Charger fans should know better

Part 3 of 5

14-2.

Fourteen and friggin' two.

In franchise history, no Charger team had finished the regular season with a better record. Not the Dan Fouts Chargers. Not the early ‘60s Chargers, and certainly not the Super Bowl bound Chargers in 1994.

I would watch NFL teams having similar seasons and wish, just once, the Chargers would have the same luck. Up until last season I’d give my left nut and my BevMo discount card for a 14-2 season.

And as the final seconds of the Charger-Cardinal – and the regular season - wound down on Dec. 31 it slowly sunk in that finally the Bolts were one of those teams.

14-2.

Finally, the big Charger in the sky smiled down on San Diego and realized we were done being his Job. Our suffering would end.

But that big Charger in the sky is one sick bastard who probably jerks off to watching the Bolts and the Boltheads (that would be us) suffer. Really, wouldn’t it just be easier to sick a wave of locusts on Jack Murphy Stadium or laced the $8 beers with the plague?

The magic of the 14-2 season was exposed like it was a trick devised by a bad magician (job searching already, Cam Cameron?). The New England Patriots saw up the Chargers’ sleeve and knew how the 14-2 trick was done. Then they told the rest of the audience how the trick was done and the jig was up for the Bolts.

Our little cell of loyal Charger fans discussed making it to at least the divisional round of the playoffs to lend our drunken voices to the Jack Murphy mininions and bask in playoff atmosphere football. We checked on ticket prices and after much pleading (and agreeing to do certain things for Wife) I was given the green light to join the rest of our sect in San Diego.

And that’s where I learned 14-and-2 doesn’t mean jack shit in the playoffs.

Jan. 14, 2006: Chargers 21, New England Patriots 24

My day started with a 7 a.m. run to the airport. The plane might have doubled for a team charter to San Diego for the amount of team jerseys being worn on the flight. There were LTs and Rivers and Bradys and even a Tony Eason sighting. We could have fielded our own game between take off and the drink service.

The plan once I landed was to head over to Lil’ Lisa and ChargerFanbyMarriage’s pad and then head back to Jack Murphy for a quickie tailgate before game time.

Omens hit us in the face on every corner, though, and we should have paid better attention.

Omen No. 1: I bought a sixer of Newcastle – Michael’s official Charger game day beer – but forgot my can opener at home, forcing me to shell out three extra bones for a new opener.

Omen No. 2: The Jack Murphy parking lot was sold out by 11:15 a.m. for a 1:30 p.m. game. Tailgating was going to be challenge, and we had pasta salad and cookies to munch down. Plus, there was much beer to drink before game time. Leaning on the San Diegans for guidance, we wheeled into a mall parking lot that had access to the trolley and set up our own tailgate party – two miles away from the stadium, but within walking distance of new pants and Old Navy jackets if the need presented itself. What more could we ask for. And as we felt the heat of security’s eyes blazing over our makeshift party, we packed up the goodies and hit the train.

Omen No. 3: All of San Diego was riding the trolley to the game. It took us three trains to get on, and that didn’t guarantee us a seat. What was worse, Patriot fans had stolen the last remaining benches on the trolley forcing us to either stand or beat the Chowder heads to a pulp – we opted for the former since you don’t want to blow your load too early.

Once at the stadium, however, thoughts of omen ceased and we were in game mode. The joint was electric like I had never seen it. Nervous energy filled every fan who walked by, and we all talked like our mouths were run by Gattling guns, the words rushing out in volleyed shots because the anticipation was rising with each step, each tick of the clock, each swig of a beer.

Then Omen No. 4: A really bad San Diego Super Charger song by P.O.D. After they raped my ears with their “song” I thought maybe they should change their name to P.U.D.

And finally kick off began. We had Patriot fans to the right of us, and two in the row in front of us. The dudes on the right were good folks from Bahstun, the chick and her beau in front of us were ass clowns of the royal order. That’s a .500 average, not too bad in my book.

I’ll admit it now like I did then before I turned surly and pissed off at the big Charger in the sky for allowing such a travesty to occur, it was one of the best football games I had ever seen, despite it not being the most technically sound or aesthetically pleasing in NFL history. And if it weren’t for a pair of dumb penalties by the Chargers early in the second half, a fumbled punt, a fumbled interception, and Cam Cameron running the offense, this game would be No. 2 on my list behind the Charger Super Bowl win in 2006, but as the old folks say you never can tell. Tom Brady made his passes count when he needed to (after tossing up three picks – Tom Terrific my big hairy Italian ass) and LT touched the ball 9 times.

Let me spell that out a little better. The best player in the league, the best player since Walter Payton, maybe the best player ever, touched the ball NINE times in the second half. If I’m the offensive coordinator – how’s the job search going Cam Cameron? – I get the ball to my best player a little more than nine times. But, hey, that’s just me. What do I know? I only went 14-1 in my fantasy football league this year.

Omen No. 5: This came after the game and really falls under the kicked in the balls, salt in the wound, insult to injury category. The line onto the trolley wrapped around Jack Murphy Stadium and led half way to El Cajon so we opted for a cab at the nearby Ikea. There was something very Amazing Raceish about this move as we waited out front for a cab, but watched as Patriot fan after Patriot fan snagged cabs before us. Fishy, I say, very, very fishy.

But while the omens added up to zero playoff wins in ‘06 for the Bolts, the constant roar from the crowd from 15:00 of the first quarter to 0:00 of the fourth quarter reminds me often of what playoff football is really like. The nervousness and adrenaline and electricity in every person you see is worth the 150 bones we shelled out for seats.

Well, that, and pissing on some poor BMW-driving douche’s tires in the Macy’s parking lot in Fashion Valley. It was totally worth it. I just hope the car owner was a Patriot fan.