It was three weeks ago to the day. I went to my favorite bar to practice billiards and gossip at the watering hole. Naturally, the conversation shifts to pigskins. I didn’t need any liquid courage to say what I said. I knew what was at stake.

“So your broncos are looking pretty sharp after beating the Packers (sarcastic laugh) How do you feel about the chiefs next week? Gonna break the streak?”

“Listen here. I know what the odds are. I’m not sure if we will beat kansas city or not because I’ve been wrong for too long. But what I do know is this! When we DO beat the chefs? We make the playoffs. That’s what this game means.”

Wagers began to fly. As our handshake commenced to seal the contract, my hand began to tingle. The busy commotion of the patrons around me suddenly fell silent, followed by the slow rise of the deafening hoofbeat. I could feel the floorboards beneath me begin to tremble as an innumerable team of white broncos ran past the bar windows. I stared in wonder for what seemed like hours until our hands released, realizing only moments had passed.

It was that moment that the curse was lifted. And I’m still winning that bet…

Broncos Country… let’s riiiiiiiide