hell, even this kind of season.
We are with you. When you take the field Sunday you will feel the electricity of thousands of fans who have waited for this moment for lifetimes. Let it feed you. Let it ignite the fire to Atlanta.
It’s your time. It’s our time. Let’s roll.
Proud member of Chiefs Kingdom