You could tell me that Arrowhead Stadium, sorry, Geha Field, is actually called The Sore Throat or The Strep (for short) and I’d believe you. Despite Pat Mahomes’ unmatched creativity and zeal for the game, and despite moments that make me jealous:
the general aura of the place vibes threadbare sweatpants and broken promises about cocaine from someone who is on cocaine and is hundreds of miles away from you, in your vehicle. Naturally, a bored announcer convinced Chiefs fans they’re all part of a “kingdom.” A kingdom and an atmosphere where the possibility of being beaten in front of your own children with a sandwich is not “out of the question” or you are not even allowed to enjoy country music.
In response, or perhaps not, the Chiefs just seem to be emitting waves of WRs now. I once knew them all. The Byron Pringles. The Albert Wilsons. Many people named Robinson. Sammy Watkins. Mecole Hardman. A lineman named Andrew Wylie who also doubled as a literary agent and tried to get “Italo Calvino” used as an audible. Josh Gordon. JuJu Smith-Schuster. Tyreek Hill. I can’t keep up now.
Rashee Rice will have 3TDs against the Lions, whose rebuild is:
Season tickets for the Lions are sold out. There are new brains and new bodies in that zip code and it doesn’t seem unrealistic that Ford Field is days away from unveiling the Lincoln Navigator Influencer Zone, literal SUV cockpits on the mezzanine where you watch the game like a drive-in movie. I was loving DeAndre Swift and that old Packers guy who ended the Packers season last year, then cried, then got indignant, and thinks being into anime is a personality. They’re gone now. Guys who are better than them are in place. Spoon will not be performing at halftime.