Tebow Hangover

Dear Tim Tebow,

I am a big fan of yours for now. But I'm teetering.

Frankly, I believed in your magical skills that turned ugly into beautiful...certain losses into incredible last quarter wins. I thought you were the second coming of John Elway in Denver, albeit, a different model. Oh, how those improbable wins seem so far away now...only three weeks ago.

This past Sunday, I just witnessed the worst game by a NFL quarterback in the history of the National Football League. And that quarterback was YOU. What happened? Que paso, amigo?

Besides the Denver Broncos loathsomely losing 7-3 to the pathetic Kansas City Chiefs at Mile High, your performance was equally pathetic. Watching you play quarterback in this game was about as thrilling as watching Rosie O'Donnell do a striptease while bending the pole. No sizzle cleavage, lots of fat blubber, dripping slobber and an empty wallet to boot.

Your appalling stats for the day were: 6 completions out of 22 attempts for 60 yards, 16 yards rushing, interception, fumble and several painful, for you, sacks. Your offensive yards from scrimmage total for the day were 76 yards. Most NFL quarterbacks have that in the first 10 minutes of the game. 76 Yards. That's my sand iron yardage from a good lie.

Well that's the bad news. You stunk. Now the good news. A team other than the Broncos stunk worse than you, the hapless self-immolating Oakland Raiders. They also lost. Had they won, they would be playoff-bound. However, they lost and the Broncos won the division by photo finish. Now more bad news. The Broncos and you get to face the league leading defense in the the National Football League, the Pittsburgh Steelers. Troy Polamalu. James Harrison. Ike Taylor. Oh my...gulp!

For you to win and the Broncos to succeed this coming Sunday, one of two things has to happen: the entire Steeler defense has to come down with a very serious case of "the rocky runs"; or, you are visited and empowered by angel Gabriel in the dark of night and with a new found ability of throwing a football with a spiral...quickly and accurately.

If neither of those things happen, thanks for the memories. It's been a helluva ride.

By the way, I can't bear to watch what happens on Sunday. To spare more self-inflicted dyspepsia, I booked a tee time at 1:30PM on Sunday.

Good luck. God bless. And run for your life.

Hanging on by my fair weather fingertips in Denver,

5280 High Dan