Sunday, November 20th. 8:21 PM. Kyle Orton watches the ESPN ticker. Jay Cutler suffers broken thumb, likely out for 6-8 weeks. Two days later, Orton calls his agent David Dunn.
ORTON: Double-Deez, have you seen the ESPN ticker?
DUNN: Of course I have. I get all the up to date information because I am a real agent.
ORTON: I think I can cut it as the Chicago Bears quarterback. Round Two, baby. I need you you to convince the Broncos to waive me.
DUNN: I thought you were talking about the Sandusky news. Hey-O [slaps self on the head]. Wake up Dunnster. Well geez, Kyle it's not that easy. Back-up quarterbacks superior to the the starter are at a premium in today's market. I'll give them a call, but I think they're going to want to hang on to ya.
[Two minutes and 13 seconds later]
DUNN: You have been waived by the Denver Broncos.
Wednesday, November 23rd. 6:04 PM. Kyle Orton hears the Chiefs have placed a waiver claim on him. He takes a much needed second to himself to reflect on his life.
Well, it looks like it's going to be Kansas City. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck. I shouldn't complain though. It's a job. People are having a rough time finding those, I'm told. I like that Jamaaaaal Charles kid. LOL. How many A's does it take these days? The kid has some talent. Nice speed, shifty runner, and nice head of hair. He keeps those braids nice and clean. I'd buy life insurance from him. I wouldn't buy life insurance from Chris Johnson. Oh shit, I just realized Jamaaaaaaal is out for the year. He was on my fantasy team. Totally fucked up my season. John Fox made it even worse when he benched me. I should have listened to Chris Johnson when he told me never to draft yourself in fantasy football. 'One day you're going to get paid,' he said. 'Then there are going to be some days you just don't give a fuck. Like, you'd rather do anything than play football. Fly fishing, white water rafting, you name it.' I don't even think Chris knows what fly fishing is. He just threw it out there to make the point he would rather take part in an unfamiliar activity than go to work that day. I like the kid though, crazy gold teeth. Hehe. I'm going to be him for Halloween next year but I won't paint myself black because I could get in a lot of trouble. Good guy, that Chris. Hopefully Tennessee will release him and he can get back to caring about football.
Kansas City is supposed to have good BBQ -- huge plus. I can put up with the drowsiest of cities as long as I have the right food. Like, none of this McRib bullshit they have in Denver. What's that thing even made of? Does anyone know? Does anyone want to? Life's quandaries, I tell ya. I stumbled upon an article about Kansas City a few years ago -- I think it was a most desirable places to live or something -- and I was surprised to find out Kansas City isn't in the state of Kansas -- huge plus. Imagine ol' Ort out in the Bible-thumpin' state of Kansas. Some of those places wouldn't take too kindly to a man who knows how to enjoy a good drink on a Sunday morning. I'd get thrown in one of their two-bit jails the minute I stepped foot into the saloon. I seem to remember an old Western --what the hell was the name of it? Something or other and it took place in Kansas. All the guys drank and dressed like they got by on $1.25 a week and they probably did. Some scruffy mother fuckers too. Well I'll be damned! For once the NECKBEARD will fit right in. No more anonymous gift boxes filled with razors, no more 'Well you better buy me drinks all night,' no more 'Use TWO condoms,' and no more '1968 called....' jokes.
People are always asking me about Tim Tebow. Tebow this -- Jesus Christ that -- Tebowing -- and TeBLOWing. Everyone seems to assume I hate the little prick. Not true. Timmy loves the cameras. He loves Jesus Christ. He loves answering questions about his religion, and he loves gently forcing his religious beliefs upon those living in impoverished areas of the world. He hasn't really fucked with me, so I don't have a problem with him. People always say, 'Well Kyle, he did take your job. Isn't that kind of fucking with you?' HELL NO. I'm still getting paid, aren't I? He's playing like a fucking idiot, isn't he? Eventually the Broncos are going to realize they made a mistake and put me back in. Heh heh heh. I just thought about what I just thought about. They're NEVER going to realize it.
I've had some good and some bad times in my career. Chicago, despite all of my wins, was not the greatest time. I wish those pictures never hit the net. Now everyone thinks I have no standards. That I'll shack up with the first pair of tits that pop out during Thirsty Thursday. They think I can't dance and I drink alone. I don't even like the taste of whiskey. It's rotten and deceptive. It doesn't love me like I thought. No one loves me like I thought. Except Brady. That's right, Brady Quinn. I can say without hesitation, we are bros. I'll never forget the day he came to Denver. He was trying to make nice with me, and I think -- quite possibly -- trying to ruin my chances of winning the starting quarterback job. He invited me to a party being held by a friend of a friend of a friend's dad. You know those frat-types. Everyone knows someone who knows someone.
So I get to the party and it's taking place on a deck. This is not an ordinary deck, as seen in Indiana. This is a fucking huge two-story deck. The place was already packed with people, mostly shirtless guys and scantily-clad females. I'm a shy person by nature, which has its advantages, but doesn't afford me the luxury of meeting many beautiful women. I took this as a great opportunity to stand near the keg and hold the front of my hand out -- waiting for a girl's ass to brush against it if they passed by me too close. I'm delighted to say this maneuver worked two times before the third girl slapped me. I admit to being a little too forward with the third girl -- I used the palm of my hand this time and offered a playful squeeze. My face stung and I high-tailed it out of there down to the first floor, worrying the entire time my NECKBEARD would make me easily recognizable into the night.
Brady was on the first floor playing beer pong with three girls. I'd been drinking Jack all car ride and was pretty drunk when I showed up. Brady saw me first, 'Hey, Ort-MAN. You're on my team. MY TEAM. THE FUCKIN BRONCOS AND WE'RE GONNA SLAY THE SHIT OUT OF THESE TWO GIRLS!!!' It took me a second to realize he was referring to the game of beer pong. By that time, I had already decided my inappropriate squeezing of the girl's buttocks was Brady's fault. He'd invited me to the party and my brain processes determined this was justification enough to blame him for the incident upstairs. So I said, 'What is that shit you're drinking in those cups? I bet that shit is Bud Light.' He just kinda stared at me and didn't say anything. He was trying to be my bro and I was hostile. 'You want to play a real game of beer pong? Fill the fucking cups with Jack. I have a handle right here.' I pulled out the handle from underneath my shirt and one of the girls seemed to be impressed with that. I think she thought I magically summoned it. So I gave her ass a playful squeeze, realizing it was OK this time, and saddled up next to Brady.
'Let's just play with Bud Light, bro,' Brady said. 'We're gonna get way too fucked up with the Jack.'
'Getting too fucked up off the Jack is how we do it here in Denver. Are you not man enough to play in Denver?'
I realized that night questioning Brady's manhood was a surefire way to get him to do anything. I filled our cups all the way up with the Jack and the girl's cups with the piss. Brady and I were on the same team, but we taunted each other as if we were competing. He would miss a shot and I'd tell him he had a small penis. I'd miss a shot and he'd tell me I was a lame. The girls were dominating and we both became frustrated missing shot after shot. Then I said something I shouldn't have.
'You're missing cups from a few feet away. How the hell do you plan on completing a pass to a receiver?'
This pushed him over the edge. I also learned that night very little was off limits with Brady. He was generally good-natured except if you questioned his on-field performance. He was very sensitive when it came to his inability to play quarterback at the professional level. Some of the guys in the locker room would compare him to Jimmy Clausen. This hurt him deeply.
'THAT'S IT,' Brady screamed. He told me later he contemplated flipping the table but thought better of it. 'YOU VERSUS ME. THROW-OFF."
I had no idea what a throw-off was. Brady enlisted a couple of his bros to bring the tables into the yard. They counted off and placed the tables 25 yards apart. Brady and I and close to one hundred bros met in the middle of the tables. Brady explained we'd be throwing the ping-pong balls 25 yards now. This was supposed to prove who the better NFL quarterback was. As I said, I was already drunk, and welcomed the challenge. There was no light in the yard, however, which proved to be a problem.
We threw the ping-pong balls up and into the dark night. Playing quarterback for the Broncos was not all too different from our throw-off. Neither of us could hit anything, but we bonded over our lack of success. The last thing I remember from that night was taking off my shirt and offering body shots. I woke up the next morning still shirtless and face-down on the lawn with my pants around my ankles. I drove home drunk from the night before and laughed it off. I hadn't experienced a night like that since college. I owed it all to Brady. So when people ask me about being replaced as a starter, it's not so much I'm disappointed about being replaced. I just wish it were by Brady. He deserves the promotion.
Sunday, November 27th. 7:48 PM.
Mom never trusts me. She made the goddamn cranberry sauce out of the can for Thanksgiving again. I hate the fucking cranberry sauce out of the can. 'But it's so affordable,' she says. 'Mom,' I tell her. 'I'm rich. If you're worried about money, I can pay for the dinner. I'd gladly pay for the dinner if it means you're making homemade cranberry sauce.' She doesn't think I'm rich. She thinks if you don't start in the NFL you don't get paid. She doesn't even believe I've been claimed by the Chiefs. She's referred me to the Wanted ads at least three times today. I'm sick of this shit. I just want to enjoy a homemade meal, watch a little football, and fall asleep. Why is that so much to ask?
Orton is crunched in between James Harrison and LaMarr Woodley. This following a first down run for no gain and a throw to the sideline as his receiver breaks in on second down. Todd Haley is irate on the sideline.
HALEY: What the fuck is numb nuts thinking about out there, Thanksgiving dinner?
